A Discovery of Secrets and Fate, page 20
When we reach the palace, there’s a lot of bustle and activity—fae walking in and out of the main keep and using the drawbridge to cross the moat of blue-green water.
The drawbridge is made of some sort of smooth, white crystal and while it looks delicate, holds our weight fine. The inner keep is floored with more smooth crystal inset with tiles of marble, a far cry from the dirty, dusty ground you see in most medieval keeps. The castle is more texturized. Also made with white crystal, it’s rough cut in large chunks and boulders, stacked in haphazard order and bonded to each other with thick veins of silver.
It’s just so… weird.
My next shock is in seeing that fae come in all sizes. Back in the Earth realm, I’d seen mostly human-sized creatures except for the Concordia daemon, who was merely super petite.
As we walk across the bridge, drawing obvious stares and frowns, I’m stunned by tiny creatures we have to make sure we don’t step on or run over. Some are surly-looking gnomes such as we met just a bit ago, but there are also tiny flying fae, which I assume are what would be considered our equivalent of an actual fairy like Tinker Bell.
I’m fascinated by them flitting about, no more than five inches in height. They wear brightly colored dresses that are patterned with stiff-looking tutus that flare out at mid-thigh. Some have sparkles and gems dotted all over their outfits, others have ribbons trailing from sleeves and hips, and still others have silk flowers sewn onto the fabric. The tops of their dresses are all styled the same in that they are strapless and cut low in back to make room for four gossamer wings—long and oval—that give them flight.
Their facial features are delicate with thin little noses, big eyes, and heart-shaped mouths. They all have varying colors of hair of pastel colors—lavender, peach, mint green, and light blue, and it’s worn in buns on top of their heads so as not to interfere with the tiny wings beating at their back.
They look sweet and harmless, yet one buzzed by my ear and called out, “Nasty human”.
I was crushed, and I think Peter Pan and Tinker Bell are forever ruined for me.
It was a learning experience for me. I’ve had that sweet fizzy feeling with every Light Fae that passed me, but I’ve learned that doesn’t make them good or nice in the slightest. Luckily, I was able to start ignoring the sensation, pushing it to the back of my mind. As Zaid had made clear, just because fae are deemed light doesn’t make them good.
The human-looking fae who are regular sized run the gamut. Pretty to stunning for the women and handsome to gorgeous for the men. Zaid had told me that not all Light Fae are beautiful, just as all Dark Fae are not ugly. However, outside of the grumpy gnome, I feel like we’ve walked into fashion week in Milan.
Everyone is perfectly proportioned and beautiful in unique ways. What I find to be most fascinating though is the style of dress. I had no clue what to expect. Would they be wearing clothes that resembled modern earth?
When I saw the medieval architecture of the castle, I thought perhaps they would be old fashioned with women in gowns and men in breeches, stockings, and waistcoats. Instead, the fashion—at least on the females—is modern and outlandish all at the same time. The females wear dresses for the most part, but they absolutely look like some of the bizarre couture outfits seen on models walking the high-fashion runways.
“I feel like we’re walking into the Hunger Games Capital,” I muttered to Carrick, but he didn’t respond.
We pass one woman in a peach dress that is nothing but layer upon layers of foamy-looking ruffles that practically swirl around her. Across her bodice, over her shoulders, and around her back to make sort of a halo hood around her head and then back down to her knees. Truly, I can only see her face peeking out, which is done in precise yet bold makeup. Below her knees, she wears some type of hosiery that is studded with peach-colored gemstones. Her stride is effortless in platform heels that must be six inches in height.
I can’t help but look over my shoulder as she passes by so I can see the back of that concoction she’s wearing, but I promptly run into something big, hard, and immobile.
Bouncing backward, I turn to see what I hit, an apology already on my lips. It dies as soon as I spot a massive fae dressed in black leather pants, solid boots that are meant to crush ribs, and a black leather vest. His hair is long and black, and his eyes are, too. Not even any white showing.
He growls at me, reaching one arm behind his back. To my dismay, he pulls out a double-sided ax that must have been holstered there.
“Human,” he snarls. How I don’t pee my pants is beyond me. I’m stunned and frozen, and it never occurs to me to pull out my whip or dagger.
Luckily, Carrick is there, placing himself right in front of me. The fae has a good five inches on Carrick. I’m betting he also has double the arm and leg circumference. He has muscles growing on top of muscles.
The man’s eyes light on Carrick, and he immediately takes a wary step back. I can’t see Carrick’s expression, and I have to peek around him to the left to see the fae, who is lowering his weapon to point to the ground.
“This woman is under my protection,” Carrick announces, not just to the brute of a fae who I know without a doubt would have sliced me in half without an ounce of regret, but loud enough that any fae walking or flying by can hear. “An insult to her is an insult to me. An affront to her is an affront to me. I suggest you pass this word along as I don’t relish spilling your black blood in the queen’s home.”
The fae starts walking backward, almost tripping over a gnome, before pivoting away and melting into the crowd.
“Damn,” I drawl in appreciation. “You have some major clout here.”
“Or I just talk a big game,” Carrick suggests drolly.
Perhaps to avoid this again, he ends up taking my hand in his. He urges me to walk close to his side as we make our way across the inside bailey and up a set of marbled steps to the front double doors. They’re massive, at least twelve feet in height, and each door appears to be molded from silver and inlaid with chunks of more of the white crystal.
Before we can knock or even look for a doorbell, the left door swings slowly open and a male fae appears. He’s also big, but not as big as the guy with the ax. His dress suggests he’s military as he has white pants tucked into black boots and a blood-red jacket with gold epaulets on the shoulders. It’s rather a sedate ensemble compared to what I’ve seen.
“Carrick,” the man says in a deep rumble. It’s a greeting and clearly Carrick is well known here.
“Rebsha,” Carrick replies. “I’d like an audience with the queen.”
The fae’s eyes come to me and I’m slightly surprised by the lack of hostility there, but he doesn’t say anything. I wonder if he somehow heard Carrick’s proclamation in the bailey, or if he knows Carrick well enough to realize I wouldn’t be with him without sound reason.
He takes a few steps back, then bids us inside with a sweep of his hand. As the door shuts behind us, I’m momentarily stunned by how cavernous the inside of the castle is. The ceiling goes up probably a hundred feet, and it slopes inward on all sides like the inside of a cathedral.
I immediately realize the inside structure doesn’t match the squared exterior we walked into. My assumption is magic makes the exterior look a certain way to appease the queen, and the interior a different way for the same reason.
The castle’s length goes back just as far with random spiral or sweeping staircases that lead up to other floors. Except not really other floors, but doorways that lead into the sloping ceiling to who knows where. It feels almost a little Alice in Wonderland-ish. The flooring is surprisingly not crystal, but a white marble with silver-gray veins running through it.
There are a few fae walking around—the women are pretty and the men cute—but by no means so dramatically beautiful as some of the other fae I’ve already encountered. They are dressed in what I would consider dull attire. Plain gray or brown dresses for the women and loose pants and tunics for the men. I’m guessing servants, and I assume this is representative of the lower class of Light Fae. Despite the dull colors of their clothing, they actually pop out against all the white and silver of the interior of the castle. Perhaps that was the reason for being monotone in her design of her home. She certainly likes colors to shock and awe.
“The queen is very busy today,” Rebsha drawls as he starts walking down the long hall past various staircases until he comes to a room on the right with a—go figure—crystal door. He opens it, then motions us inside. “Wait in here, and I will see if she will entertain you. Would you like any refreshments?”
This question, of course, was asked to Carrick and I was ignored. Carrick declines though, and I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t trust I won’t be poisoned, or he just wants to hasten things along. Regardless, I’m all for making this quick and getting out of this place.
The door shuts behind Rebsha, and I take a moment to look around.
Holy shit… I think we’re in a throne room. The area is long, rectangular, and devoid of any furniture except for four chairs at one end of the room. While crystal isn’t the prevalent material, the walls are white wooden paneling, and the flooring is the same marble as in the large hall. There’s a raised, three-level dais made of bleached wood polished to a high gloss. On the top level sits a feminine gold-and-silver chair with the seat and back cushions done in white silk. On the next level, to the right of the top chair, sits another in the same colors and material, but in a more masculine style, meaning it was slightly larger with thicker armrests and legs. On the level lowest to the floor, to the left of the top chair, sit two chairs side by side, exact replicas of the first two chairs but not quite as big.
Clearly, that’s where the royal family sits when they attend an audience.
There’s not much else to the room, but it’s overly large, so I imagine it might be a gathering place for announcements and such.
Turning back to Carrick, I ask, “Was that fae—Rebsha—a general in the queen’s military or something?”
“There’s no military,” Carrick replies. “Hasn’t been a need for a while, but if you’re asking because of what he’s wearing, you’ll find there are no fashion trends here at all. It’s all about being different and garnering attention.”
“Weird,” I murmur, walking past Carrick to the far wall where there’s a window framed in silver. When I look out, I realize we’re on the right-hand side of the keep. Nothing but rolling hills and the teal river winding lazily to the horizon. I glance over my shoulder to Carrick. “Where does everyone live? I don’t see any other houses or businesses. Surely all these fae we’ve seen don’t live here in the castle, right?”
Carrick strides toward me, giving a slight shake of his head. “Queen Nimeyah didn’t want anything built within her eyesight.”
“It must take visitors forever to get here,” I ponder out loud.
“Not the nobility or gentry that can bend distance,” Carrick replies. “It would take them but a flash of a second to travel from their home to here on business. The lower class that come here to work usually travel via horse, although there are some servants that reside on the grounds in dormitories at the back of the property.”
I glance up to the ceiling, which is about twelve feet above us, and start walking the length of the room toward the dais. There’s a huge clear crystal chandelier above. “And how are things powered here? I didn’t see any electrical poles or wires outside.”
Carrick leans up against the windowsill, pushing his hands down into his pockets. “Magic, which is how most stone-created realms have modern amenities. As for Faere, the royals, nobles, and gentry can easily accomplish it, but the lower class live pretty primitively.”
“And does this queen have the strength of magic to provide power to the lower classes?” I query, wondering why a ruler would allow such a disparity if the ability to provide it was there.
Carrick nods, his lips pressed flat. “Her power is immense. I imagine she could do so easily if she so chose.”
But clearly, the well-being of her subjects isn’t important to her. I’m thinking this ruler of Faere isn’t benevolent at all if she can’t even provide something as simple as electricity or running water to her people.
“I choose not to,” a regal but imperious female voice says from the direction of the door. I never heard it open, yet a fae woman I can only guess is Queen Nimeyah is walking through.
Words cannot describe her magnificence. I’ve hated everything I’ve seen about Faere because of its over-the-top artificial beauty, but there is nothing artificial about this queen. If anything, she seems to emanate real life in an authentic way.
She doesn’t look warm, by any means. It’s just that she looks like she means what she says and doesn’t care about putting on airs. She might want her land, her castle, and her clothing to look a certain way, but I can tell by her bearing and those first few words out of her mouth that she is not fake at all. I suppose, though, being the supreme power in the land with no one to rise against her, she can afford to be completely transparent with no fear of reprisal.
The queen is first and foremost breathtakingly beautiful. While I know her to be immortal, she looks to be no more than her mid-thirties. Her hair is blacker than the darkest night and when the sun glints off it from the windows, there’s a blue shimmer to the pitch color. Defined eyebrows of black that are arched in a way that lends her a continuous air of confidence and power. Her eyes are the palest blue, reminding me of the color of glaciers and seem just as cold. The queen’s face, like all the fae I’ve seen, is perfection, yet hers seems to put the other beautiful fae to shame. Have her strut around earth for any length of time and she’d be on the cover of every magazine as the most beautiful woman in the world.
Nimeyah is a statuesque woman but not rail thin. She’s absolutely filled out in all the right ways, as accentuated by her clothing. Despite her penchant for the color white and silver, she’s dressed mostly in black. It’s a full-length formal gown that fits tight through the bodice with heavy folds of black satin on the bottom, except the front panel of what would be the skirt portion is cut out. Had she not been wearing anything underneath, she’d be naked from the navel downward, but, as it stands, she has on a pair of tight black leather pants that are so painted on, not a crease or fold can be seen anywhere on her long legs.
The top portion of the dress has what looks like black metal feathers sewn on with the tips pointed upward in an alternating pattern so as to resemble wings on her chest. They rise past her shoulders where I assume they are perhaps soldered together so they flare out to either side of her head. The bodice is cut in an extremely low V-shape, and it’s fitted to plump up what are very ample breasts.
Her hair is pulled up into a mass on top of her head in big curls and loose locks, giving her a bit of a romantic edge, but the black leather and thigh-high boots with four-inch heels obliterate that into making her not only beautiful, but also incredibly badass.
For a moment, I want to curtsy as Carrick had teased was required, and I was actually a little fearful of looking her in the eye, knowing how much the fae hate humans, especially since her powers are basically limitless. She could probably kill me with a snap of her fingers, and Carrick couldn’t prevent it.
The queen walks straight to Carrick without glancing at me once. Her expression is stony, her eyes piercing. My heart is in my throat wondering if she’ll just strike him dead for talking about the way she rules behind her back.
Carrick is not cowed. In fact, he stands straight and unyielding with his hands clasped behind his back.
She comes toe to toe with him, and I hold my breath for the possibility of anything.
The queen’s mouth then breaks into a wide smile as she places her hands on Carrick’s shoulders, genuinely pleased to see him.
“Carrick,” she purrs, leaning in to kiss him on one cheek, then the other. “It’s been far too long since you graced us.”
She pulls back, staring at him expectantly.
“My apologies,” he replies with a tip of his head. “You know the gods keep me hopping.”
The queen waves a hand dismissively. “Those boors. You should come to work for me.”
“Why ever would I do that when your realm is in full peace and you are clearly ruling in splendor?” he returns.
“Despite the fact I don’t provide power to my people?” she asks, her eyes flashing with ire.
“Merely stating a truth,” he intones. “I offered no opinion on it.”
“True,” she replies and takes another step back, this time clasping her hands in front of her. “Now, what is it you needed to see me about?”
“Mother,” a female voice exclaims with excitement. I turn toward the doorway to see a woman rushing in that looks almost identical to Queen Nimeyah, except perhaps ten years younger in appearance. I immediately know this must be the daughter, Deandra. “Someone said Carrick was here.”
She is dressed nothing like her mother, and I’m shocked at how revealing her outfit is. It’s a bright orange dress with red swirls. It seems to be made up of nothing but scarves of the thinnest, most see-through silk. They are wrapped horizontally around her chest but only high enough to barely cover her areolas, but that doesn’t really matter as the material is transparent enough to see them anyway, along with budded nipples. A piece comes diagonally across her stomach with more wrapping so low on her hips there’s no doubt she waxes. For the skirt piece, it’s nothing but long swaths of the orange-red material that hangs down over her crotch, the sides of her thighs, and presumably in the back to cover some of her ass. Thankfully, the scarves on the skirt seem to be a little thicker and I can’t see her lady bits.
I am absolutely stunned at the overt sexuality of her outfit, but horrified as she lands eyes on Carrick and they turn predatory. She starts a long stride in high heels toward him, the momentum causing the scarves around her waist to billow back. As she passes me, I can indeed see her ass is bare on the other side when the scarves flutter out.
