"Take stone," the elder croaked, as though two words were all she could manage. Rayne quickly did as she was asked, rummaging around in the bottom of the bowl. She felt two or three before one seemed to stand out to her, and she pulled it free from the rest.
She waited until the elder had passed onto the next girl before she chanced a glimpse at the stone in her hand. Save for the yellow powdered paint that covered its smooth surface, it was an ordinary stone.
Once all thirteen girls had chosen their stone, the elder raised her voice to command, "Remember stone!"
She then handed the bowl to her assistant, a girl who could’ve been no more than fourteen, who went back around the circle to collect every stone.
Rayne's hand trembled as she dropped her stone back into the bowl. She watched the young girl, who silently carried it away, and once all the stones had been returned to the bowl, she carried it back to the center of the circle.
The people who’d been crowding around the main circle finally broke their silence, everyone clamoring to know who would be picked for the honor of being their next Queen. It was an exciting prospect. There hadn't been a Queen of the Mystic Isle since all the isles had been conquered and claimed as one kingdom by King Lucius's great-great-grandfather. King Lucius's generosity to his sons was the only reason Rayne stood where she did now.
"This is it!" her mother hissed into her ear, and Rayne was surprised to feel her mother grip her hand. She couldn’t remember ever having held her mother’s hand before, not even before her father had been arrested.
The entire gathering was silenced by a single glance from the elder, and when she stepped forward, her lifeless wings hanging limply behind her back, everybody watched, utterly entranced, for her to pluck a single stone from the bowl.
"Yellow stone!" the elder called, her voice much more powerful than Rayne had ever anticipated, and it had shocked her so much that it took her several moments to realize what she’d said. It wasn't until the elder held the stone aloft that reality hit her.
"Rayne, it's you! That's your stone!" her mother exclaimed so loudly that everyone in the clearing could hear her. In an instant, all Rayne wanted to do was disappear into the mulch that sucked at her bare feet. She could feel the envious gazes of twelve other girls, all glaring at her from around the circle, while her mother jumped for joy, utterly oblivious of their stares.
"Come forward," the young girl standing beside the elder instructed, and before Rayne could protest, her mother shoved her roughly into the very center of the circle. She jerked away just in time to avoid colliding with the sacred stone bowl that had been used for similar ceremonies since the dawn of time and had to use her wings just to keep herself on her feet in front of the elder.
"Don't fear. You be queen." The elder's lack of full sentences was increasingly concerning. Was it simply old age, or was it that she was entirely uneducated? How could Rayne take the word of a woman who couldn't even string together a sentence?
Nobody else around her seemed to have the same conundrum. Although the girls still looked upset not to have been chosen, the entire clearing began to call, "Rayne! Rayne!", until she felt like even the trees were calling her name.
Still, all she longed to do was close her eyes, cover her ears, and forget that anything had happened. Perhaps she would wake in the morning to find it had all been a dream.
Chapter 2 - Asher
Always happiest watching his three-year-old daughter play, the King of the Mystic Isle often hid himself away in the nursery. Many of his subjects were respectful enough to leave him be while in the presence of his daughter, but every so often their peace was shattered.
This morning was one of those mornings. He had been laughing and smiling at the way Elia was giving him a show, using her wooden fae and pegasus toys to act out a story, when he heard knuckles rapping harshly on the door behind him. The sound caused him to instantly grit his teeth. Whatever had drawn someone to disturb him would either be important or irritating, or both.
"Come in!" He called over his shoulder, not bothering to rise from his armchair beside the fireplace. The weather on the Mystic Isle was much like its subjects—temperamental—and right then, it was dark, dank and drizzling outside. Ever protective of his daughter, he had insisted a fire be lit, but now he was beginning to regret it. The flames had definitely warned away the chill in the air, but now it was almost sweltering.
The door behind him opened tentatively and a short, well-rounded fae entered the room. He wore the ceremonial black and silver robes of the advisor to the King of the Mystic Isle, and a grim expression to go with them.
"What is it, Paxton?" Asher demanded even as he held out his arms to his daughter and ushered her to him. She jumped up from beside the fireplace with her toys still in hand and happily threw herself up into his lap. "What do you think, Princess Elia? Is Paxton here to cause trouble again?"
Navy haired Elia, with her huge, charcoal eyes, glanced at Paxton before shaking her head and insisting innocently, "I don't think Paxton ever really means to cause trouble, Father."
Her innocence caused Asher's heart to swell, and he lifted a hand to the back of her head, stroking her hair affectionately. He kissed her gently upon the forehead before tucking her into the crook of his arm and turning his attention to his advisor. "What is it, Paxton?"
The short, stout man who’d been waiting patiently with his head bowed to be invited to speak, finally stepped up to the king's side and announced, "Your Grace, your subjects have come forward with a gift."
Curiosity bubbled in Asher's stomach for a moment before it turned to dread. What kind of gift could make Paxton look so nervous?
"Can you not accept it on my behalf?" Asher asked incredulously. "Can you not see that I’m preoccupied?"
He didn't miss the way Paxton's Adam's apple leapt in his throat as if he were gulping past a hard lump in his throat.
"I'm afraid I don't think it would be anyone's place to accept this gift save for the king himself, Your Grace," Paxton admitted. That really had Asher worried. His people had turned up with gifts before and Paxton had been urged to accept them on his king's behalf. What kind of gift could possibly cause Paxton not to accept such a request?
"Well, what is it?" Asher demanded with a grimace. "If I’m to be rudely dragged away from my daughter, then I would like to know what I’m being dragged away for."
This time, he heard his advisor gulp, and he knew that he had never seen Paxton so uncomfortable.
"It...it’s a woman, Your Grace," the advisor admitted, and upon hearing his next words, Asher felt his blood turn to ice. "A virgin, Your Grace."