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twenty-nine

Shadowed Reflections

H eather anxiously coiled the ribbon of her sleeve around her finger. Skye flapped his wings vigorously, as they flew to his ancestral home. Which was situated at the very top of the faerie tree, on the opposite side of the ribbon ceremony site.

Although she had met the majority of his family, she buzzed with unease. Having no father figure of her own, with the only representation of male authority- the human king… she had cause for her disquiet.

Rhoden’s description of the male as ‘not someone ye would want to disappoint,’ made a stone drop to the bottom of her stomach.

And Skye referring to the male as ‘His Majesty,’ not ‘Father’ only yesterday was notable.

If she were in a body of water, she’d surely sink to the depths under the weight of her own agitation.

Would this male be disappointed when his princely son brought home a peasant? A peasant human at that?

Skye took note of her fiddling and reinforced his embrace, drawing her near so he could lower the crown of his head flush with her own. His entire countenance softened when their eyes collided.

“Let your heart not be troubled. I’ve told him all about ye. He’ll be pleased to make your acquaintance at long last. I vow it.” His calm gaze unwavering in its steadfastness.

She endeavored to still her hands, wrapping them securely around Skye’s neck and interlacing her fingers at his nape.

“He may appear a little strict…or overbearing… but you’ll get to know him.” Skye grimaced, realizing his statement would do nothing to soothe Heather’s twisting insides.

They fluttered past vast lead diamond-paned windows and balconies jutting right out of the surface of the expansive rugged tree trunk.

Skye lowered them to a large landing platform carved into the bark.

The space was shrouded by a grand arch of blooming wisteria vines.

The whittled pavement met Heather’s feet, and the couple ascended stairs arm in arm.

Sage flags decorated with the Ashwoode insignia rustled in the breeze.

She lifted her mint green skirt with a delicate hand, paying attention to each of her steps, fearing she’d miss one and trip gracelessly.

This gown was new, one of her favorites.

Featuring paned sleeves and cherry blossom pink ribbon ties at each elbow.

At the very least, she felt confident in her form of dress.

She was bedecked in a fashion worthy of meeting a king, determined to make a good first impression.

Wisps of her dark locks brushed her face, the air against her skin, a wonderful reprieve from the summer humidity.

She wore her hair loose with a braid around her crown, weaved with her wish ribbon.

Ella had arranged the pearls gifted by Skye through her thick tresses.

Outwardly, she was prepared. But her mind was a tangle.

The tall archway gave way to a corridor feeding into a cavernous great hall. Torches lined the interior at intervals, sustained by bright majestic white light, so unearthly it was undoubtedly not flame. Artwork and tapestries adorned the carvings of the inner tree cavern, one after another.

Saylor raced towards them on swift feet. “Skye! I need your aid!” He grabbed Skye’s hand, pulling him from the chamber. Skye peered over his shoulder, his gaze a plea for her forgiveness. “I’ll be but a moment!”

Heather strode over to a prominent tapestry spanning the first section of the great hall wall.

The enormity of it made her feel incredibly small.

As if she were newly shrunk and among human giants once more.

The woven artwork depicted a nocturnal scene of women fleeing through a wild faerie terrain.

Their stark ivory chemises shone as beacons in contrast to the pitch-black threads of the night.

Pixie males hounded them in feral pursuit, fluttering on their own wings and atop vivid hummingbirds.

A woman was the focus of the piece, her mane, am untamed gold tangle escaping the broad braided plait running down her back, so overlong, it swept the damp ground.

Her chemise was scandalously sheer, her peach pebbled breasts were in full view through her sodden garment.

She was devastatingly lovely, with luscious rosy lips slightly parted in fear as she peered behind her at the descending horde.

The stranger’s cheeks were flushed pink, Heather guessed that her hair appeared how one does after they had just been thoroughly tumbled in bed.

Heather herself was blushing wildly as she absorbed the scene.

She fought not to avert her eyes, while simultaneously unable to tear her gaze away.

It was a brazen work of art, unabashedly on display where the masses would convene in the great hall.

The tapestry woman’s attention was riveted on one male. He was perched on the back of an emerald hummingbird, garbed entirely in black. His form melding with the shadows. A hunter. There was no doubt the golden-haired woman was his prey.

With one hand, the male gripped his steed’s halter, and in the other he clenched a lengthy, sage wish ribbon.

He exuded a lethal aura. Heather fought a smile, she had thought Skye a deadly predator the night of their first meeting.

Green moth wings protruded from below his wide shoulders, jutting from under flowing silver hair.

His jaw and profile familiar. He and Skye could be twins!

Heather’s eyes widened as she stepped forward to take a closer look.

“We Ashwoodes have come a long way.” A deep voice sounded beside her.

Heather’s vision moved from the tapestry to the pixie now standing at her side, a male as tall as Skye, who shared most of his features.

Apart from his hair- which was the shade of a starless night.

And atop those dark locks was a silver crown formed into a weave of Ash sapling branches entwined, five points of leaves alight by pinpricks of white light.

Skye’s father. Remembering her manners, she hastily curtsied.

“We used to claim, now we request. Progress in my eyes.” The faerie king possessed the hauteur that was synonymous with royalty, at least in Heather’s experience and estimation.

He straightened a lace cuff as fine as spider silk, with deft fingers.

The steel shade of his jacket and tunic hinted at his demeanor.

He regarded her in consideration. His height, twofold her own.

Had they progressed? She contemplated the tapestry scene, comparing it to the eve Skye employed her own wish ribbon to bind her wrists, absconding her off to faerie.

And then the image of Skye’s striking bottle green eyes absorbed by the black of his pupils, overtaken by his desire after discovering her in the Mushlunds.

Perhaps these males had made progress- but she judged them as equally feral for the women they wanted to claim.

“It’s the life goal of every Luna moth to discover their bonded, historically at any cost.” The male peered up at what was his obvious ancestor, his hands braced nobly behind his back.

“The night of the Flower Fete was formerly the eve our ancestors would hunt for brides,” he motioned to the tapestry.

“Males claimed the Flower Moon fed their ferity and deepened the heart bond. But alas, history is owned by those who scribed it.” A smug huff.

He turned to face her, his expression grave, “I’ll put this simply.

Do ye love my son?” His inquisitive eyes penetrated.

It astonished her, how they were the same shade as Skye’s, only glacial.

Lacking the warmth of Skye’s green orbs that she held so dear.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he could see straight into the depths of her heart.

The muscle in her chest beat in over time.

She inhaled deeply, mentally gathering her strength.

“I do. More than I can express.”

He locked eyes with her for a moment, then refocused on woven art on the wall, “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my son. I have a prime concern, however.” He paused, perhaps to hold her captive in her own anticipation.

After several heartbeats of silence, “Are ye prepared to age beside him? Inevitably withering away- with Skye all the while remaining youthful as he is now?” He cleared his throat, his moth wings rustling.

Another uncanny resemblance of Skye. He placed her arm around his and led her further into the hall.

Her feet felt heavy, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to go where this male would lead.

They paused before a cluster of gilded mirrors.

“Imagine how painful it would be to have to stand aside and watch the one ye love slowly perish?”

Heather stilled at his side before the looking glasses, her face an example of the perfect bloom of health.

As she peered in- her image fell into decay, the acceleration of the effects of time reflecting back.

Her countenance now lined with age, her spine stooped, and her hair faded from her usual chestnut to a swath of gray.

She inhaled sharply, the swift change stealing the breath from her lungs.

The king’s eternal youth and cold beauty a sharp prick in her chest. A cruel visual reminder of her own mortality.

“That’s what your actions are setting Skye up to endure.

Because what is humanity but death? Ye take a step toward your own demise with every inhale ye draw.

Your life span is but a breath in our infinity of time.

” He waved his hand, his white light dissipating the harsh reflection.

Her present face stared back from the glass once more. She let loose a long, ragged sigh.

She didn’t like his depressing overview of humanity. She fought the urge to fidget with her hands. She must appear exceedingly frail to him. Evanescent. Fleeting. Nothing more than a delicate dandelion in the wind.

He allowed her to stew in silence. He had offered up a cold stone, hard truth.

Her imagination once again escaped her grasp.

She pictured Skye preparing her for her eternal resting place, resigning to endure without her evermore.

For another human lifetime or two. Who knew how long the lifespan was for faeries.

“Despite my reservations- the fact is, my son loves ye. He has chosen ye. But mull over what I have said.” He lowered his gaze to her wish ribbon.

“Ye have choices of your own to consider.” And with that he offered her his arm anew, cruel abrasive conversation all but forgotten.

If only her feelings were mended as easily.

Weeks ago, she most likely would have cowered before this ruling male, who cared only for his son.

But now… she refused to make herself small.

She wasn’t going to shy away from the mutual adoration she and Skye felt and deserved.

She straightened her shoulders and willed her spine, liking it to unbreakable iron.

“We do love one another, and not even you will tear that love asunder.” She didn’t flinch from his steely, domineering gaze.

Skye’s familiar scent greeted Heather before she caught a glimpse of the male. He rushed towards them, hand in hand with Saylor, the females of his family following close behind.

Heather put their discussion aside. “Is everything well?” she asked Saylor and Skye with a smile. The former nodded his head. “Saylor’s most recent crisis has been averted.” Skye’s gaze shifted between Heather and his father, a hint of concern marking his brow.

“Dinner awaits.” announced Camellia. Skye replaced his father’s arm with his own, escorting her into a separate dining hall, trailing the remainder of their party.