Young Immortals

One: The Copper

Three brothers duel, their swords clashing in silver sparks. Prince Silas is the best fighter, and Prince Eldor is the most handsome, but only Prince Devlin is worth watching. He does not know me, but I know him. He stars in every page of my sketchbook – eating, laughing, fighting, midnight trysts. 

You name it, and I have drawn him doing it. I have studied him so much that when I close my eyes, his face stares back at me, burned into my eyelids, every feature clear as day. His charming smile, his ears ending in dagger-like points, the thick burn scar spanning the left half of his face. All of it belongs to me.

"Isobel." 

At the sound of my name, I whip away from the sparring grounds, refocusing on the palace gardens. Princess Aerwyna sits on an ivory bench surrounded by roses, just a few feet in front of my canvas. The breeze stirs her waist long hair, tangling the silver-gold strands with the folds of her tunic. 

"You don't go in the woods much, do you?" she says. 

"No, princess." I hide my sketchbook behind a pile of painting rags, leaving my newest drawing of Devlin half-complete. "I never leave the servant's quarters."

Aerwyna pauses. Since the fae cannot tell lies, exaggeration catches them off guard.

"Almost never," I amend.

"Good," she says. "Gods, I cannot stand the cabinet. Either the budget and give away some food or quit acting shocked when another villager turns up dead." 

Having grown up among country folk before marrying into royalty, Aerwyna is one of the few members of court that knows first hand how some must choose between a quick death hunting or a slow one watching their family waste away from hunger.

"I hate to see anything cause you pain," I reply obediently. "I pray the matter is resolved soon."

"As do I." Sighing, Aerwyna shuts her eyes, tilting her head back to bathe in the sun. "And yet, doubtful..."

I swallow my jealousy at the sight, and it trudges down my throat like a jagged nail. I haven't felt the sun on my face in ages, nothing but a cold copper mask ending just above my nose. Coppers cannot remove their masks; magic gelds the metal to our skin until our deal expires. 

It's partly done so we don't run away, but mostly because the fae do not like looking at ugly things. Compared to them, everything and everyone is ugly. Even the most attractive mortal has nothing on the most horribly grotesque fae, like a candle trying to stand against the sun.

"What's the long face for?"

The princes emerge from the rose bushes, their sweat-stained tunics clinging to their muscles. While I can't look away from the brothers – that's a lie; I'm only looking at Devlin – none spare me a glance. 

My copper mask marks me as more of a piece of furniture than a person. At best, I'm the mouse of a girl constantly hanging in Aerwyna's shadow.

"The beast in the woods," Aerwyna replies, after Eldor finishes kissing her hello. The sickeningly sweet couple is still in their honeymoon period, having only just married 120 years ago. "Another villager has died."

The smile falls off Eldor's face. Despite sending out the court's best trackers, he has yet to catch so much as a paw print. Somehow a two ton beast bigger than a shack owns the woods during the night, then vanishes into thin air each sunrise, gone with the morning mist. "Another?"

"Must we gossip like schoolchildren?" Silas drawls, running a hand through his choppy hair. While most fae, especially royal fae, keep their hair long and sleek, Silas wears a warrior's cut that barely passes past ears. "Has anyone seen this so-called beast? How do we even know it even exists?"