Away with the Faeries

Chapter Nine

 Bates had called Marcel Sir. As in the knightly kind of Sir? Could this day get any weirder? Standing the Queen moved from her intimidating place upon her iron throne. As she stood colossal wings stretched out from behind her delicate frame; the feathered wings were a pristine ivory color that swept the floor as she took her strides, closer to where Marcel and I stood. Silky, inked hair fell in a pool past her full hips, her eyes a startling hue of blue as they surveyed me. It got Weirder.

"You are dismissed, Bates." Her English was refined and polished yet spoken through the loveliest French accent that has ever graced my ears. She smiled softly at the Satyr who bowed once more before hurrying from the room. The Queen's large wings recoiled behind her back as she pulled Marcel into a hug; "What horrible terms for a visit."

"Indeed," agreed the King his voice echoing through the grand hall; "but we are glad you've come, for we have begun to find ourselves on the losing end of this war."

Marcel shook the monarch's hand, and as the burly man shifted I caught sight of his light amber wings that even when hidden away behind him were of a dramatic sort.

Marcel nodded the muscles in his jaw ticking at each word. The King ran a hand through his long, dark, pepper-streaked hair and it was only then did I notice the lack of a crown. Both the Queen and King wore no crowns or jewels for that matter. Color me old-fashioned but weren't monarchs meant to wear crowns? The only piece of finery on them was a matching dainty gold cuff around the tip of their pointed earlobes.

The King and Queen were dressed in simple clothes, made of worn cotton. They looked as common as Marcel and I. If it wasn't for the authoritative aurora they cast I would have mistaken them for commoners. Had the war done this to them? The King promptly motioned to me drawing me from my haze.

"Are you sure we can trust her," he asked, his French hushed and rapid.

A slight smirk formed on my lips. Did he not know I could understand him? The Queen gave me a once over with her eyes, seeming to come upon a silent decision.

"She's quite pretty for being Human," she said aloud her accent even lovelier when spoken through her native tongue, "and a warrior you said? Yes, she will do nicely."

With the best curtsey I could muster I felt my face split into a ridiculous grin; "Thank you, Your Majesty you are very beautiful as well."

As the French left my mouth the faces of the monarchs morphed into utter astonishment. The Queen's blue eyes flew wide, her lips slightly parting in shock. Her husband looked astounded, his battle-worn face pulled into a smile before he broke into laughter.

"So, she does speak the old tongue," he chuckled, "where have you been hiding this one Marcel?"

"I've never met a Human even capable of learning to speak Fae. Wherever did you learn to speak such a sacred language."

Kindergarten. "My mother," I said instead. It wasn't entirely a lie, yes I learned most of my French in school before we left France but after leaving my mother took it upon herself to teach me. A bitter smile pulled at my lips. Those were happier times.

"Was your mother a Fae," The Queen asked.

Marcel turned to look at me, his brow raised.

"No," I laughed nervously, beginning to suffocate from all the eyes glued to me, "She was Human." My mother was something all right, I wouldn't use human as one of her describing factors.

"Strange," Marcel mumbled.

"It matters not," The Queen said, "we'll have time for nonsense later, now we must focus."

Looping her arm through mine she walked with me from the throne room with The King and Marcel close behind. Flocking to a separate room, we all took a seat around a lavished wooden table. Light poured in from the sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows that flanked the stone walls. Marcel sat beside me, unconsciously toying with the hilt of his blade.

"When you wrote to us Marcel, saying how you had a valuable Human ally we thought this might finally be the salivation this kingdom has been searching for," The Queen said, "A woman warrior at that," she added smiling fondly in my direction.

Had Marcel told these people I was a warrior all because I had bested him once in a sword fight? Yes, I was good but I was no warrior. The Kings jaw tightened as he watched his wife, his lips pinched.

"What we need is a spy," The Queen continued.

Were we still talking about me? I was about as stealthy as a fat cat. Don't even get me started on the whole can not tell a lie thing. If you told me I was Pinocchio's exiled cousin I'd believe you.

"Bloed and Ignis have grown quiet over these last few months," she continued, "we need to know what they're planning. We need to send someone in." The Queen looked pointedly at me.

Me? Were they bonkers, I was no spy. I was a damned computer science major with a fancy parlor trick.

I laughed nervously, glancing at all the eyes that stared at me, "Who?" It was me.

Marcel gave me a reassuring look. "You don't have to do this Dame de la forêt," he whispered by my ear.

But something within me told me to help, call it intuition, or insanity. I had never ignored whispers before. Why start now? I'd be a frozen corpse if it wasn't for Marcel, I owed him this much, at least. If he could save me, then I could help him save his kingdom. Looking at the people around me, I steadied my breath.

"I want to."