Page 40 of The Hidden Fae Prince
“Don’t apologize lightly,” Nevander reminds, which only makes Seren feel more off-balance. “Seren, meet First Ritekeeper Primrose.”
Seren is at a loss for words. He’s heard Primrose’s name plenty over the past day. Nobody ever mentioned she was a bear.
Primrose shakes herself. Blossoms scatter. They vanish before touching the ground, and the number in her fur doesn’t diminish.I am not fae, though I forgive the insult. I am a watcher of centuries and teacher of queens. Most recently warden to a certain human brat. I am foremost among Summer beasts—though my wild sister would dispute that.
“Is your sister here too?” Seren asks, suspicious of every blanket.
Shalin keeps to her woods and valleys.Primrose shoves a chair aside with one massive paw.Your guardian says you have an uncontrolled gift.
Seren’s nervousness heightens. He can’t hope to control his power without fearing it won’t work. “I would be grateful for any guidance.”
Primrose sits in the center of a circle, newly cleared of furniture.Sit and tell me of your powers, and what young Nevander has taught you so far.
Nevander nods, which is when Seren realizes he’s once again looked for reassurance. He can’t keep doing that. Nevander isn’t his friend, however attentive and caring he acts.
Controlling his power is the first step to reclaiming his life. Resolved, Seren sits cross-legged in front of the looming bear. Getting his fine trousers and boots on the ground feels wrong, but the plush rug seems just as fancy. So maybe he should worry about defiling the rug with his trousers.
Nevander moves to the side, distant but observing both of them closely. Primrose remains watchful. Absurd in such a magical place for them to want to learn about Seren. He’s supposed to be ordinary.
But he isn’t, and that’s the problem.
“When I was young, I started feeling other people’s emotions,” Seren begins, as calm as possible. He isn’t used to talking about this. “Not everything. Just the emotions directed at me. My parents’ hatred. My neighbor’s happiness when I helped with her garden. The grocer’s wariness. He thought all the children were trying to steal sweets—which to be fair, we were.”
Gods’ patience. Tansy would have been a menace in Wymond. Warmth spreads through Seren like steam from a kettle. A subtle, introspective feeling.
“Your parents’ hatred?” Nevander asks, inexplicably intent.
Seren shrugs. “They always knew I wasn’t their son.”
Nevander’s jaw tightens. But before he replies, Primrose rumbles,That’s enough.
The warmth fades. It had come from her.
“What were you doing?” Seren asks, shivering. Exposed. He hadn’t meant to say that much.
Assessing.Primrose’s ears prick forward. Her eyes are dark and endless.You have a great talent. I see some rudimentary practice in centering. Recent. Nevander did well, considering his limitations.
Nevander appears unbothered by the insult. “I’m no teacher, but Seren is a capable student.”
Perhaps fae can exaggerate, if not lie. The praise still helps.
We shall see,Primrose says.May I guide you?
“Yes,” Seren says, confused. He’s been clear about wanting to learn—
Force barges into him. Seren collapses onto his hands. He barely feels the rug, too consumed with rivers of power. They rush between his bones. Primrose’s voice growls from the depths of his heart.Your magic feels like this.
Seren’s vision blurs as his inner awareness sharpens. Sight-touch-taste-knowing shows him tangles of golden substance. Rivers. Threads. Chains. Promises and bargains to be. Within yet beyond the bounds of his body.
This is his magic.
A paw-like force seizes his awareness, pointing him at the places where the rivers catch on each other. Threads fray. Chains break through his skin, bleeding promises.
It should feel like this instead,Primrose says, and grasps a starry core Seren hadn’t seen. Now that she has it, he sees nothing else. With one fluid movement, she twists the core into a new position. All the rivers-threads-chains-promises shake, then settle into a new pattern. The right pattern. Not a pattern at all, but an ever-changing dance.
Open your heart thus,Primrose instructs, her voice now a whispering breeze. She plucks a thread, and the outside world hums louder. A clear and distant song of joy, anger, annoyance, boredom. Primrose guides Seren into the next river. The distant emotions cut off.And close it thus. Do you understand?
“Yes,” Seren says, astounded that it’s true. Knowing how the actions should feel, he can recreate them. He’s never felt so comfortable in himself.
