Hall Of The Fae King

Chapter One

“You cannot deny the truth that is your family.”

– Lor San Tekka

His inhale is so intense it stretches and expands and pains him, the freezing air shards against his throat. Stretching muscles, his lungs and stomach against ribs and skin, he breathes in so deep that the pain is deliberate. The pain, the pressure, the beating of his heart felt in his head, all intentional, and he holds it.

Bawling his sheets in his fists, he holds the breath. He holds the pain, incidentally feeling a release in this… a freedom. He closes his eyes, wanting the moment to stop, to stay this way forever. He should have the power to do that right? As the Fae King of this realm? But no… not quite.

As long as his body lets him, he doesn’t let this moment end. They had shared a dream again… and it was getting louder, clearer - the images, the thoughts, the ideals… echoing through his mind, spreading through his soul like a crack in glass.

In their last encounter, their last meeting in mutual Soulscape, it was made very clear she thought it all a fantasy. She had no idea who he truly was… who and what he was, had become, and continues to be. She smiled and spoke with him happily, unabashedly… and in this blip of time he felt truly himself - felt not as The King, but as Eaden… just Eaden.

He exhales his breath through pinched lips until there is nothing left. His body void of all air, his chest and stomach caving in on itself. Then with a desperate, ragged gasp, he whispers to her, “Because darling without you…,” though, she is far, far away.

The King holds this world, this realm, the city and beyond, all in his hands. He has the shine of The Sun, the control of its power, the gift of magiks only his bloodline manifested from the Oversoul, and yet…. It will never be enough.

All rays of The Sun above, all the stars he could steal from the night sky, would never be enough. This towering kingdom of gold, this realm and all its people – the influence, the honor, it had never been enough.

Open eyes unseeing in the pitch-black bedchambers, he wishes he had the power to make his dreams a reality. That he could change himself so fundamentally, so quickly, that from one moment to the next he would be someone else. But no… the Darkness suffocating - literally surrounding him, literally shrouding him while he moves through this existence; the deepest, Darkness parts of the Oversoul had started creeping in long ago and made quite a home there.

It is simply in his blood, sweat, and tears - his primary makeup of being, of soul, of heart - or lack thereof, of the source of his magiks. From his father, to his grandpere, and beyond… a long, heartless, and rather cruel line of kings that in their ‘questionable’ acts made this realm, this world – their home safe, secure, and stable.

A Fae Kingdom is not something to be tampered with; the connection to the Oversoul and its subsequential magiks needing to be of pure source and continued essence… needing to come from one source and one source alone. In this case: The Sun. Therefore, the people who decide to stay within the realms’ boundaries have to follow the rules. Purebloods, pure practices, pure intentions… as pure as the white light of The Sun’s core.

That is the only way. As king, as the ruler who resides in The Solar Palace, it is easy to tell when someone isn’t right, when something is not pure, not stable, not safe.

And so the Darkness creeped into his heart, making him realize that like his father before him, like his grandpere even more… he had to keep the land pure. No humans, no half-breeds, just Solar Fae and only Solar Fae.

Purity leads to safety. Safety leads to security. Security leads to stability. Stability leads to order.

Eaden hadn’t even given a second thought on how to achieve this. The King has been doing the same thing for generations, so why change something that’s not broken? Though the last Raids had been done some five years previous, it had been one of his first acts as The King.

His late father had been proud. His late father made him feel worthy of the position he was given. His late father made him feel like in these hard-to-understand-actions he belonged.

At the thought Eaden’s hands come to his face and he rubs his eyes. These dreams… this female…. They had a connection. A connection that only started three years ago, sure, but a connection, nonetheless. A connection, in fact, that seems to strengthen every wakeless night.

Clarity from the Oversoul: A dyad.

She is so obviously his equal. He can feel the magiks within her, clearly and purely and strongly as he feels the magiks within himself. She calls to him… and yet… is she even real?

Or… had she just been a new hope, now long lost. The forgotten dream that he could follow the path of Light, follow the beliefs of the Righteous, that he could change the way he rules, casting rays of light through every inch of darkness. Is she just a manifestation, perhaps… that last little part of his heart searching for peace, for sanctuary, for truth and honor.

Perhaps… just a dream.

*

Pulling the kiln goggles off her eyes and tossing them across the wooden slab of a table, her chest heaves with exhaustion and she wipes sweat from her brow. This was the quickest deadline to date but a significant one at that. Misses Lionheart needed the set of twelve plates (four of three different sizes), eight bowls (four of two different sizes), and eight teacups with matching saucers as a gift for her petite fille’s wedding.

Misses Lionheart had been one of her first customers way back when she’d come to market from The Farmhouse, recognizing how unique and how magikal her items were within moments. Within the last five years since her first trip into the city, Misses Lionheart proceeded to buy her stands’ stock more than once. The elder Fae always nice to leave a tip for all her hard work - blood, sweat, tears, and Oversoul magiks that went into each piece that was made.

It was that sweet lady’s word of mouth that made her stand so popular and that matriarch had been the first of many to suggest to Le Conseil that she be allowed to live and work and sell in The Trade District. Surrielle had this life - the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly, all because of her – living the last three years solely in the city.

Though, all this time within Ville De Lumière’s limits were quite nerve racking if she was honest. Any time she must venture out for supplies or even take a walk around Fontaine De Torche Solaire on her time off, she was alert and wary of passersby. Any time an Official or city guard was in her vicinity she tried to make herself as invisible as possible.

Luckily, her carefully chosen clothes covered her so thickly that her true body shape couldn’t be recognized. Plus, when choosing the colors, she stayed as far away from white and pastels as possible for they make her less-than-pale skin more vibrantly tan. Most of the time others saw her in her work garb, anyway, which included a heavy protective apron and a mess of soot and material everywhere. No one had ever noticed she was not a Pureblood. Really, with having such strong magiks… why would they ever guess she was less than such?

But… as a matter of fact, not even just a little less than Pure, but straight half-and-half: Her late Fae father having died in The Raids for bringing her mortal mother to live at The Farmhouse.

Surrielle’s existence had always been kept secret, however… almost as if her parents knew this was to be her future - that she actually had a chance, that she could actually live a life worth living, worth having.

She hadn’t any close friends growing up, she had a mixed education from her parents, and any trade or skill she may have learned and practiced was practical and helpful to their day-to-day life. Rarely did her father help her connect with the Oversoul, putting to use her power of intuition, creativity, and observation. (Those were things she had to learn on her own as she matured.)

This was all purposefully done not just to give her freedom to follow the passion passed down to her from her father for crafting beautiful works of art out of clay or whatever material that was paid for, but living in the realm, safe in the walls of Ville De Lumière. Her father had always looked at her with twinkling eyes, a calloused palm against her cheek, often saying “My dearest… you will change everything.”

Surrielle smiles softly at the memory… he had been so hopeful, so full of wonder, yet a little out of touch with reality. Surrielle is a Half-blood and if that was ever to be found out, she’d be killed without hesitation. In her mind there was no way she could make any change other than little ones in her customers lives. She sighs… knowing her father’s words were probably just a dream every father had for their child.

Stretching, wiggling, bending, cracking, she moves in all sorts of ways before lifting from her work bench. It was surely time to get into a hot bath, letting her muscles relax after such a long and intense journee. And maybe, she smiles to herself, maybe she’ll have another lovely dream about Le Garcon.

It was easy knowledge - and knowledge she had truly accepted after The Raids - that she is to live her life… her life and only her life. No romantic interest is in her future, there simply can’t be. Even if a male agreed to and could look past her blood status and physical flaws, it would endanger him in such a way Surrielle could never live with herself. So, her hopelessly romantic and desperate heart had created Le Garcon for her to dream with… for her to daydream with, to fantasize about… to give her some comfort that maybe after she’s passed on from this world, he would be waiting and she would finally know what love is.

In record time, she’s upstairs and easing into her bath, her eyes closing and her thoughts drifting go to Le Garcon. He was as perfectly Fae as one could be.

Not just one of the tallest, but one of the perfectly proportioned males she’d ever seen, his thin body strong with toned muscles. His skin pale and clear - no marks of any kind, not even laugh lines or frown wrinkles or dimples from a smirk, and in great contrast to his dark hair. Black like the night sky she could see beyond the edge of the world, his full – almost curly hair was a mane, a dark halo around his stunning face. The short but thick beard really was the only sign of any personality other than the expressions seen in his piercing, icy eyes.

That was most unique, most special, most… wonderful thing about him - his eyes. Not the way he carried himself, not the way he spoke about his education, not the finest of fabrics he wore. But his eyes… so intense, so pure, and the way he looks at her is always with a sense of wonder and love, lust and joy, fixation and infatuation, curiosity and patience.

With her gift of Etude, she was able to read his aura as simple as a recipe. He had power within him; he had a strength that was obvious. But it was seeded from Darkness and he hates this. So, Surrielle, in every dream, tries her damnest to let him feel Light, to let him explore the good in him! The goal that maybe, someday, the Light and Righteousness would expand to the point he no longer felt pained.

What was love without a little struggle? Surrielle was not a woman of perfection… down to her very core, and so neither would be her other half.