Hall Of The Fae King

Chapter Six

“Forgive me… I feel it again, the pull to the light.”

– Kylo Ren

Double doors of ebony are still under Eaden’s twitching palms. His arms shaking… but he has to do it. Any time he feels like this, he has to do it to appease his mind. The routine of it, the magiks of it, snuffs out any Light that is left.

If The Raids are to continue…, not just for realm’s sake, not for his subject’s sake, but if his Lady is somewhere in Ville De Lumiere, it must be perfect. Everything must be perfect for her.

… for Her. His obsession driving him to this madness. His obsession driving him to these doors.

To the doors of The Hall Of The Fae King.

The doors are the cap to the bottle, the corridor its neck, which widens at every portrait, finally to open in the massive throne room. The walls are lined with power infused paintings of Kings past, all leading to the throne that’s gotten larger, colder, and harsher as time progressed.

The graphite walls curve into the black marble floors, the obsidian columns catch the soft light of the floating lanterns. As each step is taken, the light brightens, practically putting a solar spotlight on the throne. Yet, it is not Light that is felt, but Darkness through and through.

The gaze of the Kings are harsh on Eaden, as if they are all glaring at him pointedly, expressing their great disappointment. Daggers and whips that stab and s***h, cutting away any Righteousness and Hope. His heart slows, his mind quiets, his erect body stilling. Void, like a forgotten Aether, and cold, like his father’s corpse.

Eyes on the throne, it is still far enough away… far enough away that he feels small. Small and momentarily insignificant – his boyhood memories flooding back. Back to when his grandpere had been King and he’d see the throne for the first time:

“Though we are one family, though there is one king, it is the lives of the many that matter. Leading sounds simple of paper, but it is in our daily choices we choose the course for our realm. It is in the power of the Darkness that we can assure the wealth of the Light.”

Before his passing he told Eaden not to let anything stand in his way. Not his parents, not Le Conseil, not the people… he spent his dying years showing The Prince the ways of their Famille. The crown hangs heavy on either side and no one can control him.

Eaden once believed the loss of The King’s wife would soften his father, but it fact it made him more cruel. Crazy, even, ignoring some of the most basic foundations of leadership. Eaden had done The Raids for his father, fulfilling a dying wish of a mad man, but then spent the past years focusing on understanding not just the realm, but the people within it. He had to not only be efficient, but effective.

Originally of ebony, the throne had once been an ornate chair. Solar Fae worked closely with the Magicians of France and The West, their styles intertwining over time. The rising back was made of three planks, the arms curved comfortably for padded sleeves, and the most basic version of La Famille Royale’s crest was carved on the legs.

Not even three King’s later and it was turned to stone. To last forever… to last beyond the Aether, every beautiful detail smoothed away in cold rock. The backing became a wall; the arms became a barrier; and the legs became steps.

As Eaden makes his way up the seven steps, he becomes The King. His gaze following the backing three stories high and he notices the sharp and straight lines – exactly what they need to be and nothing more. As he sits, his palms sliding down the arms, he feels the stability and strength of purpose – in silence there is choice.

Unfortunately, there is no finishing what their Famille started all those generations ago. Lives moving in their contestant cycle, time progressing in its passive manner, and free will letting way to poor decisions…. As long as he is alive, there is work to be done. And, eventually, love or not, he will have an heir to continue the reign.

The crown may be heavy on the head, but his ruling fist must be the heaviest of all.

*

“Ha!” Surrielle claps her gloved hands together. Stripping them and tossing them aside, she then leans back on the stool. Only a fortnight and she finished the work order for The Solar Palace, for La Famille Royale.

Sweaty, soot-covered, really all sorts of gross, she does not care for she is brilliantly proud of herself and all she accomplished. Everything is exact, is precisely what was ordered. There is not a single flaw in the countless items she has made. It is literally perfect.

Everything will look like it has been in the palace for ages, looking like it was made almost by machine rather than by hand. And yet it all is… every single detail, painstakingly done by her magik hands!

Huge, unwavering smile on her face, Surrielle walks to the front of her shop to retrieve the special wrapping. The doors have been closed for half a mois, so she jumps when the front door opens and the bell sounds. Heart pounding, her hand flattens on her breast.

So wrapped up in her own euphoric triumph, she does not feel any negativity as she sees the Royale Guard lower his cap into his hand. “Salut, sir! You must have come for an update,” she speaks quickly. “I’ll have you know,” she smacks the counter softly, “I have done everything asked in record time!”

But the male Fae is not smiling… his eyes are full of hurt. “Madame Surrielle Sunsprite?” his voice shakes.

She brushes her hands against her clothes to clean them, “Yes?” and then she offers her hand to shake.

The male obviously winces and shifts on his feet. “Mine name is Leviathan Lionheart. You made wedding china for my daughter, and my mama… oh, she loves you.”

Surrielle is starting to lower from her happy cloud, the Oversoul screaming at her to pay attention, the energy in the room feeling like static… unstable. “Ah, yes. Salut, sir. Was there something wrong with my products? Has the magiks faltered in some way? Or if something was broken, I can replace it for free - it’s not a problem - your family has always been good to me.”

The male scratches behind his neck. “My mama loves you, I swear it. And she even had a prophecy about you… and I believe her, I do. That’s why I am so…” he gulps, his voice quaking, his hands shaking, “I am so sorry. Please, remember that, okay?”

Surrielle backs up a step; she can read the guard like a book. Her nose tingles and eyes water. Her heart is beating so hard she swears she can feel it against her ribs. “… is it going to hurt?”

He looks at her with sorrow-filled eyes. “That’s why I elected to come, madame. My mama won’t stop speaking about her prophecy so I came - as soon as your name was read, I literally jumped up.

“But… my partner… I don’t know, madame. I’m going to try and protect you. My mama… she tried to go to The King, too, some semaine or so ago. But he won’t see her and I can’t rightly speak to him about such matters, you have to understand,” his voice is soft, his eyes expressing so much apology, but he comes to her, cap on, cuffs out.

Her head starts twitching back and forth. “No cuffs, please. I don’t want everyone knowing… I’ll come with you! I swear, no trouble! They’ll think it’s because of work… please…. I can’t have everyone knowing. They might… I just can’t, please?” flashes of all her products being broken or tossed away, the smiles of all her customers turning to grimaces of disgust.

“Please, I’ll come quietly.”

He nods. “We have a carriage outside. I…”

She closes her eyes when does not finish. His aura dips too closely to his conscious mind and it is confirmed. It doesn’t matter what she does now, her time is over. The guard, in his own concern and fear, displays so perfectly for her Etude that every Impurity taken was killed by The King.

A deep breath and she takes off her work apron. “It’s okay Leviathan… it’s okay. I’m coming… and if Miss Lionheart wants, she can take the shop and everything… after, I mean. It’s a good space in the Trade District… she could at least get some money for it.”

His heavy hand holds her elbow, a little too tight. “My mama did say you had a beautiful soul… I really am sorry.” But then he leads her out, leading her squarely to her death.