THE INVITATION ARRIVED BY FLAME.
Exactly two days ago, the crackling within the hearth silenced. The amber glow cast from the fireplace dimmed throughout the bedroom, the tendrils of fire settling down and shrinking altogether to reveal a crisp, white envelope nestled in between two charred logs.
Upon its discovery, Maren paused her sweeping, so transfixed that she did not even flinch when her broomstick clattered to the ground. She blinked at it. She closed her eyes and rubbed them until white spots dotted the black beneath her eyelids. Lo and behold, the envelope remained and the flames that roared a second ago simmered around it, obeying an unspoken command to not come close to the parchment or a hand that could reach for it.
In hindsight, she could have called for help or alerted another servant in the townhouse. But at the time, that thought never came to mind. It was simply her and the direct existence of magic calling to be recognized, held, and read. As if its presence revealed itself directly to her in the hopes that she would be brave enough to confront it.
So, she crept to the fireplace, got on her knees, slowly stretched the length of her arm towards the firewood, and snatched the letter with two fingers before scurrying away from the mantel. Gazing at the bustling servants coming in and out of her mistress's room, Maren doubted any of the other maids would have done the same.
Then again, it was not just any envelope. It was one with the royal seal of Fae-kind. One that contained a letter declaring the Crown Prince of the Fire Fae an eligible bachelor that searched for a bride in this village. According to the golden ink, a grand ball would be held in a fortnight where he would personally select his choices and take them back to the Neverin Forest. Maren didn't know all the details. She'd only heard what she knew from gossip between the help.
But one girl from this place had a chance to be Queen of a faraway land. A fantasy that young girls read about in books, that they fostered in paper tiaras and etiquette lessons. This was why girls waited for princes. Because one was actually on his way.
Lady Juniper, head maid of the Highmore house stomped her boot. "Maren!"
The maid startled, her trance falling away like a daydream. "Yes, Lady Juniper?"
The older woman put her plump hands on her wide hips and glowered. "Away with the faeries! Stop staring off and bring this tea set into the drawing room."
Ah. Right. Penelope said she hadn't finished with it. Wordlessly, Maren stuck out her arms and anticipated the weight of the silver tray. After a few seconds of Lady Juniper standing still, the head maid's eyes widened as it dawned on her.
"Who do you think I am?" She scowled so deeply the wrinkles in her forehead became trenches. She pointed to the door. "Pick it up by yourself and scatter! Make sure you hurry back. You have more tasks."
Maren bit her tongue to keep from making a face. The pain distracted her expression, but it did nothing to stop the irritation balling in her chest. As quickly as she could, she grabbed the tray's handles and rushed from the bedroom. The weight of sloshing tea in the porcelain pot made her teeter, her shoulders sore and arms shaking by the time she arrived at the drawing room's door. Through a crack, she saw Penelope seated on a couch opposite from her mother and father.
With a natural blush in her cheeks and bright blonde hair, the girl Maren served was the image of poise, and every bit a possible princess in her satin topaz gown and matching bow. Except, as Maren really looked, she caught sight of Penelope's balled fists and glassy blue eyes. The set of her jaw in fury rather than her normal, graceful smile. Though angry, she was still beautiful. It was a wonder how she and Maren were the same age.
About ready to drop the tea set if she held it any longer, Maren prepared to shoulder the door open until Penelope said, "No. No! Absolutely not."
The maid paused, peering a curious eye through the crack once more.
Mrs. Highmore, a longer-limbed and tight-lipped version of Penelope narrowed her gaze. "You will attend the Prince's ball."
The Prince, she said. Because Mrs. Highmore was either too good to say what he truly was or she was too afraid.
Penelope scoffed, her voice trembling. "For what? There is no reason for me to go. I'm already in love. Nathaniel and I spoke a few days ago about--,"
"Do not sit there and tell me a boy beneath you would keep you from considering Queenship?" Mrs. Highmore raised a thin eyebrow.
The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. Maren remained still, the weight of the cups, pots, sugar, and spoons long forgotten.
Penelope crossed her arms. "He would. He's not from that low of a family and you know it. He is smart, and kind, and he cares for me."
Mrs. Highmore laughed. "So am I all those things. You will go. The matter is settled."
"I will not!"
Her mother's eyebrow twitched--her version of a flinch. Penelope scooted forward, passion seeping into her voice. "My heart is no longer available and surely not for an inhuman beast. The Fae are animals! Predators with natural ability. You taught me that. So why sell me away? For their gold? We have enough. So does Nathaniel--,"
"Penelope," her mother warned.
Maren's mistress went on. "You frown upon him but I know who he is. He and I can work together to create a future. That's why when he asked me about marriage, I agreed!"
"Penelope Highmore," her father bellowed. "You will not terrorize your mother. You will be at that ball and it is final. As for Nathaniel, there will be no wedding."
Penelope looked struck, like he might as well have backhanded her. "Y-you can't do that."
"I can, and I will. Any opportunity at giving you a better future is our responsibility, and you read the letter. You could gain an entire kingdom under your name. Even if you aren't selected, you prove your value by being there with the rest of our village's elite. You could find a better match."
"But, Father, I--," two fat tears spilled down Penelope's splotched cheeks.
He stood. "That is enough."
Mrs. Highmore followed her husband's lead, standing and drawing her coat further around her arms. "Tomorrow, we will have this conversation again when you've better prepared," she said. Without sparing their daughter a glance, they strode directly towards Maren. The maid shuffled backwards, the memory of what she carried in her hands slamming into her. Her body began to ache again. But as the master of this house and his wife opened the door and laid eyes on her, she curtsied as if she didn't feel a thing. As if she didn't hear a thing either.
They disappeared down the hall. Maren waited a few seconds in the stillness. She counted to ten before finally entering the drawing room. Penelope's head was in her hands, shoulders jolting from sobs. Unsure what to do, the maid kept her own head down, placed the tray on the coffee table, and pivoted to dash for the door. As she touched the threshold, Penelope sucked in a sharp breath.
"Did you hear all of it?" she asked.
Maren took a deep breath and turned towards her lady. There was no use in lying. She nodded, face solemn. "I'm sorry."
"Mare," whispered Penelope, "I can't go to that ball." She sounded small. Genuinely convinced.
Maren's childhood nickname made her recall a time when she and Penelope used to play together. When there was not a question of rank or status. When they were friends without complication. But that time no longer existed and there was nothing left but decisions and their consequences. It wasn't her place to talk about it.
Besides, Maren had heard the stories too. The Fae were dangerous. Barbaric, in some aspects. From some tales she heard that the faeries hunted humans for sport, made them gripe and fight one another, made them make love. From other tales, she learned about how the Fae sometimes kept humans as pets. But each time, Maren listened to the conscious voice in her head telling her that it couldn't possibly be true. That the creatures that commanded the sea, the sky, and the soil were not monsters.
For what reason she still had faith in them, she was not sure why.
Right now, she pitied the girl that could be Queen of immortal savages.
"I really am sorry, Penelope. Do you need anything else?"
By the distant look of Penelope's blue eyes staring at the tea set, she wasn't sure if she heard what she thought she did. But as the words hung in the air, as they danced in her brain, Maren understood her request clearly.
"Why would you be sorry when you can take my place?"
(A/N)
Woo! First chapter!
Sooo excited to start this journey.
I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you think ❤️
With love,
Milan