The Story of a Faerie and a Queen
Once there was a Beautiful Mortal Queen and a Good Mortal King. They had all a Queen or King could ever desire, riches, fame, and love, but they lacked the one thing they wanted desperately, a child. No heir to their Kingdom, no child to love, no legacy to leave behind. Far and wide they searched for a solution, but none were ever found. The Beautiful Queen and the Good King would never have a child.
Oh, how they mourned a child that would never be, “Just one!” the Queen plead among the wind and trees, “Just one sweet, perfect, child to call my own!”
“And what you give for such a child?”
There, standing in the garden, as though he was always there, stood a man dressed in bright emerald green, with hair as red as a summer sunset and eyes blue as a spring dawn. Large black wings stretched from his back, unfurling so high they blocked the sun, trapping the Queen in the shadow he cast. From under his crimson hair, she could spot his long pointed ears and when he reached down to help the Beautiful Queen up, she saw his hand was stripped of flesh and skin, only boney fingers that ended in claws; a Faerie.
Rarely did the Fair Folk stray from their forests, and from one glance she knew this was no ordinary Fey, he held no fear, not even in the heart of a mortal nation. It was a chance, an impossible chance.
“I would give all my jewels,” she answered, raising to her feet, she knew this was the beginning of the bargain, she must not be careless, “For nothing could compare to joy in my child’s eyes.”
“Indeed,” the Fey agreed with a nod, face obscured in his own shadow, the Queen could only see the faint blue glow of his eyes, “nothing can compare to the jewels held within a child’s eyes. What else would you give?”
The Beautiful Queen knew the Fey would not be appeased with only that, he was performing the impossible after all, “I would give all the sugar, honey, and chocolate in my castle, for nothing compares to the sweetness of a child’s laugh and words.”
“I agree,” the Fey said, wings stretching even higher, “mortal sweeteners could never compare to the lovely voice of a child. What else would you give?”
This Faerie was striking a harder bargain than she thought, she needed to be extra careful now, “All the record and stories of my rule, for nothing can compare to the legacy a child gives.”
The Fey hummed as though pondering, “Of course,” he said finally, “a living child’s legacy could never compare to the written remembrance.” he titled his head, “And what else would you give for your perfect child?”
More? He sought more from her? What else could she give? The Queen may be beautiful but she was not good, “My people,” she answered, “I would every citizen within the border regions of my Kingdom for such a perfect child.”
The Faerie startled, as though surprised by her answer, but a sharp tooth smile stretched across his lips, “Fair lady,” he called, moving forward without ever taking a step, “you would give so many lives for only one to call your own?”
She knew it was wrong, but a Kingdom can always be rebuilt, settlers and refugees always pouring in. “I would give every commoner in my Kingdom, for no life can compare to that of my child.” She looked away praying her husband forgave her for such a deal, but nothing was more important than a child of their own. “Please lord Faerie, do you know where I can find such a perfect child?”
“I do,” he agreed, smile sharp in a monstrous way, “but can the fair lady pay the price?”
“Let me hear your price lord Fearie and I shall tell you your answer.”
“Clever,” the Fey laughed, stretching out its boney-clawed hands towards her, “For such a perfect child, with eyes of jewels, voice of honey, and a fate of worthy destiny. A child worth over a thousand mortal lives.” And his hand gently brushed along her stomach, hand as cold as the grave, she forced herself to not shudder as the Fey crowed, “I would ask the same. You shall have your perfect child, but you will also owe me such a child from you.”
The Queen froze, the Fey’s price was one of her children? ’But one child is still better than none,′ the Queen thought, for she was beautiful and she was wise, but she was not good, “I agree to your terms.”
The Fey’s smile grew wider, as from the nearby rose bush, he plucked a single bloom, “Then eat this flower and our accord will be set.”
Without hesitation she ate of the flower, it tasted sweeter than honey, heavy as gold, and the iron twist of a thousand lives.
“Our bargain is set,” and he stretched out his wings blanketing the garden, “till we meet again Mortal Queen.” With one powerful flap, he soared into the sky, wind barely rustling her hair, and between one blink and the next the black-winged Fey was gone.
The Faerie’s deal was proved true, when not before the year was over she had given birth to two beautiful and healthy girls, twins.
The next spring the Fey came upon silent winds, walking boldly into the throne room, “I have come for the promised child, fair lady.”
She had a whole season to be ready for his arrival and her answer,
“Please great Fey,” she begged, “do not separate the twins, I cannot bear the thought of them being torn from each other. I will give you my third born, but it would be cruel to take half a soul away.”
The Fey considered this plea, before nodding sharply once, “Your third born then it will be, fair lady. I shall come next spring.”
Again, the Beautiful Queen grew round with child, and a week before the first day of Spring she had a son, with eyes of sapphires.
And once again the Faerie came upon the dawn, appearing within her court as if he always belonged there, “I have come for my child.”
“He is a boy,” the Queen explained, gesturing helplessly towards her Husband, who was frowning deeply at the exchange. “He is heir to our Kingdom.”
Holding her son close, she made another promise, “My fourth shall be yours.”
The Faerie frowned, but slowly nodded, “Then your fourth shall be mine to claim, need not forget you owe me a child beyond compare.”
The Queen agreed, and within the year, she was pregnant once more, a small boy, crippled from the womb. Once more that Spring did the Faerie reappear.
“I am here for my child,” The Faerie said, smile wide, pointed teeth sharp.
“Oh, great Fey,” she began again as the Faerie’s smile fell. “This child is no good, he is not beyond compare, ugly and small.” She gestured towards the malformed boy in her arms, “My next child is yours.”
The Faerie’s bright blue eyes dulled, clouding with ill intent. The Beautiful Queen knew the Fair Folk were but slaves to their shifting tempers, an angered Fey would bring her Kingdom to ruins.
“I have no child to give,” the Queen pleaded.
But the Fey had grown tired of her defiance, “No more leniency will I grant you, Mortal Queen. You owe me a child. One with a laugh of bells, eyes of jewels, and sweeter than the finest honey. A child worth a thousand lives,” he reminded tone dark and promising.
“What child would you have me give you great Fey-,”
“I do not care which,” he growled, wings stretching the entire length of her throne room, “you seek to break our deal.”
“The next child!” she promised, holding the swaddled baby close, “please great Fey-!”
“You are upsetting my wife Fey, your business is finished here.” Surprised, both of them turned to the Good King, who was glaring at the Faerie, the other children peaking out from behind his cape, “None of our children shall be used as payment.”
“Dear!” the Queen called, rushing to the King’s side, “We can have another-,”
“No,” the King said, voice of steel, “no children.”
The Faerie tilted his head, eyes brightening to a crackling electric blue, a brewing lightning storm, “I will give you one last chance,” the Fey spoke carefully, “give me the child I am owed.”
“We would rather die than give one of our children, swindling monster.”
The Faerie smiled, all jagged edges, a poor imitation of a human, but the Faerie was done pretending, “Then that shall be your price,” and as he spoke, bright red sparks of magic crackling like flames in the air, “Until you give me the child I am owed, death shall haunt your steps. All your family, all your loved ones, all your precious perfect children. Death will spare none of you.” The vow wove into the air, into the hearts and souls of all the family and court present that day, stretching even further to cover the entire nation, “Tell me, Mortal King, is only one of your children worth your whole Kingdom?”
The hall was silent as the Fey leaned down, leering into the King’s face, “What say you? Will you give me my due?”
“A year!” the Queen rushed, “give us a year great Fey! If we have not delivered the child unto you then-,” she helplessly looked down at the sleeping boy in her arms, “then you may take your price.”
“A year,” the Fey laughed, “I give you a week, make your choice. I will come upon the dawn.” And just like how they meet, with one powerful thrust of his wings he was gone as though he was never there at all.
Silence descended upon the hall, tense and frightened, they all knew this day would come, the King and Queen would not so easily give up one of their own, and now they brought the pledge of an angered Fey into their court.
“My King,” one adviser said, approaching nervously, “It is not wise to cheat the Fair Folk, he is owed a child and-,”
“And he shall have one,” the Queen agreed, rising from her throne.
The Good King spun to face her, “My Queen you are not-,”
“I have a plan my King,” and the Beautiful Queen passed off the child she had been holding to its real mother. The Fey were not as great as the legends say if a simple switch was enough to fool the creature.
The King watched the exchange understanding slowly started to dawn, “And it is?”
“I have one more child,” the Queen admitted easily, happily taking her real fourth born, with hair of spun gold.
“You do not mean-,”
The queen smiled, somehow it was even more inhuman than the fanged grin of the Faerie, “I’ve kept tabs on the wretch in case we never needed to send a member of royal blood, though I never expected it would come in useful for this.” It had been a childish mistake of a teenager to sheltered by her parents to know what she was truly getting into. A baby she had left on an orphanage’s doorstep, a child of her blood, who would be no older than 17.
It was perfect. For all that the Queen was Beautiful, she was never Good. She cared not for the offspring of an immature fling; the Fey would have his child and she would have hers.
