Shadow Cursed by May Sage Page 0,77

They started to tease her, play with her, to catch her attention or ask for favors.

In my childhood, I think I used to wave at them, but they don’t pay attention to little boys and girls. Most children can see the folk, until they grow to believe there’s no such thing as fairy tales.

I’ve been so, so very good, for years and years.

And now, I’ve spoken.

To my surprise, as I stare at the creature with dismay and fear, it stares back, and it’s terrified.

What could the likes of him have to fear from me? I’m one hundred and fifteen pounds, soaking wet. I took self-defense lessons, but I’m aware I’m lacking in the threatening department.

The strange thing doesn’t agree. It’s shivering from head to toes. “I beg your pardon, my lady. My queen!” it squeaks, bending at the waist, so low it’s shoving its face on the muddy ground.

By then, it’s quite clear that this is a case of mistaken identity. In a split second, I decide to ensure the creature keeps mistaking me for whoever he thinks I might be.

Did he say queen?

I don’t have much to work with, but I stand upright, throwing my shoulders back and lifting my chin in what I imagine is a queenly way. I’m ridiculous, sweating, out of breath, and imitating Lady Di.

“You’re pardoned. Now, go, I need my privacy.”

There. Not too bad, right?

The little folk pops its head up, suspicion written in his puckered, leathery skin.

Dammit. I gave myself away, somehow.

“If I may, why is Her Majesty so far from the bright lands, and at such a time as this! Should they find you here, on unseelie soil—”

The words make little sense to me. I think back to Julia’s tales, trying to decipher its meaning, so that I might give a convincing answer.

I settle on sticking to my guns. I am queen. He’s…whatever he is. I doubt he can be very far up on the food chain. “Tell me, since when do I have to justify myself to you, exactly?” There’s a threatening edge to my words.

At first, it works. The little folk is trembling and shivering, reacquainting its face with the moss.

Then I hear a low, rumbling laugh, followed by a pointed slow clap. I turn to the sound, and freeze.

He stands feet from me, leaning on a black oak tree. The man from yesterday, still in black under the coat. Now that he’s ten feet away, I can tell it’s forest-green leather, stitched with gold embellishments. Trees and leaves, birds and hearts, follow the edges of the garment.

I concentrate on it, studying it in great detail, if only to avoid looking at him directly. I’ve had a glance. It’s enough. Enough to realize my terrible, terrible mistake.

I should have locked myself in yesterday. I should have convinced my family to pack up their bags and move far, far away.

Run, run, run away.

I don’t. I don’t move at all. As much as I want to flee, I obviously suck at running. Besides, I can tell. He’ll enjoy the chase.

The fae is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever beheld. There’s no need for any posturing on his part. I itch to kneel. To bare my throat to him, like a spineless bitch.

Come, come, come closer.

His dark eyes whisper promises of pain and pleasure, wordlessly beckoning me, but it is his mouth I fear. His playful, full, bloodred lips have no business on the face of a man. I note the delicately curved point to his ears, poking out under his waves of black curls.

Screw it. I need to go, and I do just that, willing myself to ignore both of the folk as I storm past them, sprinting in the direction of my home.

At least, I hope it’s the right direction. Suddenly, I’m not sure at all.

A laugh follows me. I don’t stop, concentrating on one single goal. Getting back home alive. And whole.

Part of me wishes I were religious. I could pray right now, if I knew how. I could swear to be good. I could swear to be a better person, a better daughter and sister, so long as a higher power intervened, ensuring I got home in one piece.

Please, please, please.

One moment, there’s nothing but the muddy ground in front of me. The next, a root lashes like a whip, curling under my foot. I see the ground approach, and wince in anticipation. At my speed, the fall is going to hurt.

I close my eyes, willing reality away, but the pain never comes.

Instead, I feel something much worse.

Warm, soft hands holding my middle. The scent of wood, blood, musk, and ashes hits my nostrils. I open my eyes to see the fae right under me, lying on the ground, his elaborate coat stained with mud and moss. He doesn’t seem to mind at all. He’s smiling as though he couldn’t be more pleased.

Run, run, run away.

I don’t. I know it’s far too late for that.

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Note that May Sage also writes fantasy romance under Alexi Blake