Asher could feel his mother and his daughter growing closer, but he could not bring himself to look at them. Instead, he concentrated on the empty space across the throne room. The people in the room around him who he’d been so close to his entire life suddenly felt like strangers.
"She clearly did not feel that way," Queen Lyra continued, stopping only a few feet away. "Though I have no idea how she could possibly leave such a sweet and innocent child."
Out of the corner of his eye, Asher could see his beautiful white-blonde mother, gazing affectionately down at the bundle in her arms, and he couldn't bring himself to hold back any longer. Turning with limbs made of lead, he looked at his mother and asked, "So you just allowed her to leave?"
"She was sent on her way with a physician and servants to attend to her once her position was made clear," King Lucius explained, and the urge to turn on his father was almost enough to knock him off his feet. He had to flutter his blue and silver wings just to keep himself steady.
"You helped her to leave?" he snarled under his breath, his hands tightening into fists. Then, in a moment, he’d fluttered over to stand before his mother, holding out his arms. "Give her to me."
His mother hesitated before shaking her head.
Realizing how angry he’d sounded, Asher forced himself to take a deep, calming breath before he said, less aggressively, "Please, give my daughter to me."
Still looking hesitant, his mother gently lowered the baby into his arms. The moment the small bundle wrapped in yellow blankets was placed in his arms, Asher knew there was nothing he wouldn't do for the tiny infant.
"We’re leaving," he announced, stepping abruptly away from his mother. Queen Lyra looked appalled, her rosebud mouth dropping open into a gape. King Lucius stepped forward as if to protest, but Asher cradled his daughter in one arm and raised his free hand to stop everyone in their tracks.
"You allowed the love of my life to walk out so easily, you will allow me the same courtesy."
With that he turned to leave, still feeling the eyes of all those in the room on him. Yet all he could do was gaze down at the round-faced, pink-cheeked bundle in his arms. Though her eyes were closed, there were small bubbles of drool popping up from the edges of her upturned lips, and although Asher knew she was too young, he could’ve sworn she was smiling at him.
"Where will you go?" one of the twins called-he wasn't sure which one-but he ignored them as he left the room, only taking to the air once he was clear of the throne room doors.
Anywhere but here!
Chapter 1 - Rayne
"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" Rayne's mother's voice had never been so filled with affection. It was a tone Rayne was entirely unused to, even though she’d been hearing it increasingly over the last few days. Ever since the announcement had come that she would be one of the girls put forward for the hand of the king, her mother had been overly concerned with her health and wellbeing. In fact, it was beginning to get on her nerves. Oddly enough, she was beginning to miss her mother's usual gloomy silence and lack of attention.
"I’m well, thank you," Rayne forced herself to say. Though she was in two minds about the whole thing, Rayne couldn't help but think that the sooner the ritual was over, the better.
Her mother entered Rayne's dark, dank bedroom in the small, two-up two-down home that was no better than a shack. They had lived there ever since Rayne's father had been arrested and tried for the murder of another fae farmer. Though her mother had claimed to know nothing of it and that she and her husband were that in only name, she’d been forced along with a then five-year-old Rayne to move to the Mystic Isle to await her husband's release. That had been thirteen years ago, and although her husband had died only a year after being incarcerated, they were both trapped on the island for the remainder of his sentence—at least. Rayne's mother often fell into a dark mood, complaining of how they would never get off the accursed island.
Rayne had grown used to their impoverished lifestyle, living off bread and scraps, wearing odds and ends, but her mother had never forgiven her father, and she’d always been looking for a way out.
"Tonight is the night!" her mother cried gleefully as she crossed the room, carrying an awfully full bowl of water. "You must get clean and ready. By this evening you may well be the next Queen of the Mystic Isle!"
And so might any of the twelve other girls who’ve been picked, Rayne thought grimly. She’d learned fast over the last couple of days not to remind her mother of that. It would only upset her. Her mother had been growing increasingly easy to upset.
"We don't have much to work with, but we must get you prepared," her mother insisted, and before Rayne could protest, she was shoved down onto the end of her bed. Her long midnight blue hair was quickly unraveled from its braid and brushed with her mother's fingertips.
"The king won't even be there for the picking ceremony," Rayne protested, wincing at the tugging on her roots. "It'll just be the villagers."
"All the more reason to make an effort," her mother insisted. "We want to make a good impression. Those people may be your subjects one day."
Rayne knew her mother had little respect for those people. To her, they were all just the husbands, wives and families of criminals. Fae gods forbid Rayne should ever remind her mother they were the same.
As Rayne was dragged into the forest clearing where the ceremony would take place, she quickly began to realize that her mother had been right. The other girls who’d been thrust forward into the center of the clearing, surrounding a stone pillar topped with what appeared to be a bowl filled with different colored stones, were all much more presentable than herself. She wore roughspun brown clothing that had once been white and tan, all of it at least one size too small for her, whereas the other girls appeared to have at least one new item of clothing. One wore a striking red hooded cloak, another wore a crownlet of cornflowers in her blonde hair, a third had a necklace made of some shiny metal that was likely not gold even though it appeared to be. Each one of them had something that made them stand out from the others, but all Rayne had was dirt.
She hovered at the edge of the circle, her head down, hoping she could simply get through the night and forget her name had ever been put forward for the stupid ceremony.
Drums began to pound, announcing the arrival of the elder, the oldest living member of the Mystic Isle. She was a haggard, gray haired old woman who needed a cane and the arm of a much younger woman to help her into the clearing, but the moment she arrived beside the pillar, the entire clearing fell utterly silent.
There was no announcement, no words of ceremony. Everyone knew why they were there. Thirteen virgins had been picked at random from the villages of the Mystic Isle and brought forth on the night of the full moon to choose their own fate, or rather the fate that had been thrust upon them by the leaders of their villages.
Glancing up, Rayne saw the moon shining clearly overhead. There wasn't a single cloud in sight that might cover the moon and put an end to the ritual until the next full moon, where they would try again.
When she lowered her head once more, she almost jumped right out of her skin. Her blue wings, only a few shades lighter than her hair, fluttered so violently that she almost took off. Steadying herself, she forced herself to meet the misty eyes of the elder who now stood before her, holding the stone bowl remarkably steady.