King of Merits: A Fae Romance (Black Blood Fae Book 3)

Merri

With a flick of my wrist, my bedroom chamber’s teal drapes fly open, and I scowl down at the Faery city of Talamh Cúig. Most mornings, the sparkling emerald and black surfaces of the buildings fill my heart with joy.

But not today.

The dream that woke me still clings to my skin like a cloying velvet gown worn on a hot summer’s day. But here in the Land of Five, it’s springtime. My favorite season. I should be happy. And I would be…if not for the dream.

The dream of snow and winter.

The dream that is light and bright before it turns a deep suffocating purple, the color of bitter longing.

This nightmare of the silver fae with haunted eyes has plagued me since childhood. It doesn’t occur every night. And, sometimes, not every moon turn. But when it does, it lingers until the next time, following me through the brightest days and tormenting me during the darkest hours until morning light creeps across my green and gold walls, saving me.

Every day, I ask myself, why do I see this fae? What’s so special about him?

He performs no remarkable deed nor utters a single word, only stares with his mournful gaze. His silence entices me into a void of white where red flows from deep gashes and wounds—whose injuries these are, I never know.

Sighing, I move away from the windows, snatch my favorite bow and quiver from the floor, and throw them on my bed. With my fingers, I rake knots from my hair, tugging hard on the long red strands.

I dress quickly in hunting leathers and a light emerald cape, hoping a ride before breakfast will erase the vision of the fae with the sorrowful, glowing blue gaze.

Halfway to the door, I skid to a stop. Cara! I’d forgotten all about her. Backtracking, I close in on the happily snoring lump and then give the bed furs a good poke.

“Wake up, lazybones,” I say, “or you’ll miss a ride through the mountains.”

A muffled squeak resounds from under the covers. A long brown nose wriggles out, followed by shiny black eyes blinking in confusion.

“No? Not interested? Goodbye then. I hope you enjoy your day with Arellena.” My elven chambermaid is famously stern and not very fond of my roommate. “I believe she plans to spend the entire day here, sorting and mending clothes. I’m sure you’ll be a great helper.”

A mass of brown and purple fur explodes from the bed, landing on the shiny wooden floor at my feet. I laugh and scoop up my adorable mire squirrel and tuck her warm body into the crook of my neck. Her striped tail wraps gently around my throat as she scolds me with angry chirps.

“Worry not,” I say, patting her with one hand as I collect the bow and quiver with the other, and then sling them over my shoulder. “I wouldn’t have left you behind. I know how Arellena terrifies you.”

As I stride through beams of sunshine in the Emerald Castle’s hallways, I mock salute the striking images of my father, Prince Ever, and King Raff, fighting ferociously side-by-side in their gleaming armor from the tapestries that line the walls. Thankfully, at breakfast time, they behave a little more civilized. Mostly.

When I enter the Great Hall via a back staircase, a chaotic scene greets me. I bite my cheek, trying not to laugh. It’s impossible.

Father and King Raff are arm wrestling, their wild movements sending goblets and platters sliding along the rectangular table. My mother sits in Father’s lap, heckling him to decrease his chances of winning.

Raff’s mire fox, Spark, screeches and bounces atop Isla’s shoulders, her furry little hands buried in the queen’s golden hair and distracting adorable baby Aodhan from his breakfast.

Magret, Alorus, Orlinda, and Lord Gavrin play quiet games of hnefatafl, and next to them, my younger brother, Wynter, clomps the heels of his boots onto the six-pointed star in the middle of the table. Chunks of jet-black hair hide the devious twinkle in his brilliant eyes that are so similar to our mother’s. My eyes are silver, like Father’s, the color as changeable as the weather our magic controls.

Tumbled cups, messy food platters, and all manner of entertainments, such as wooden puzzles, instruments, paper scrolls, and arrow fletchings cover the table’s surface. Yes, my family breaks their fast like an encampment of warmongering giants rather than refined, graceful fae royalty.

A small band of winged musicians, drunk and already falling over each other at this early hour, play haphazardly from the dais, and Balor chases my brother’s black wolf around the table in time to the lively beat, snapping at his tail as they go.

When the king married my mom’s cousin, a human like Mother, fun-loving Raff and Isla became rulers of the Elemental fae, and the strict courtly standards that my grandmother, Varenus, upheld are only adhered to on important, formal occasions. Of which breakfast isn’t one.

With a deep breath, I straighten my spine and sally forth into the fray.

“Good morning, brat,” says Wyn as I pad across the floor toward him.

With my sharpest nail, I flick the tip of his straight nose. Hard. “You’d do well to remain silent if you can’t respect your elders. Heed your wolf’s manners. Ivor could easily best Balor with those formidable fangs but regularly quashes his beastly nature to maintain goodwill.”

Wyn rolls his eyes in reply.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” says Mom. She tickles my father’s side, helping Raff gain the advantage and send Dad’s fist crashing into Lord Gavrin’s bowl of curd porridge. The king winks at me, straightening his sunstone-encrusted crown. Next to Raff, Alorus and Orlinda smother giggles.

I greet the loud chorus of “Morning, Merri” with a grin, then blow kisses to my parents. Humans who met them would never believe that Prince Ever and Princess Lara could possibly have two grown children. They barely look a day older than me and Wyn.

Wyn throws a grape, and I catch it before it hits my nose. “I’ll speak as pleases me, Sister. And if you continue to be annoying, I’ll toss Cara into the mix, and we’ll see how your rodent fares against my wolf.”

“Don’t call her a rodent.” Cara’s whiskers tremble against my neck. I soothe her with a gentle chin scratch, then blast Wyn with an icy wind that tears his hair toward the ceiling. Unsurprisingly, a frenzied mess is quite a good look on him.

“Stop that, you terror.” He laughs, smoothing his hair in a battle against my air magic.

“Make me.”

“If you insist.” With a click of his fingers, the walls begin to shake, emerald-colored dust powdering my hair and face. Spluttering, I create a breeze and blow it back at him. Curse his filthy earth magic!

“Show off,” I say, releasing his mop from the wind spell.

Like me, Wyn is a halfling, but in an unfair trick of fate, his powers are almost as strong as a full-blooded fae’s and more powerful than mine. My air magic is unreliable, and my visions are often hard to decipher. Or completely useless if they’re about a certain silver-haired fae.

“Dear Son. Sweet Daughter,” says Father. “Must you act like bog trolls every mealtime?”

I aim a pointed smirk at Lord Gavrin who is busy mopping porridge from his face.

“Yes, Father, you’re right,” says Wyn. “I humbly beg your pardon and will attempt to follow your fine example at all times in the future.”

“Which means he can do as he likes.” King Raff laughs. “He has you there, Brother. In human years, your son is a mere youth of sixteen and already smarter than you.”

“Or just more insufferable,” I suggest.

“Come and join us, Merri,” Isla says, bouncing Aodhan on her lap.

The little prince is a beautiful golden-haired child with eyes of brightest amber, like his father’s, the king. It saddens me to think that when he comes of age, the family’s vile curse will course through his veins.

“I’ve made chocolate croissants,” continues the queen. “Your favorite.”

Smiling, I pour pear juice into a goblet and swipe a delicious pastry from a plate. I take a drink, then a bite, and say around a big mouthful, “I’d love to sit awhile, but I don’t have time. I’m going riding.”

“Before breakfast?” Mom asks, her hair tumbling around her shoulders as she speaks, dozens of threaded emeralds glinting among the strawberry waves.

My hair is even brighter, making it hard to hide unless I don a cloak with a hood, which I always do when I venture into the forest. A Princess of Air doesn’t see many interesting occurrences, but a stealthy stranger does.

“No, Mother.” I take another large bite, bitter-sweet chocolate melting on my tongue. “As you can see, I’m eating it now.”

“It’s difficult to believe you could willingly choose to forgo my company,” Wyn says in his annoying, deep voice.

One year my junior, he has the voice of a king—as arrogant and charming as our father’s. He throws a purple grape at me. “Here, your rat looks hungry. No, don’t thank me.”

Refusing to argue, I smile serenely and offer Cara some of my croissant.

I gaze at my pouting family and shrug. “Sorry, but I need to get outside and let the wind chase a bad dream away. A hard ride toward the Dún Mountains should do the trick.”

Frowning, Isla studies me. She does that a lot, examines me as though I’m a puzzle she needs to solve, and asks questions about my dreams as if they contain the answers she seeks. I don’t know why she does this. She thinks she’s subtle, but trust me, she’s not.

Mother smiles, her fingers stroking Father’s neck as she hugs him closer. According to her, my dreams are typical for a young girl and they’ll go away when I meet the right fae, the one whose actions, not just their handsome face, will speak to my heart. Be patient, she says, and I just shrug. I’m not interested in love, anyway.

“You have your bow?” Father asks. “The draygonets are on the move again. Kian saw a weyr of them not far from Serpent River only two days past.”

Bending at the waist, I flourish a curtsy, making my quiver full of arrows pop over my shoulder. He gives Mom a dimpled smile, confident in the knowledge he’s raised a child who’s not entirely reckless. Like he was. And still is.

Their happiness warms my heart, and I think again how disturbed humans would be to see their parents glowing blissfully before their eyes, as strong and beautiful as they’ve ever been, but it doesn’t bother me. An ageless appearance is the way of the fae and the mortals who form mate bonds with them, as my mother and Isla did with Father and Raff. In one hundred years, I’ll likely remain unchanged, too. In appearance, at least.

Wyn issues a sharp whistle, and his wolf pricks his ears, his alert orange eyes fixing on my brother. “Ivor and I will come with you,” he says, swinging his long legs off the table, boots thudding onto the marble.

“No, you won’t.” I push him deeper into his high-backed chair, my fingers snagging on the chain of white daisies lying against his chest.

I fasten a button on his forest-green shirt that hangs raggedly open as if he doesn’t give two hoots about his appearance, which is a ruse.

Wynter only behaves like a lazy troll so the ladies of the court can take care of his every need. But he’s capable of doing anything he sets his devious mind to, including dressing himself properly.

“You broke my necklace,” he shouts, feigning great offense.

“Oh, boohoo. I’m sure there are a bevy of sweet sprites hovering around the corner, ready to make you a new daisy chain. Fret not, dear one.”

Secure in the knowledge he is precious to me, he flashes the dimpled smile that makes all of Faery weep, his smattering of freckles glittering in the soft morning light. And he’s not wrong about his value. I’d stick a blade in anyone’s eye to protect him.

Not that he needs defending—he’s skilled with his sword, and his magic is strong. Wynter inherited all the advantages of a Prince of Five, while I bear the shortcomings of my halfling constitution.

Unfair, in my opinion.

Isla’s words circle through my mind: Power may follow the Elemental male line, but you, darling Merri, are destined for something far greater than to sit upon the Throne of Five and look pretty for the rest of your days.

Whenever I ask her what this amazing destiny is, she finds an urgent matter to rush off to, looking oddly guilty. Even stranger, she never repeats these words in front of my parents. Or Wyn, for that matter.

I give a mock bow to my family. “Okay, later, guys,” I say as I spin to face the exit, my eyes on the bronze star decorating the arched doors that lead to fresh air and freedom.

“Some of us here happen to be female,” says Magret, who, despite living with humans and halflings for many years, still insists on taking everything we say literally. “Have fun on your ride, Merri, but please remember that if your grandmother’s spies hear you speaking like that, there’ll be seven hells to pay when you return.”

Tell me about it. Grandma Varenus greatly disapproves when I speak in the mortal gibberish, as she calls it. I’ve picked the slang up from visits to Mom’s birthplace over the years and admit I’m very fond of it.

Earth. What an extraordinary world. My favorite mortal hangout is, of course, Max’s Vinyl City diner, where Mother and Isla worked when they were young. I hope we visit the human realm soon, though Father says we’re needed here, and it’s therefore unlikely.

Truthfully, I’m glad Varenus only dines with us during the grander feasts. She disapproves of the way we tease each other and set the dining table on the floor in front of the dais instead of on it.

When Grandmother lectures, my parents only grin secretly at each other. But her callous words hurt me, make me feel inferior, and I’m glad I don’t have to suffer her disdain very often. And certainly not today, I think, as I hop down the last steps onto a city pathway.

Outside, it’s a perfect day, a clear blue sky and a sweet-scented breeze blowing my dream a little further away. Thank the Elements.

Fae are opening up market stalls that line the silver-paved streets behind the castle, calling out greetings as I hurry past. I shout back to them and breathe deep the delicious smells of cinnamon and baking bread as I leap over a low wall and take a shortcut to the stables.

When I round the bend into the cobblestone courtyard, five moss elves appear, the sleeves of their bark-colored tunics sweeping the ground as they bow low. They don’t look happy, their dark hair framing deep frowns.

It is a family I know well and love dearly, for the older members have been my playmates since I first arrived in Faery as a child. The tallest of them scratches one of his curling horns, and then tugs impatiently on the hem of my cloak.

“Good morning, Tanisha, Marelius, Jasper, Fern, baby Velvet. What disturbs you on this fine morning?” I say, keen to pass by and be on my way.

Pointing at the stalls, they speak in the fast Elvish of their tribe, a language I’m not fully fluent in. The only word I understand from their excited babble is Kian because it’s repeated so often.

Oh, not again. The moss elves despise Kian and spout regular dire warnings about him for the slightest of reasons. Cara chirps loudly in my ear, and I know she agrees with them. I’m not fond of Kian either. But he’s infuriating, not dangerous.

“Is Kian in there?” I ask, pointing at the stables.

“Yes,” says Tanisha, the matriarch of the clan. The others nod furiously. “No good. No good.”

“I’ll be fine.” I squat down and meet the elves’ worried gazes. “Relax, everyone. I’m well aware that Kian is a pain in the neck, but I won’t be with him for long. Nahla and I are going riding.”

Marelius, Tanisha’s mate, hugs my leg and tries to drag me toward the market district. Although tall for a moss elf, the top of his head only comes up to my knees.

“No, Merri, stay,” he pleads, his eyes bright beams of gold against his mossy-green skin. “We elves have some very bad feelings today.”

Don’t they always? A distraction is needed.

“Hey, I have good news. Queen Isla is looking for someone to entertain Aodhan after breakfast. You should hurry along to the Great Hall, because Salamander is probably heading over right now, trying to beat you to it. You know how obsessed the fire mage is with her little fire prince.”

Hugging each other, the elves squeal and move away as one bouncing mass.

They take great pride in being the favorite playmates of the royal children and maintain a fierce rivalry with any member of the court who challenges their positions as chief babysitters.

Dusting my hands off as I watch them dash toward the castle’s teal spires, I try not to feel too guilty about using my halfling skill and twisting the truth into an almost-lie, something a full-blooded fae can’t do without experiencing extreme pain. Wyn is skilled in the art, too, but rarely chooses to employ it. Mainly because he refuses to do anything that might make him appear less fae and more human.

Warm sun on my back, I stride into the stables and find Kian with his head practically grafted onto Seven’s, the imp’s rainbow-colored horns tangling with his red locks as they whisper next to Jinn’s stall.

“Morning,” I boom, startling them into bumping foreheads as they look up.

“Hello, sweet Merrin,” says Kian, his voice sending chills over my skin as he struts forward, peacock-blue cape rippling behind him. In his richly embroidered outfit, he’s dressed far too finely to be mucking out horse dung. Not that he’d ever lower himself to such a task. I wonder what mischief he’s up to.

“I guessed you would be riding out early on such a fine day,” he says, stopping in front of me. “I’ve already saddled your mount for you.”

“That seems kind of you.” I’m fully aware that he’s never nice without an ulterior motive. He probably thinks I’ll invite him to come along, but I’d rather take an amorous mountain troll on an outing than Kian Leondearg.

Jinn and his daughter, Nahla, nicker from their stalls in greeting. “Hello there,” I say, drawing out a small bunch of carrots from my pocket. “Care for a treat?”

Jinn gobbles two with astonishing speed, but Nahla turns her head away, which is most unusual. Normally, she’ll eat anything she’s given, including my cooking, which is brave of her. Perhaps she’s feeling poorly.

Stroking her warm neck, I ask, “Are you all right, dear one? We can go to the meadow and lie about in the sun if you’re not up to a gallop.”

My horse neighs loudly, nudging me with her nose. If it weren’t for the white star on her face, she’d look exactly like her coal-black father. “Fine, then. A ride it is.”

Giving Kian my back, I hook my bow onto Nahla’s saddle and then climb up into it.

A barely dressed Seven scampers up beside Kian and links arms with him. She gives me a cheerful wave.

“I’m certain I heard you swear off dallying with Kian three Beltane festivals ago,” I tell the imp.

Her one black eye blinks innocently at me from the middle of her brow. “Although full of himself, Kian is rather pretty, and I do like to check now and then to see if his bed skills have improved.”

“Or stable skills,” I suggest.

Kian’s bright-blue eyes glitter darkly. Foolishly, he reaches out to pat Cara who has crawled down to my forearm, and she sinks her teeth into his fingers.

“Blasted mire trolls!” He snarls, raising a hand to slap her snout.

My anger wakes the sky, thunder shaking the walls, and Kian holds his palms open, a gesture of surrender. “Calm yourself, Princess. I won’t retaliate against your creature, although she deserves it many times over.”

Patting Nahla’s coat, I click my tongue, and she moves out of the stall, knocking Kian sideways.

“Would you like company?” he asks, already opening Jinn’s stall as though sure of my answer.

Jinn screams, kicking the walls, clearly wishing they were Kian’s breeding organs or his pocket potatoes, as Isla is fond of calling them.

“I prefer the company of my animals, and even if I agreed to bear yours, you couldn’t keep up with us anyway.” I stab two fingers at my chest, the black and gold feather ruff around my neck stirring with the movement. “Air magic, remember? Nahla and I ride like the wind.”

I bend and kiss Nahla’s neck. “Let’s go, girl.”

And we’re off, flying through the courtyard.