Her Wolf King

{la reine}

THE QUEEN

The fairy led them into a copse of woods, nestled in a hidden valley and hidden away by jagged mountains whose towering peaks and jagged stones reminded Everett of forbidding church spires, stretching upwards into a heaven they would never quite reach. Clouds brewed a storm above them in angry purple and charcoal, but for now, it had yet to rain, though the scent of it was heavy in the air, dampness clinging to his skin and clothes. Lenore's hand firmly in his, he thought about the real reason he hadn't come to the wine cellar in all the tie that he'd been here.

Oh, sure, there had been that incident when he'd imbibed too much slivovitz and been forced to face the consequences of his own actions. But the truth was, after that, when he'd seen the bottles of poisons and potions... it had felt like a threat. A threat of how he might end it all. And he hadn't been brave, or cowardly enough, to do anything but remain in this life, to exist.

As they entered the cottage with a perfectly rounded dome for a thatched roof, whitewashed walls, and a door that looked like a slab of driftwood, Everett had to duck his head to enter the front door. The scent of woodsmoke and the sound of a crackling fire reached him once inside, and the red curtains that were drawn closed over the windows provided a homey atmosphere to the fairy's cottage.

"You have a lovely home," Lenore said, a good deal more well-mannered than he would ever be. He glanced at her: her hair was tied up into a knot, exposing the slender curve of her neck.

"This is not my home," the fairy said, poking her head into what must have been the kitchen portion of the cottage: it had a potbellied stove, a table, two chairs, and a basin of water. "But I'm glad you like it, all the same. This is where I do the most of my magic."

There was a cauldron in the centre of the room, next to the chimney that was busily puffing out clouds of green and pink smoke.

"Isn't a cauldron for witches?" Lenore asked, staring at the enormous iron pot.

"I only keep it for decoration. It makes me look more legitimate when mere mortals stumble upon me," the fairy said with a wink. "Please, take a seat anywhere you'd like."

Everett sat on a rickety-looking chair that, thankfully, held under his weight. Samara was stirring something in a pot on the stove, colourful bubbles emanating from the saucepan. it looked rather like soap.

"Do you trust her?" Lenore asked in a low whisper as she sat in the chair opposite him, her mouth brushing the shell of his ear.

"As much as one can, in such a scenario," he said back in a murmur.

Samara, for the most part, had busied herself with stirring whatever was bubbling away, and didn't seem to hear either of them, but what if fairies, too, had enhanced powers? He would admit that he knew a bit more about magic than the average person, but he was still far from knowledgeable. After all, he'd done his best to flee from everything that was related to Marya, for the past fifty years, only unable to escape every 'gift' that she sent him. Such as the horse. And the beastly messenger.

Finally, she finished with her concoction, pouring it into three mugs and carrying the drinks on a tray. "Please, try my soup. I've been told my elderberry and wildflower drinks are some of the best on this side of the veil."

Having heard faintly about this veil before, though he couldn't remember exactly what it was at the moment, and not wanting to be ruder than he already was, Everett took a tentative sip of the bubbling liquid, which was a strange swirling mix of blue, green, and pink. To his surprise, it wasn't as sweet as it looked, instead leaving a bitter aftertaste. "It's very good."

"Thank you." Lenore stiffened suddenly, as though remembering something.

The old folktales about not taking food or drink from fairies, he supposed. It would make sense to fear those.