King of the Woodlands

Chapter 35

Lilibeth Ciar Faren felt like her story could've ended there, but it didn't. There was no end to her story.

After saying her horribly sappy good-bye, she stood there, unsure of what to do. The Woodland King looked wary, as if he knew something she didn't. And once again, he looked like he was fighting with himself.

She bit her lip, bundling up the questions that sat atop her tongue. Loving the Woodland King meant loving all of him—the beautiful fragility and brokenness, the hurt parts as well as the merciful ones. She could not love him less for secrets she didn't know. Lilibeth herself had secrets that she refused to disclose.

Below her, the villagers were just pinpricks of skin, gathering up their burnt-out torches, patting one another on the back. Rage flared through her. They had no right to celebrate. They were the ones who had wanted to kill the Woodland King.

"Well, I'm going now," Lilibeth said awkwardly. She turned her gaze over to him, lips parted slightly. She could still taste the sweet rain on the air, a late apology from the world for what it had done today. It hovered for a while, crackling, soft. She did not know what to say.

"What will you do when you're gone?"

Her eyes darted to the sun. Some said that man's biggest flaw was always craving the unattainable. But in her mind, craving the unattainable was not a flaw. It was hope, an impossible desire, hands reaching for new horizons, eyes trained on a better future. She was hope. She was the sun. She was the future.

"Build a kingdom," she said. "Watch it prosper. And what will you do?"

"Build a new empire. And maybe—find myself along the way."

Lilibeth smiled. She didn't want to cry again.

"And Lilibeth?"

She turned to him. Frothy bubbles of blood remained on his torn wings, but his eyes held a shine she'd never seen before.

"Yes?"

"Don't you ever forget how very enough you are. And I don't know how to say this, but thank you."

She blinked rapidly. "I will never forget."

"Oy, Lilibeth!" Caoim called, waving to her from below. "We've got to go, lass! The dwarves will be quite riled up!"

Before she could think, she whirled and flung her hands around the Woodland King's neck. He smelled like tall, dark nights, the branches of a bare tree. She held him for a long time, breathing in deep, eyes tracing over his features—but not for the last time.

At first, he went stiff. A tremor moved through him. But slowly, he rested his head on her shoulder, huffing curls of smoke. She didn't want to let go. If she bit her lip and swallowed her tears, could she pretend that she wasn't tearing apart completely?

Lilibeth pulled away. "Good-bye," she said again. "I won't ever forget you." She turned to face the villagers again. Their heads peered up at her.

The Woodland King gave a single, slow dip of his head.

Lilibeth drank in his features one last time before running down the hill towards the villagers, leaves sweeping from above and pillowing in the tumbling locks of her hair. When she reached the bottom of the hill, she skidded to a halt, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, her whole body shaking and trembling and alive.

Someone coughed hastily, pushing a wheelbarrow piled high with burnt-out torches and pitchforks. "We ought to get going now, Maclain. Dwarves will be filled to their brims with anger if we don't get back soon."

Father gave a single nod of his head. And although he didn't turn his head to look back at the Woodland King, who was flying great circles around the willow tree, he faced Lilibeth.

"My sweet girl," he whispered. His hair caught the sleepy sunlight in brief flickers. "What have we done to deserve you?"

She smiled. "You're all very lucky, aren't you?"

"Indeed." Father gently grabbed onto her hand. "You made a name for yourself today," he said. "I will tell you that I have spent many nights falling to pieces, but I am in love now, Lili. Don't you see what you've done? It feels like everything I've ever lost has returned to me. And it is your doing; it is magic of your making."

"We will make Mother proud," Lilibeth said.

When Maeve Ó Brádaigh began to walk, the other villagers followed suit, singing small tavern songs that were usually accompanied by bagpipes and fiddles.

Lilibeth couldn't look back now. She would not waste her life dwelling on the things that made her sad. She had a kingdom to rule and a crown to claim; she didn't have time for clinging onto the past.

She breathed in deep, savoring the ground beneath her feet. Oh, she could smell home already, the leaves of the forest, elderflower cakes with gooseberry fresh from the oven. Summer was coming too—apples would ripen in the orchards and the night skies would be dotted with the glow of fireflies. The world changed. Everything would go on.

Lilibeth straightened her back and sped up into a skip, springing like a happy lamb. Father smiled as she flounced past him.

For now, all was well. She would continue to be the contrary girl everyone whispered about when she walked past. She would live her quiet life and bring life back to Mother's dead garden. But mostly, she'd laugh at the ordinary villagers who had no idea what she was truly capable of.