Hall Of The Fae King

Chapter Two

“Don’t give up hope. He still might show up.”

– Rey

Cracking his neck, The King stretches and rolls all the body parts he can. His traditional riding armor is to come next and unfortunately it is rather restricting. It protects him, as intended, in addition to making direct Oversoul power seep through him. Drawing from the Darkness he gains confidence, his emotions seamlessly intertwining with the magiks the same as thread and fabric. He is The King and no one is to forget that.

Black robes with gold embroidery, the finest of materials and craftsmanship - only the best for La Famille Royale. Handed down from king to king, his bloodline reinforcing its status and structure, making it practically impenetrable. Next comes the black leather with burned crests and other designs that were kept only for Royale’s use. Finally comes the crown….

This is the best part, the best piece of all. This is what, at first, had made him feel like a true king, made him feel like the most powerful Fae ever known, made him feel invincible. It is a gold crown yes, with the largest and purest Sunstone right in the middle, but it also came around his face like a helmet. The intricate design of the metal leads for the strongest of magiks to spread, making his face unrecognizable - a golden statue.

But that was the point wasn’t it? He is The King. The King Fae of the realm. He isn’t a male, he isn’t Eaden, he is The King.

In this vingt-quatre heures, The King is to go with a small group of his most trusted men and locate and interrogate a man sourced to know not only a list of Impurities but was aiding and abetting in their safety. The King’s men had already done as much footwork as possible but now it is his turn.

His men’s duties were to find the man and bring him to The King’s feet. Then he would do what he was trained to do - raised to do: interrogate until death. It is one of the worst - maybe the worst - crimes against the Crown, against The King, the Realm… to help or be anything but a Pureblood Solar Fae.

There are many accounts of him helping the Impurities of all kinds - partial bloods, Half-bloods, mortals - finding homesteads towards The Outer Rim, (where there is almost no sunlight). There are accounts of him helping the Impurities having magiks put upon them to hide their ugly features, (if they have curves, if they have spotted skin, if they have dark or mixed eyes, etcetera….). There are accounts of this male opening portals to let Impurities out but also in.

The King waits by the gate as his men kick down the door and spread through the house. Within moments the male is brought to the feet of The King’s horse and forced to his knees. The male, who looks The King straight in the eye does not waiver, does not seem fearful, does not lower his head in a makeshift bow. No, he stares The King straight in the eye letting him know that he does not feel he is in the wrong, does not feel he is beneath The King, does not feel anything but pride and spite.

What a pity, The King thinks, looking at the male’s features, he is so obviously a Pureblood. Pale skin, harsh bone structure, dark brown hair pulled into a low ponytail, and eyes the palest of sage.

The King in is his expressionless golden mask looks to his man holding the collar of the traitor. His knight nods and says “This is him, Sire, and he had already admitted to his crimes. The others are looking to see if we can find a list.”

The King sighs. With a wave of his hand, a slightly altered voice corrects, “There will be no physical list… he will have had it destroyed by now… it is all in his head.” Then the King slowly and gracefully comes down from his steed.

Towering over the male, The King opens a palm. The monotone, almost metallic voice speaks from the mask, “Will you speak when spoken to by your king or will you be insuring torture?”

The Fae, who suddenly looks very aged, spits, “You are not my king.”

Pacing, he gestures within his open hand and speaks clearly: “I am The King Fae of this Solar Realm, you live within my walls, you are to follow the proper code of conduct or be subject to the consequences.”

His lip curls, “Solar Realm perhaps, but you have plagued this land with nothing but Darkness.”

No longer having fun, no longer wanting conversation, The King raises his hand directly to the aged Fae’s face. Only needing to close his eyes for a blink, all magiks are focused and active. Instantly the criminal Fae writhes in agony, letting out howls of pain as his chest lifts towards the sky. The King is not only making his spine slowly twist, he is as slowly crushing his lungs, and causing his heart to feel such pressure it’ll burst right there in his chest.

Then, all at once, it stops. The male drops to the grass twitching as the Dark Oversoul magiks are lifted from him. Tears rolling down his cheeks, his mouth wide open, gasping for air, his hands curling to his chest…. Looking rather like a fetus, he curls himself like a worm in the dirt.

The King lowers to a crouch. “I do not have the patience to drag you all the way back to The Solar Palace. Instead, you will be dying here, in this very spot.

“But first, you will feel pain… worse than what I have just provided for you. The choice is in your hands…. Give us a list - names, just names, and I will make your heart burst within a moment. Or…” and his hand curls from one breath to the next and the Fae feels his body mangling within. “Your choice….”

Either the male is going to tell him these names of Impurities or The King is going to have to strip the memories, each process equal in time and magiks wasted.

*

Ringing of her shops’ doorbell brings Surrielle’s attention to Misses Lionheart’s entrance. “Salut!” she smiles broadly.

The elderly Fae shuffles in, in all the beautiful flowy layers of lavender, watercolor pink hair offsetting her grass green eyes. “Lady Surriel! How are you today, my dearest?”

Slipping off her thick, horsehide, heat-protecting gloves, Surrielle tucks them into her sturdy work apron and offers her hand. “I am wonderful, Madame Lionheart. And! Have all your pieces ready. Is Lilya excited?”

A tinkling laugh then she nods, “Most excited bride I’ve ever have seen, that one. So much spirit! Quite like yourself if you don’t mind me saying.”

Surrielle leads the wonderful matriarch over to the wedding dining set. “I even did the little roses… it took some time, but you can see them glinting there softly, subtly, just like you asked,” she explains softly shifting the plate up and down, side to side, to show of the iridescent designs around the edges.

The little old female puts a hand to her chest, “My, oh my…. I knew it, too, I was telling everyone. I knew that if anyone was ever going to get such beautiful subtle work done it was you! Some crafts people,” her nose wrinkles ever so slightly and she huffs, “too flashy. But you! Soft as a rose petal, just look!”

Surrielle bows and takes the last plate to the rest of the wrapped items. “Do you have your carriage or cart today, madame? I’ll carry out the items for -”

But then the shop bell rings again, announcing the arrival of another. A truly beautiful Fae walks in. Someone who had to be from one of the Purest Families… Surrielle vaguely notices some marks of The Household in her embroidery. Slowing, freezing, standing as straight and still as possible, Surrielle hides her petrifying fear with a smile, “Beinvenue,” she offers quietly.

Vibrant ruby robes, that are just slightly lighter than her complicatedly braided garnet hair, drift and flow as she glides through the display room before coming to the counter. Her long, flawless hands with painted nails of gold land softly together in front of her narrow hips, her pastel orange eyes blinking slowly as she surveys the crafts lady. “Miss Surrielle Sunsprite?”

Subtly adjusting her work clothes to cover as much as her as possible, Surrielle nods, “Yes, madame. How may I assist you today?”

“La Famille Royale has requested your services. There is going to be a banquet held in honor of The King’s twenty-fifth birthday and… your reputation reaches all the way to The Solar Palace, I should say. It’s quite a work order,” she eyes the small work space behind the counter, “but it’s only a mois away.”

Knowing it would be a crime within itself to straight up deny such a request, Surrielle puts her hands firmly on her hips. “I have a larger work area in the back, this is just for demonstrations or quick requests.”

Le Servante’s already thin lips come together and form almost a straight and narrow line from cheek to cheek. “Hmm.”

“Would you like to see some items? Or I can sketch up designs to your specifications, see if I’m even close to what you’re looking for. I am, after all, one of many in The Trade District.”

Her gaze softens, “Sketches, that sounds nice. We would need matte black plates with find gold vines around the edge and his family crest in the middle of each item,” and she actually pulls out fabric swatches to help describe what is needed and luckily one of them is of La Famille Royale crest.

Surrielle nods and takes the swatches and goes to the little work table to the left of the counter. She is always quick in her designs and this is easy enough. With her tuned Oversoul magiks she is basically able to copy and duplicate the crest onto the paper. She comes back to the counter with all the materials and then with a few deep breaths and closing her eyes to focus, she lifts the image from the page and is able to visually make a three-dimensional rendering of what she would produce.

Just for examination, hovering in the air, but a good use of magiks to help customers understand what they would be getting. The Fae is impressed by this and starts nodding and actually smiles, “Perfect! This is exactly what we need.” She reaches for a paper within the many layers of her dress. “Here’s the work order. And again, we will need all of these in a mois.”

Surrielle looks at the list and realizes that yes, the numbers are high, but, it is a lot duplicates. In this case, three sets: small plate, entree plate, goblet. Easier than what Misses Lionheart needed, if she’s honest. And matte black? Like that was a challenge, com’on now. The gold vine work would need to be different for each of the three but then could be copy and imprinted for the mass production. Same with the crest… she truly could get all this done in half the time! Two semaines, maybe less.

She does look up though, “Ah… and… how will… payment for materials be provided?” She didn’t dare ask about payment of her time, that would just be stupid, but to do right by this request she would need the finest of materials and that’s not something she could afford even during her busiest season.

Le Servante’s fingertips drift up her sleeve, lightly gathering the fabric towards her shoulder. She then goes just shy of the elbow and slips the mass of golden bangles off her wrist. With the metal clinking and sliding across the counter, she replies, “That should cover anything you require. We’ve already sourced where your materials will come from, it’s in the work order. And…” she smiles, her whole face softening, “we have added a little something for your time. We, of The Household at least, understand what it means to be giving all your time to something like this.”

Surrielle bows. “I will do my finest work.”

The Fae bows in return and leaves quickly.

Misses Lionheart, who is clutching at her layers of necklaces, has eyes wide on her. “Well… well, my lady…. My, oh my….”

Surrielle falls to the counter, her padded elbows falling hard against the wood, “Oh, Misses Lionheart…,” her head shaking in shock.

The elderly Fae shuffles over to the counter and leans against it. Looking back behind her, she’s hushed in her speech, “It’s not just because of his birthday, you know…. There was, well not exactly another Raid… but perhaps soon.” Her eyes are wide and horrified, but she is sturdy, a survivor even in her old age. “They have names… a whole list is the rumor, of Impurities. Poor Kenaz… poor, poor thing. We told him though… we told him what he was doing was going to come around… was going to come right around - we told him,” she sighs. “Poor thing.”

Surrielle is shocked still, truly frozen in place. “Another Raid? I thought… five years ago,” when her father died… that was it. That was supposed to be it. But… then again… here she stood.

Did this Kenaz know of her? Did Misses Lionheart know? Is she on that list? Surrielle shifts uncomfortably and hides herself more behind the counter and her crossed arms.

Miss Lionheart’s hand came over the counter, “Don’t you worry dear… just focus on your work. I know it’s… maybe not the bravest or most noble thing, turning a blind eye….

“But what else are we to do?”