Asher had never understood his Isle's traditions, most of all the gifting of a virgin to its ruler. The practice had not been invoked since his great-great-grandfather had conquered all the fae isles and turned them into one kingdom. Still, after his father's decision to split his kingdom between his five sons, Asher, as the youngest son, had been left with the most notorious isle. The Mystic Isle was also known as the prison isle because it was almost impossible to escape without knowledge of the rough waters surrounding it and the mystical powers of the land. It was a barbaric isle, with its ancient practices still intact. Its citizens had little, and so those in charge generally allowed them to go about their business so long as they did not cause too much trouble. As long as prisoners remained in their cells and completed their sentences, their families were generally left alone.
Asher had been happy to continue the tradition of allowing the people to govern themselves unless they brought any matters to his attention, and yet now he was beginning to regret it.
For the last three years since his arrival to the throne, Paxton had been advising him to allow his subjects to perform the ritual that would allow fate to pick his bride from the virgins of every village on the isle. First, the villages would choose their virgins. Then one would be picked from each village, and finally those thirteen would take part in a ritual to choose the lucky one. Or unlucky one, Asher thought grimly as he followed Paxton down the hallway toward the throne room. His palace was nothing like his parents’. Where theirs was open and airy, allowed to remain open to the warm weather and constant blue skies, Asher's castle was made of thick stone walls and surrounded by an even thicker stone wall that protected him, his daughter and his court from the mystic forest that sounded them. To become the queen of such a place wasn't exactly an honor. Not to mention the fact that any girl that was still a virgin had not had the chance to live her life and decide for herself what she truly wanted. At only thirty-three years old, Asher remained young by fae standards and often felt too young for responsibility himself.
"Please remember, Your Grace," Paxton said as he hurried along beside his king, struggling to keep up with Asher's long-legged stride, "your people have come from far and wide to see this done."
"Why? I did not order it!" Asher snapped, reminding Paxton, not for the first time, that he disapproved of such practices.
"Your people grow wary and worried that you do not yet have a wife and heir," Paxton said, and when Asher turned a cold, hard glare on him, the advisor quickly dipped his head and began to look regretful. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but you know as well as I that it is what is expected of you, and a female has never succeeded to any fae throne."
"Perhaps it is time they did," Asher replied, pausing outside the door that would lead through the back hallway that would take them to the area just behind his throne. He could already hear voices clamoring beyond, as if hundreds of people had turned out to see events unfold.
Fae gods help me for what I’m about to do! Asher thought, closing his eyes for a moment to take a deep breath and steady himself. He then turned to Paxton and asked, "How do I look?"
The advisor, whose small, gray-blue wings were usually quite still, began to flutter nervously. He nodded quickly and dipped his head respectfully before responding, "Quite regal, Your Grace."
Asher knew he could look like an utter mess and not a single one of his subjects would dare tell him. He gave himself a once over, glancing in a well-polished suit of armor at his reflection before he was ready to enter the throne room.
"Is there no way out of this?" he asked, pausing with his hand on the door handle. Paxton's face took on a serious expression and he began to shake his head firmly.
"It would not be advisable, Your Grace."
"I shall consider your advice," Asher responded, and with that he pushed open the door to find guards awaiting him in the small antechamber between them and the throne room. The four men stood at attention instantly, holding their spears firmly at their sides.
"Let's get this over with," he sighed and strode through the room, brushing past the drapes that cut off the antechamber from the throne dais.
Instantly, the throne room was thrown into total silence. Even the wind that had been whipping through the high windows far above their heads seemed to still at the king's entrance.
Asher was sure he’d never seen the room so full. There appeared to be people everywhere. Some were pressed in so tightly, they looked as though they were narrowly avoiding the pointed weapons of the guards who stood around the edge of the room, ever watchful.
Asher was glad of their presence for once, knowing that he might need to call upon them if his subjects took a dislike to what he had to say. He had never been worried about disappointing his subjects before, but now he most certainly was. It was an odd feeling, one he would like to have over with as soon as possible.
"My subjects, forgive me, but there are so many of you," he said loudly, trying to remain as calm and respectful as possible. "Who am I to address?"
He glanced about the people at the front of the crowd. The few noblemen and their families who remained on the Mystic Isle had all placed themselves in the front edges of the room, looking flustered at the sight of so many commoners in their presence. The commoners themselves looked just as nervous, and Asher found himself glancing at the faces of every woman, wondering which one could possibly be the one.
What does it matter which one she is? Asher asked himself. She is still a stranger to me, no matter who she is.
He didn't get a chance to even take a guess as an old, haggard woman with a twisted back and a walking cane stepped forth. The crowd moved to part, offering her a path to the stone steps of the dais, showing their respect for the old woman.
"I am the elder," she announced in a voice so croaky, Asher barely understood her. "I come before you to offer the virgin chosen to be the next bride to the King of the Mystic Isle."
Though the woman was old and her wings were so broken and brittle that they appeared dead on her back, it was clear from the silence and bowed heads that she was a well-respected, powerful woman.
Asher forced himself down the steps of the dais to stand before her. Towering over her as she stood hunched before him, he held his head high as he announced, "I welcome you, elder, and I welcome all those who have followed you here."
As if taking that as acceptance of their reason for being there, the elder lifted her hand and waved, as if urging somebody forward. As if invisible hands had shoved her forward, a young girl stepped forth from the crowd.
Asher had thought himself prepared for whatever they might throw at him, but there was no way he could’ve prepared himself for the way his heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. Her midnight blue hair was so glossy, it reminded him of a starry night, as did her sparkling, pale blue eyes.
"By the fae gods," he hissed under his breath, the words pulled from his lips before he even realized he’d thought them.
The woman's creamy skin was pale as the finest porcelain and her thick eyelashes were long and dark, shadowing her high cheekbones every time she blinked. Even with her head bowed, Asher did not miss the perfect pouting rosebud lips that were set in a hard line as though she were just as displeased about their situation as he was.
I must do the right thing for both of us, he told himself though what he had planned to do felt so much harder now that he’d seen her. The simple cornflower blue sheer slip dress that’d been tied with a blue ribbon around her waist had clearly been chosen to make Asher's decision even harder. It hugged every curve of her body perfectly, leaving little to the imagination. Though many of the fae were free spirits and Asher was not unused to seeing the naked beauty of fae women, he suddenly felt uncomfortable looking too closely at this particular woman.
He averted his eyes quickly and instead focused on the elder, turning his gaze down to hers. He would’ve liked to have met the old woman's gaze, but her face was turned down to the floor and Asher suspected it wasn't just out of respect but out of a lack of movement in her withered neck.