Waking the Fae [BOOK ONE]

Prologue

Her Royal Highness, Queen Juliette of Huskanary looked the part; the wrong part – a person who was dying. Gone was the regal gowns of Alexander McQueen, the diamonds worth millions, the beautiful face she was known for by her devoted subjects. Gone. Now, with her sunken cheeks, hollow eyes and make-up free face, no one would guess she was the queen of a country. She was a shell of who she once was, though that was what cancer did to – slowly, ever so slowly, it ate at you from the inside, tearing apart your life, yet you didn’t even realise. A week ago, she’d been sitting on her throne, sorting through paperwork. Now? Now, she was lying in a hospital bed – a very expensive hospital bed, at that – waiting for the cancer to take her. Waiting to die–

“Your Highness?”

She turned to the sound of the unknown voice, her doctors fussing over the fact that she’d moved. Though she was used to the attention and care she received from doctors, she didn’t see the point anymore. She was dying. In hours, days or even minutes she would disappear from the world, her body left to be mourned by the Huskanary people.

“Yes?” she asked, though her voice was grave, barely heard over the beeping of the machines keeping her alive. She was glad no one would see her like this. She didn’t want to be remembered as someone who lay on a hospital bed, encompassed by death. No, she wanted to be remembered as the soft-hearted queen, the first queen to rule without her husband (he had died in an airplane crash on the way to a business meeting 15 years ago). She was an advocate for women’s right. Not someone who collapsed under the cruelty of cancer.

She heard a voice reply and forced herself to pay attention; she’d missed most of what he’d said to her. “. . . wishes to see you, your Highness.”

“Oh, yes. Tell them to come in,” she said, figuring she could tell whoever it was to leave if she had to. Even on her death bed she was still sovereign.

The security guards expression didn’t change; he just bowed his head in ascent. “Right away, Highness.”

As he opened the door, she sat up to see who it was – or tried to,at least. She blamed the doctors – “No, Your Highness, you must not strain yourself.” But the truth of the matter was that her body simply wasn’t strong enough; her bones felt heavy, her motivation drained. And if the face that she was dying didn’t depress her enough, that sure did. When she was younger she imagined she’d die strong – how her mother had passed away: stubborn to the end, making jokes until her last breath. But, no. She’d die depressed, missed opportunities galore. She shut her eyes in exhaustion, too tired to front strength. Whoever came in, she’d recognise by voice or force her eyes open.

“Your Highness? Are you well? Do you need water? Food?” There was a pause, then the voice became worried. “Jules? Jules! Oh, god, please don’t be dead.”

Her eyes flipped open of their own accord, a smile crossing her face – though it didn’t last long. even her face felt painful. As she looked over Marcus – her guard of five years, until his unfair firing – she felt her mood brighten. He had started out too formal and too disconnected from her, but over the years he had warmed up to her. Though he had felt the same thing. He’d thought she’d been pompous – everyone was beneath her – but over time they’d grown close. She was her best friend; any problem with court she came to him. Though he was not a noble or figure head, his time as a guard had been full of watching. He knew almost everything about everyone.