Her Wolf King

The fairy led them into a copse of woods, nestled in a hidden valley and hidden away by jagged mountains whose towering peaks and jagged stones reminded Everett of forbidding church spires, stretching upwards into a heaven they would never quite reach. Clouds brewed a storm above them in angry purple and charcoal, but for now, it had yet to rain, though the scent of it was heavy in the air, dampness clinging to his skin and clothes. Lenore’s hand firmly in his, he thought about the real reason he hadn’t come to the wine cellar in all the tie that he’d been here.

Oh, sure, there had been that incident when he’d imbibed too much slivovitz and been forced to face the consequences of his own actions. But the truth was, after that, when he’d seen the bottles of poisons and potions... it had felt like a threat. A threat of how he might end it all. And he hadn’t been brave, or cowardly enough, to do anything but remain in this life, to exist.

As they entered the cottage with a perfectly rounded dome for a thatched roof, whitewashed walls, and a door that looked like a slab of driftwood, Everett had to duck his head to enter the front door. The scent of woodsmoke and the sound of a crackling fire reached him once inside, and the red curtains that were drawn closed over the windows provided a homey atmosphere to the fairy’s cottage.

“You have a lovely home,” Lenore said, a good deal more well-mannered than he would ever be. He glanced at her: her hair was tied up into a knot, exposing the slender curve of her neck.

“This is not my home,” the fairy said, poking her head into what must have been the kitchen portion of the cottage: it had a potbellied stove, a table, two chairs, and a basin of water. “But I’m glad you like it, all the same. This is where I do most of my magic.”

There was a cauldron in the centre of the room, next to the chimney that was busily puffing out clouds of green and pink smoke.

“Isn’t a cauldron for witches?” Lenore asked, staring at the enormous iron pot.

“I only keep it for decoration. It makes me look more legitimate when mere mortals stumble upon me,” the fairy said with a wink. “Please, take a seat anywhere you’d like.”

Everett sat on a rickety-looking chair that, thankfully, held under his weight. Samara was stirring something in a pot on the stove, colourful bubbles emanating from the saucepan. it looked rather like soap.

“Do you trust her?” Lenore asked in a low whisper as she sat in the chair opposite him, her mouth brushing the shell of his ear.

“As much as one can, in such a scenario,” he said back in a murmur.

Samara, for the most part, had busied herself with stirring whatever was bubbling away, and didn’t seem to hear either of them, but what if fairies, too, had enhanced powers? He would admit that he knew a bit more about magic than the average person, but he was still far from knowledgeable. After all, he’d done his best to flee from everything that was related to Marya, for the past fifty years, only unable to escape every ‘gift’ that she sent him. Such as the horse. And the beastly messenger.

Finally, she finished with her concoction, pouring it into three mugs and carrying the drinks on a tray. “Please, try my soup. I’ve been told my elderberry and wildflower drinks are some of the best on this side of the veil.”

Having heard faintly about this veil before, though he couldn’t remember exactly what it was at the moment, and not wanting to be ruder than he already was, Everett took a tentative sip of the bubbling liquid, which was a strange swirling mix of blue, green, and pink. To his surprise, it wasn’t as sweet as it looked, instead leaving a bitter aftertaste. “It’s very good.”

“Thank you.” Lenore stiffened suddenly, as though remembering something.

The old folktales about not taking food or drink from fairies, he supposed. It would make sense to fear those.

“I’ve seen you many times, you know,” Samara said, her dark gaze fixed on Lenore.

“M-me?” Lenore said, drinking from her mug.

“Yes,” Samara said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to admit that one had seen a stranger before, and to confess it like one had been watching them. “I used to see you every night. In this very space, in fact. You would be running over the grassy hills, chasing the fairies... really, it was quite tragic, how close you go to them, only to always end up back in the mortal coil where you remained. But none of that. You are here now! And that is all that matters.”

Everett cast a curious glance at his wife. “Have you seen her before?”

“I... I didn’t think much of my dreams.” Two spots of colour rose high on Lenore’s cheeks, which he suspected had little to do with the elderberry and wildflower drink.

“Dreams speak a great deal,” Samara said, her long fingers enclosing her own cup. “Especially the ones that one has night after night.”

He thought he saw Lenore shudder. “I have dreamed about this place... The greenery, the garden, the hills... But I thought it was merely a dream. What does it all mean?”

“I recognized you,” Samara said. “My guards alerted me to your presence--the little sneaky things, always hiding out in those grasses to jump out at passerby--the moment the two of you stepped in. A creature who has been turned by Marya... and one who is not as human as she may suspect. Tell me, what do you remember of your mother?”

Lenore frowned. “What has that to do with anything?”

“Fairy magic is often passed on through the maternal line,” replied Samara, draining her cup. “Though, who knows how our current queen acquired it, if that is the case... If your mother had it, you might also have it.”

Everett turned to Lenore. “Do you think you do?”

“I... My mother died many years ago.” She rolled her shoulders back as if trying to appear confident. “I know very little of her.”

“Hmm.” Samara stared at the two of them as though trying to peer into their souls, and Everett didn’t like it one bit.

Suddenly, the room went dark. Every candle extinguished, the light outside the windows vanishing, blackness covering the room. He seized Lenore’s hand as a horrendous roaring filled his ears, and what sounded like the flapping of hundred of wings accompanied it.

“What on earth?” Lenore shouted.

“I’m sorry.” Samara sounded apologetic and sincere, to her credit. But apologies did nothing. They meant nothing. “I believe she has found us.”

“Who?” Lenore demanded.

“The Queen of Curses,” he said, knowing exactly what Marya’s style was.

-

The Court of Curses had a name befitting its appearance.

Vaulted ceilings rose up, immense and black and shrouded in grey clouds that drifted around the curved beams. The marble pillars surrounding the court were open to the wind, with billowing red curtains that swayed in the breeze. Lenore shivered as she studied the black roses and vines twining up the pillars, the pattern of black and silver fleur de lis snaking through the marble floor like veins. Attendants, courtiers, and sycophants mingled about the room, milling around with goblets of what looked like human blood, or other potions similar to the ones that Samara had served them.

All of their eyes were trained on Lenore and Everett, who were being pushed forth by what seemed to be the same band of bats that had brought them here. Literally, the dratted creatures had picked them up and flown them here, kicking and screaming. They had been so numerous as to block out the sun, a memory that made Lenore shudder.

At the back of the room sat a raised dais in black and charcoal, with a throne on top of it. And on top of the throne, was the Queen of Curses. The wind came to a sudden halt, the room suffocatingly still. Goosebumps rose on her arms as the queen turned to face them.

“You must be Lenore,” said Marya, perched on her ebony throne. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“As have I,” Lenore said, her heart pounding in her chest “Though none of it good.”

A few courtiers tittered, as though they wished to be instantly beheaded. At least, it seemed like Marya wasn’t the type to suffer minor insults. So why was she, a mere human girl by all the looks of it, daring to insult Marya?

As it seemed from the moment she’d agreed to be Everett’s wife... Lenore had a death wish.

She fisted her hands in her gown as she surveyed the Queen of Curses and her court. Black roses and dark, steel-tipped thorns climbed up the legs of her throne, yet Marya rested her hands on the sharp objects as though her skin were impenetrable. She wore a gown of black lace, with panels of deep, wine-red satin, and an overskirt of black silk. A crown made of jet roses and bloodred thorns encircled her head.

“Your trespasses will be forgiven, as you are new to my court,” Marya said. “Welcome to the Court of Curses.”

“I did not choose to come here,” she said. “Your henchmen dragged me and my husband into your court of darkness.”

“Whether by invitation or force, you are here now.” Marya waved a hand, her nails like black claws. “Enjoy your stay.”

“And how long will that stay be?” Everett asked.

“As long as I need it to be.” Marya swung her legs off of the throne and stalked toward them, her feet encased in ebony heels. With a hint of satisfaction, Lenore noted that she was still taller than the queen even with the latter wearing heeled shoes. “Until I am satisfied with punishing these encroachers on my territory.”

“As my wife has said... We did not choose to step foot onto your court. You dragged us here.” Everett snapped, his hand tightening around hers.

The stench of decaying roses filled her nostrils as the queen stepped closer, as though gauging her abilities. “Don’t you think she’s a bit young for you?”

Lenore stiffened, straightening. “What’s it to you? The last I checked, you weren’t his wife anymore.”

“A man never forgets his first love.” Marya’s lips curved into a dark smile, her mouth painted a deep wine-red. “Guards, bring the two of them to their rooms.”

She clapped her hands, and two fairies stepped forward. They were hulking with blades for arms and intricately carved swords hanging from their belts, with flowers growing out of their scalp. The effect was wholly disturbing, not to mention confusing.

As they were hauled through the court, sudden darkness overtook the room. Confused, Lenore blinked to clear her vision to no avail, Everett’s hand wrapping around her wrist as though to keep her from fleeing. But there was a greater force against them, a greater evil that could overtake them both if they did not get out.

In the darkness, a light the size and brightness of a candle flame flickered. A voice reached her ears, whispered and urgent. “Wolf! Come with me.”

Everett jerked toward the voice, dragging her with him. “Who are you?”

“An enemy of the queen,” hissed the voice. “And an enemy of my enemy is my friend, is he not?”

They hardly had a choice. They went with yet another stranger, willingly.