Hall Of The Fae King

Chapter Four

“…there’s nowhere left for you to hide.”

– Kylo Ren

At least the Aether repairs itself. Having exhausted himself out, Eaden feels void as he finds his way back to his bedchambers.

Latching the door behind him he is greeted with the familiar shadow. The pitch-black is simply blinding. But, it is more than muscle memory he uses to make his way around. No… there’s a sort of energy everything has thanks to the Oversoul, so there’s a static he can feel that guides him in the dark.

His body is aching now, tired in so many ways… he just wants to sleep. To lose consciousness and see Her. Oh, he would give anything to see Her right now. His manifestation of a sanctuary he could not create literally, physically… it does not matter, just the taste of Her in his dreams gives him enough of a fix he can move on another journee, another semaine, another mois.

Ditching his sweater and pants, he slips into the cool, silky sheets of his bed and with only a few deep breaths he’s asleep. He is alone for a while… waiting. There is still a part of him that wonders – against the evidence of the Aether - if she’s a real Fae… a Fae somewhere that he will somehow find and then they can truly be together.

But that is the stuff of myths, of legends, of historic tales of wonder you tell young children so they have sweet dreams and believe in things like ‘true love’. She could be real, it is not an impossibility. But, it is such an improbability he is unsure if he should let himself hope much longer.

The familiar scene fills in around him: it’s time. A little cottage of a place, with wide open windows letting in fresh woodland air and just enough sunlight. It’s quiet, it’s peaceful, and full of comfortable things. It’s real… in a way, it feels lived in. It does not feel like The Solar Palace; not every single thing is straight clean lines with perfect precision and everything in its place. He imagines this is what a warm, happy… home feels like.

And then she comes, walking around the wall from the kitchen to the sitting area he finds himself. She holds out tea, “It’s the wild berry one you like.”

Her hair is long and down and curly tonight - the way he’d only ever seen after his mother undid her braids. The brown reminds him of caramel chocolate, his favorite treat as a boy. Her skin is clean, clear, beautiful though slightly tan… unlike all the Fae he sees around the palace - all so pale in the blacked out structure. And her eyes! Oh, the most beautiful of lavender; when he sees them he can almost smell the flower… just magikal.

He always waits for her to sit before he speaks, he loves watching her move. She does not move with perfect fluidity, she does not move like falling feathers or… ghosts. She moves with strength, with purpose, her body actually looking as if she works to live.

Her clothes reflect that as well; though comfortable and light, they are not of the sheer material he is used to seeing layered on females, she’s actually wearing cloth of light cotton maybe. A pink dress with pockets, little straps up her shoulders, tight around her waist, flowy all the way to her knees.

She is so comfortable in this, so confident. He likes this… he likes her strength. It’s not just physical, but has proven to be mental, emotional, and most of all, magikal. The Oversoul magiks she holds within herself… he can see it, feel it, it is almost something he can grasp: they are equals, they are opposites, his Darkness, her Light… perfectly parallel.

She finally sits, curling in the large armchair, completely comfortable and most ‘un-lady like’. She sips her tea and then sighs, “You look rough….”

He closes his eyes. “Today was hard.”

“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?”

He peeks his eyes open and frowns, “It was hard for you?”

She throws her legs over the arm of the chair and squishes into the pillows. “Work is hard sometimes. Not because of what I do… but because the Darkness I try so hard to fight off or, jeez, hide from. It still comes to find me.” She heaves a great sigh. “I don’t like it. It scares me.”

Eaden tense up and puts his tea down. “I don’t what you to be scared.”

Dismissively, she waves her hand slightly and sips more tea. “It’s life. Life that I did not choose, life that was thrusted upon me… There’s nothing else I can do, I didn’t exactly have a choice in being brought into this world,” she laughs breathily.

He hates when she says the words he is feeling. He hates when his deepest thoughts are displayed so profoundly. This is not why he comes here. This is supposed to be an escape. He looks out the window, “Let’s go walk in the gardens.”

Her eyebrows raise, “You never want to leave The Farmhouse.”

He shrugs. “I could use the fresh air, I think.”

She shifts, “Alright. It’s only a small garden though, I’m sure you’re used to much more.”

Eaden sighs. Even in his dreams his clothes, his appearance gives away some of his status. He wants to be Eaden though, just Eaden, not The King. “I’m sure it’s perfect.

“Just like you.”

She blinks a few times but says nothing until they are amongst the flowers. “Really… what’s going on? You’re very different tonight.”

He rolls his shoulders back and for the first time in all their meetings, in all his dreams, he thinks about taking her hand. “Do you not like it?”

She blushes, “It’s different.”

He thinks about how he spent his time for just a moment and thinks about the list of names and all the dark and dirty and awful work to come. “I need different right now.”

She nods and is the one to offer her hand, “Trust me?”

He does. Always.

He takes her hand and in that moment, when they touch for the first time it is like The Sun bursts within his own heart. Light floods through his body, his skin glows and twinkles with golden illumination, he feels… he feels so much love for her, from her, that he forgets what it had ever felt like to hate himself, hate his life, to be so deep seeded in Darkness.

In shock, he looks to her. She smiles, eyes bright with life, “See… so much Light!” She sighs happily, “so pure…,” but then she is saddened. Turning, she keeps to herself and quietly guides him out of the garden.

“The pureness upsets you?”

She does not answer. She is focused on guiding him away from the cottage.

They come to a forest's edge, the sunlight making beams through the tree’s canopy. There is a little dirt path and she tightens her grip on his hand. He squeezes back and follows her. She leads him to a little river, well steam, with a tiny little waterfall, just about to his knee high.

There’s a patch of grass under shade where she asks, “Sit with me?”

“Of course.”

They sit together, side by side. But before long he has maneuvered himself partially behind her, “Lean on me,” he murmurs softly.

She moves closer as his hand runs from her shoulder down her arm. Her skin so soft… the scent of lavender so clear. He is not ashamed about how much he needs her, how much these dreams are keeping him sane. “My lady…” he whispers softly.

She lifts and turns a little to face him. Her hand comes to his face, her eyes searching his. “You are hurting so much…, why?”

He closes his eyes and is not ashamed of his tears. “I struggle. The Darkness… it’s consuming. It’s so… controlling. And it has been my whole life - it’s comfortable, it’s easy to take strength from it. It’s easy to gain power through Darkness, through the….” He sighs, “My family learned long ago that you can only get so far with Light, just Light. So, they toyed with balance. Generations later and the Light is all but gone. And I struggle.

“I come here… to you, to this, because I need it. I need you.” His eyes finally open and he looks to the sunlight twinkling on the waters. “I am so tired, cherie… I am so tired.”

His eyes catch hers and he gives up. He gives in, letting the Light take over. He reaches for her face quickly, softly, lovingly, and then he kisses her.

Kisses her for the first time, unsurprised at how soft her plump lips are. His thumb caresses her cheek as he feels her strong hands on his torso, gripping his sides, bringing them closer together. He kisses her with eyes closed just letting their magiks spark, letting Light wash over them. They needed this.

… and he never wants to wake-up again.

*

Gasping for air, jolting straight up in bed, Surrielle wakes from her dream. The last thing she remembers is their kiss. Her fingers rise to her lips as the magiks around her settle like twinkling stars. “What... just….” her eyes search her bedroom, her brain not functioning at capacity. “What was that?”

Heart pounding, she is awestruck. That dream was something… else, something special. She had not been anticipating that at all. Though, given all the stress of course her brain developed something grand.

She eases back against the pillows and rubs her face with her hands. There’s an overwhelming need to cry. To just cry and cry and… die. There is so much pain in her heart… so much of that dream she wants. She needs him to be real; she needs him to be with her, she… just needs him. And so she cries, begging silently for Death to take her.

Her silence is only broken when the pain becomes too hard, too real, and she calls out for him in a sob, “Mon amour.”

Tears running down her cheeks, her eyes shut tight. One arm curls around her stomach as her face turns away from the pillow, and she holds out her other hand open air above her. “Please… mon amour, take me away. Let me die….”

Instantly, she feels it.

The ever subtle touch of magiks, of flesh against flesh, a hand against her hand. Suddenly, it is held there by an outside force. While her body stills, she focused on their touch. Like in the dream… his hand is warm, calloused, strong. Like in the dream, their touch sparks something in her – but something more, there is shift in the universe, a long needed alignment.

There is a little whisper on the wind, his voice ever so far away but so clear: “Je vous adore,” and then he is gone, her empty hand falling against her breast.

Surrielle feels as if she may vomit. She truly wants to die, to be done with this life, to be beyond… to be free of the hardship that are her impurities, to be free of Darkness, to be free of hiding or feeling scared, to be free to love and be loved. She did not come from much and sure she had a talent, but her father was wrong… she could not change anything.

She is no one. She is nothing. She is an Impurity. She is powerless when it comes to what really matters. There is no way around the fact that in the end she is going to either hide long enough to die of old age or be found out and be killed. Either way, is it a life worth living?

“Please…” her whisper is raw. But then, like a spell, she falls asleep once more.

After enough sleep, Surrielle has mostly forgotten what happened in the night. She remembers the pleasantries of the dream, but not the horrible aftermath. She does not have time to waste on such matters anyway, her workload now becoming so important.

After bathing and getting dressed, she sends letters to her regular clients. Explaining that she now has a request from The Solar Palace and La Famille Royale, she hopes they are understanding that she cannot take any more orders at this time. If last night proved anything, it’s that she needs to focus.

Standing at the back door to her large workshop she waits for the deliveries. The matte black stone is to arrive first, which she would unfortunately need help loading into the building. Then the gold thread, that is supposed to be weaved into the vines, and solid gold, that is supposed to be liquefied to be pressed as the crest, comes after. Another long journee ahead, she needs to remember to set her alarm for meals and sleep.

Heures later, everything is settled into the proper stations and she begins. With busy hands, her mind quickly jumps to the end. When she’s done… oh, once she is done! Maybe then she could finally escape… take a semaine or two or more! Go somewhere nice…, at least somewhere beyond the Trade District. Surely, making a whole work order for La Famille Royale would allow her such frivolous pleasantries? Surely, she could live… just a little?