Page 43 of The Hidden Fae Prince
A bird lands on the boulder in a startle of feathers. Sleek black, with orange wings. A tiny crown balances on its head.You aren’t trapped,says Primrose-the-bird.You just have to walk through the door.
So, this is a test. Seren needs to approach this analytically. He wades through the long grass towards the meadow’s edge. Circling, he searches for anything out of place. Fae love their puzzles and metaphors.
Close up, the tree bark is even glossier. Like dark glass over a solid core. Seren can’t look far into the forest before the trees blur together. Either fog, or the boundaries of Primrose’s haven.
No sign of a door.
The bird swoops after him, lecturing.Prima and the fae realms are neighbors. They learned their meager magic from us. We learned the shapes of their beasts, the symbols of their roots and vines.
Flurrying petals coalesce into a small, hunched shape. A monkey drops to the ground, with a dark mane of furand another iridescent crown.But the four fae realms were closer than neighbors,Primrose-the-monkey says, voice still rumbling deep as the bear. She darts away, and the crown tumbles down.Power rose and fell between them. Summer to Autumn to Winter to Spring to Summer to Autumn—
The chant continues. The crown waits patiently in the grass.
—to Winter to Spring to Summer—
Seren edges closer. Maybe this is the key. He kneels to grasp the crown, then sees another five feet away.
—to Autumn to Winter to Spring—
Seren moves to the second crown. Beyond it lies a third, perched atop a moss-covered stone.
—to Summer to Autumn to Winter—
The trail of crowns leads to a gap in the trees, where a dirt path unfurls. A silver door stands twenty feet away. Carved knotwork decorates the surface.
Primrose’s chant breaks off.
A shimmering white horse steps from the hushed forest. It wears no crown, only a spiraling horn of the same iridescent hues. The horn looks sharp.
“Primrose?” Seren asks.
The unicorn’s answer arrives in birdsong and rustling flowers. The voice is new.Only royalty may pass.
“I’m a prince.” Saying so feels ridiculous. “At least, I’m supposed to be.”
You have no crown.
Seren lifts his chin. “I’m still a prince,” he says, and walks forward.
The path is narrow, and the unicorn doesn’t move. Seren will have to edge carefully around the beast, or detour intothe tree line. This may be a vision, but he still shouldn’t cause offense by shoving past.
Delicate pink petals swirl around Seren—razor sharp.
Surprise, then pain chases him back. Seren flings his arms up to protect his eyes and throat. The swarm follows, biting into his back. His forearms. A petal kisses his temple. Blood spills down his face before he feels the cut.
Scrambling, Seren searches for a branch or rock. Something to fight with, even though fighting a swarm of flower petals seems hopeless. He needs a weapon or shield.
But as soon as he leaves the path, the petals fall away. Seren lowers his arms. His scarred shoulder screams in belated protest. The nicks and cuts are a constellation of smaller hurts.
The unicorn stands unmoved before the silver door.
You have no crown.
Fucking literal-minded fae beasts. “A crown. Fine. Wait right there. Don’t vanish or move the door or any other fae trickery, all right?”
Don’t show weakness. Sound angry, not plaintive, even as self-pity wells like the blood from his wounds. Seren examines his right arm, which took the worst of the swarming petals. Blood soaks his sleeve like a long red glove.
Except his blood shouldn’t be this dark a red. It shouldn’t shimmer in the false Spring light.
