From the ocean depths to the hills above

The king

The boy knelt on the pillow by the king's armchair, stars in his eyes. "Tell me once more, grandfather."

The king raised his gaze from the book on his lap, squinting. "But why?"

"I want to hear it again," the boy replied. "Please, your majesty." In all the twelve years of his life, he could count the times he'd spoken to his grandfather with such reverence on the fingers of one hand. The king also knew, because he laughed.

"What a way you have to curry favour with me, my boy." He put the book down on the table by his side, his gaze glinting at the boy through his spectacles. "Such an interest you have in fay tales, my child. I worry for you—some things are better left alone."

The boy's hands squeezed the red-velvet armrest of the king's armchair. "Please, grandfather. I need to hear it once more." Like most kids, he'd grown up to the echoing tunes of lullabies and children's tales, but no fairytale had struck his heart as much as this one—the only one in which he also played a part, albeit small. The only one close enough to almost touch.

The king sighed a half-laugh and sat more comfortably in his armchair. "Very well. Then pay attention, because this is the last time I'll tell you this tale." He took off his spectacles and put them on top of the book. "On the night of your birth, the fay world fell into chaos. Word has it—" A hard cough broke out of the king's chest, and he took a sip of wine before continuing. "Word has it that a powerful fay lord lost something... something important, in the very same night you were born. Can you guess what it was?"

"Tell me, grandfather," the boy replied excitedly, though he already knew the answer.

"What could be most important to a man that has it all?" the king asked in return, a half-smile on his face. "Why, his wife and unborn child, of course." He leant forward conspiratorially. "In the dead of night, the lady vanished. The disappearance wreaked havoc on the fay folk, all the way from the cornfields of Andar to the mountains of the Isle, and their despair was so intense—" Another cough shattered his words. "—so intense, because this was no ordinary child."

"It was a fay child," the boy whispered, excitement dripping from his voice.

"The fay lord's child was fated to have a power unlike any other. A power that could change it all, and who wouldn't wish for the world to be remade according to their own desires?" The king laughed. "For years and years they searched, and yet they were never able to find her. The fay infant vanished, as if she'd never existed. Some say she's never existed in the first place, and that in truth whoever took the fay lord's wife also took his precious caskets of gold. The fay folk is notoriously attracted to gold, you see."

The boy's eyes glinted. "And what do you think, grandfather?"

The king thought about it for a moment. "I also would fall into despair if someone took the entirety of my treasure." He let out a long, raspy laugh. "Go to sleep now, my child."

"But what if the voices are right?" the boy insisted. "What if there's a fay girl out there that really wields incredible power?"

The king smiled warmly at him. "And what would you do if there were?"

"I'd find her."

The king nodded. "Good choice. If she truly existed, we'd have to kill her before fays use her to threaten the crown. Go, now. It's getting late. Shall I call your nanny?"

The boy stood up and crossed his arms. "I'm much too old for that, now, grandfather!"

"Then go."

The boy snorted and left the king's office haughtily. The corridor beyond the door was winter-cold and dark as the depths of a well, and in his eyes the light of the fireplace still shone, nearly blinding him. Yet he waltzed down the hallway, slaying imaginary dragons of night with the wooden sword he always kept at his side.

"Take that!" the boy exclaimed, slicing through the ice-cold air as he turned into another hall. There, the light of the moon shone through the stained glass windows and fell dappled on the row of decorative banners bearing the coat of arms of his family on a dark blue background. He whirled—dust flying around him in the moonlight—and pointed his sword at the man in the stained glass, pretending he was an enemy knight instead of an ancestor of his. "Surrender! Your future king commands you."

A smile curved the boy's lips as his gaze met the eyes of the man of glass—brown, just like his, though his hair was threaded in gold, just like his. For a moment, holding the image of the king of old at the tip of his wooden sword in the night-dark silent hallway, he truly felt like royalty.

He let his hostage go and pretended to put his sword back in its sheath, tying it instead by his side and hopping down the hallway.

His grandfather was wrong—he had no intention of killing the girl.

Not at all.

If the girl truly existed, he'd find her, for their fates were tied. And once he found her, he would make history.

He would be the first mortal king of Andar to marry a fairy queen.