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thirteen

A Dance Like None Other

L ater that day, Her Highness delivered Heather’s evening meal, and she quickly tucked into brown slivers of apple, warm broth and bits of chicken.

Prithee, don’t allow this pitiful repast of scraps be my last, she silently begged.

It churned her gut to consider the deathly leap from the table, realizing that it very well could be her last meal.

She applied her imagination to good use, and with the next bite, she could almost taste the delicious Carr she tested for the king.

The understanding she may indeed perish in her flight of freedom disquieted her.

The princess loved to see Heather dine at the great table with her other dolls.

Heather had already changed into her blue servant kirtle, her work boots and placed her hair up in her ribbon, high on her head.

Skye’s dagger was hidden in the stays against her spine.

Heather took extreme care not to turn her back, keeping the blade concealed.

The child enjoyed conversing with Heather over her meal as if she were one of the wooden figures seated in the hall.

“Papa says that we’re to have a great number of visitors soon.

The royalty from across the sea have joined us at court for a special entertainment.

” Heather’s eyebrows rose with this information.

Then she recalled the strangers at dinner the other day.

It solidified her plan to depart this very eve.

The child prattled on. “It won’t stop raining, and all our food is foul. Papa hopes to trade with friends for supplies.” Heather realized just how bad things were deteriorating at court. Was Jess able to find enough to eat?

“Papa says that I have to give up my new dolly.” Her Highness stated with a pout. “We’ll have to play ALL day tomorrow.”

Relief flooded Heather that she’d be long gone. Or deceased. But she was going to focus on the bright side of events. With either outcome, Heather would not be trapped in the keep henceforth.

“Dolly, will you dance with the prince? I’ll hum a merry tune for you.”

Heather begrudgingly withdrew from her chair, clasped His Highness by a hand and the thing’s neck, dancing with the doll as she did with Skye. Cautiously keeping her dagger laced back to the wall.

As of late, dancing reminded her of the pixie.

Disheartened that he had not returned, she was consumed with grievous regret over her prior decision to decline his invitation.

Hopefully, she’d come across him or someone who knew him in the wilds.

Sighing, she danced until the princess tired of humming.

Heather’s left inner wrist glowed pale green, where Skye softly placed a kiss.

She swore it tingled anew when she glanced at it. Her cheeks flushed red.

Heather waited half a chime after the royal departed watching the weak sun fall into a twilight gloom with a blend of appreciation and resignation. Her only regret- that she could not leave behind a missive informing Jessa and Mae of her intentions.

At long last, Heather put her plan into action.

She strapped on her servant belt, slipped Skye’s dagger into the strap.

She placed her makeshift sack across her shoulder length wise and secured her cloak.

It was time to make her leap off the side of the table.

Heather was resolute to live untethered or die trying.

A doll no more. A cursed taste tester no longer.

Free.

But that was when she heard her name called beyond the terrace. To her amazement, there hovered Skye. With his wings flapping mightily to keep him aloft.

“Skye! You came.” She exclaimed, relief filling her brighter than the sun. He was a rare man… male… of his word. People rarely put themselves in harm’s way on her account. She stormed out to the balcony, discovering he wasn’t alone.

Two other pixies flanked his sides. They both had wings, but they weren’t luna moths.

The first had buttery yellow moth wings with a sandy blond mane and sandstone skin, the second, to Skye’s left, possessed black and deep royal blue butterfly wings, hair as dark as pitch and olive skin. Both males were exceptionally handsome.

“I promised I’d be back!” Skye’s wings lit with a green glow, the dust sprinkling from them like falling snow.

For a moment, he appeared to freeze in place, his wingspan spread boldly behind him.

Heather gasped. Just when she thought he was going to plummet out of the air, he flapped again and switched places with the male to his right, who then hovered in the middle of the three as his wings glowed yellow for a heartbeat.

Then he traded spots with the male with butterfly wings, which glowed a shade of blue deeper than the sky.

Heather blinked and Skye swooped back to the forefront. His wings flared a brighter green as he spun and twisted as if he were performing a dance.

“What is happening?” Heather muttered to herself.

It was like they were acting out a show just for her.

It was beautiful, and she couldn’t help but notice how brilliant Skye shone in comparison to the others.

How his wingspan was the largest of the three.

But they needed to make haste! They should be on their way.

She was spared from that death-defying leap!

Moisture gathered in her eyes. But she searched the chamber worriedly for Fee.

“You’re the bright spot of this horrible day!” cried Heather from over the handrail.

Skye dropped down next to her on the balcony. She longed to wrap her arms around him. He no doubt saved her life!

“My dear, sweet Heather, I must insist ye join me at the faerie oak.”

Heather intended to interrupt him. She was, in fact, prepared to depart. Surprise and anxiety clouded her thoughts and twisted her tongue.

“I’ll spend the rest of my days making amends,” pledged the pixie solemnly.

Skye clutched her wrist and reapplied a warm kiss where it glowed.

Reaching up, he unbound the ribbon from her hair, sending her long locks tumbling down her back.

He moved incredibly fast, binding her wrists together and looped the ribbon around his neck!

In a flash, she was in his arms bridal style, and they were airborne.

A drawn out, thunderous yowl pierced Heather’s ears.

Fee!

In Skye’s embrace, she flinched. Heather’s heart thrashed against her ribcage like a trapped bird. The ginger feline had found its way into the library after all.

Fee’s bulk was immense, the cat hissed over the castle like a mythical dragon. The mouser swiped, her claws bared and gleaming under the combined light of the moon and Skye’s green glow.

Skye nimbly swerved away from the feline’s reach.

“Hold on to me,” commanded her champion. Heather held fast to the ribbon tethering them. With one arm he clasped her tightly about the waist and with the other he pulled his rapier from its holster, not once loosening his hold on her.

The cat hissed and swiped once more. As swift as lightning, Skye darted around the mouser, lunged and jabbed- pricking Fee’s rump with his weapon.

Hissing, Fee scurried in the opposite direction. Victorious, Skye shook with laughter, flying towards the fissure in the library window.

“Tarragon don’t forget to magick the castle,” he directed over his shoulder.

Heather peered back. The butterflied winged male flapped above her temporary home. A cornflower blue glimmer swirled around the keep… and then the impossible happened.

The castle shook and shuttered, reducing in scale incrementally. Until at last it was as small as an acorn. The male, Tarragon, bent down and retrieved it.

“This way, we’ll bring a little of your home to faerie,” Skye explained.

“It’s my first gift to ye” He whispered.

His milky green eyes locked with hers, a secret promise held within.

Skye’s pixie dust was aglow, the motes glittering snowflakes, coating her skin.

She had to stretch and wipe it from her eye, which proved difficult with her arms bound around his neck.

“What… you. I was all set to depart…” She was overcome by the last few moments. The attack from Fee happened within heartbeats. She had avoided death twice in a single chime.

“Did he just dust her?! This is growing serious!” jested the blond male with a laugh and wide eyes.

What did that mean? What was happening?

“First the dance and then the dust ‘n’ glow…Skye’s a doomed male,” snarked Tarragon.

Heather tried to blink the dust from her vision to see where they were flying off to.

In Skye’s arms, they passed through the window crevice in moments.

A journey that would have taken her, who knows how long on foot.

The smell of bergamot once again engulfed her, the scent overwhelmingly potent.

Her eyes rolled back in her head. She fell limp against Skye’s toned body.

He tightened his grip and held her unyieldingly closer.

“Skye, REALLY? I’m going to stink like you for days,” groused Tarragon.

The bergamot was literally an aroma Skye effused.

Heather was learning a great deal from Skye’s companions.

She was bursting with burning questions, but could barely think and keep her eyes open, much less string along a sentence.

As they zipped through the dark countryside, her eyelids drooped heavily, her surroundings fading to black.

She felt her body go slack and heavy against Skye’s chest.