Fear the Fae | By: Spotted_Frog

Chapter 1

Sweat drips from my forehead. My muscles ache as I clutch more logs in my bare hands. I have been working on the gates for my village for nearly three weeks now, as I had been the only one here able to do it. On the outside my village consists of many you would consider weak: The old, and the young, so it would seem that there are not many suitable fighters to protect it. If you assumed so, you would be making a grave mistake. In reality, my village consists of many strong-suited guards. So, these walls are merely an extra shield for my village added onto the ones wielded by my most trusted soldiers.

Zack and Michael are my first and second command guards as well as my best friends. They have been by my side since my mother disappeared and my father had completely disregarded his own, mine, and his people's safety. My father was once a good lord, a ruler who had cared for his people, his child, and his wife. But since my mother has disappeared, he had been different: He had become distant and no longer cared to preserve peace. He disappeared for days on end, searched for dangerous things that he could not handle, and most of all, he no longer cared about the well-being of his people; nor the well-being of his own daughter.

When he had become less and less active in keeping his village alive, people decided to leave. Some had died of sickness, some left with anger for their Lord, and others simply disappeared. So, I took it as my responsibility to care for my village. Without my help my village would be nothing, I'm the reason that my people decided to stay when my father was deemed to be unworthy of this position. While my father gets the credit for my success, I work hard to keep them safe, to guard and protect them, and to get merchants to trade in our plaza. No one knows it, but I'm the brains behind this operation.

And now I was here, working to create the walls of protection. My hands are red and raw from being overworked. But regardless, I grab the hammer and continue to drive the nails into the wood.

"Alfie, you should rest yourself." I smile as I hear Michael's voice.

I spin on my heel and wipe my saw-dust-covered hands on my shirt. "I can't, no time. Not with our village teetering on the edge of war."

Michael brushes down a stray hair on my head. He smiles warmly at me and cocks his head to the side. "You're so stupid. Just take a break. If you pass out, who will be there to protect everyone?" I huff and cross my arms over my chest.

"You have a point." I look around, I hate the idea of stopping. If I took a break, I was wasting precious time that could be used for this wall. "But I'm almost finished. I'm just doing the final touches. Merely 10 yards before I finish this thing." I argue. Michael shakes his head and snatches the hammer from my hands. I need this protection for my people. Should anything ever happen, they will have the security they need to feel safe.

"Hey! I was using that." I try to reach for it, and even though I challenge his height closely, he can keep it over my head if he stands on his tiptoes.

"Take a break, my lady," Michael says, his words soft, almost like a plea.

"I'm not your lord, no need to call me your lady," I say as I finally retreat and sit down against the unfinished wall.

Michael blows a raspberry from his mouth. "Psh, please. You're more of a lord of this place than your dad is." Michael joins me on the ground, his legs sprawled before him while my own are tight against my chest. Sometimes it hurts to know my father paid no attention to me or his people, despite being a grown woman, sometimes I still craved his validation.

"Maybe." I stare ahead, but I can feel Michael's gaze burning into my face.

"You will be," Michael nudges me with his elbow. "My Lord," He wiggles his eyebrows playfully. I giggle and lean my head back against the wall.

"That day is still a long way away," I say, the late-day breeze is cool against my face. It feels nice. Michael nods but a smile lingers on his lips. "The day the village will rejoice for, the day we're all awaiting, Alfie."

I take a deep breath. All of this was so nerve-racking. For nineteen years of my life, I had to clean up my father's messes, and one day, I would have no one to blame for the mistakes besides myself.

I look toward the skyline of my town. It has become quaint and quiet over the years though it still holds a lot of personalities. However, over time, the amount of personality had dwindled. It was an odd land, one made up of interesting people. The houses had been built at the hand of my mother; she had been the one to lead the building of all the people's homes. However, she mysteriously disappeared one day. At the time, she had been thought to have gotten hurt while away. Then the search parties never found her body, and no one had any idea where she had gone.

Still to this day, no one has any idea what happened to my mother.

"Michael, you know it is considered treason in this land to wish death upon your Lord. You know, the one you are sworn to protect." I say as I clear the dirt from beneath my fingernails.

"Perhaps." Michael merely shrugs but smiles. "I do not wish death upon him. He is your father. If you love him, as do I. However, I do not see him fit to lead."

I sigh, I know he is right. But it still felt like a betrayal to my father to accept it.

"I know." The sun was beginning to set. All the time I had left to work on this was gone. Now it was nothing but a missed opportunity. I rise to my feet and brush off my legs. "I'm off to my home. I'll see you in the morning?" I ask as I peer down at my friend.

He nods, "Yes. See you in the morning, Alfie." I nod and head toward my home.

I walk into my house and am not surprised to find my father. He is usually hidden away in his study with a drink in his hand at this hour. Or every hour. Like every night, I help my drunk father to his bed chamber and spend the darkness in candlelight and do the lord-ly responsibilities my father is supposed to handle himself. When he wakes in the morning, he will have thought he did them himself. And the process will cycle again.

I peer into my father's study and find my father lying on his desk. But there is something different. Some sort of shift in the air, an odd feeling I have of being watched hangs heavily on my mind. And then it all happens so fast. The window breaks, blood drips onto the floor and an arrow strikes my father in the back.

And at that moment, I had just witnessed my own father's assassination.