The Exiled Queen

Chapter 8

But perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps a mortal can never be safe in Faerie. Just as I step over the threshold and into the cool night air, inhaling deeply the fresh salt-spray and pine scent of the world I missed deeply, trouble finds me.

"Leaving without congratulating your king?" Its Cardan. He steps out of the shadows of the decorative shrubbery of the palace gardens: tangles of twisting archways that bloom in violet and yellow. His flower crown is askew, the blossoms beginning to wilt. And his lips are flecked with traces of gold, eyes smudged messily with kohl. But he walks without faltering steps and his gaze is clear and focused. Intent even. He approaches me as an animal would approach their prey.

He is wearing a jacket now, high collared and black and trimmed with raven feathers. His feet are bare. Twice in one night I have sought the gardens in solace only to fall right into the path of the two faeries I had purposely meant to avoid. I clench my jaw so it doesn't allude to my trembling. I am not afraid of him, no. It is far more than that. It is many things. I am trembling from holding myself back.

I, Cardan, son of Eldred, High King of Elfhame, take you, Jude Duarte....Memories echo through me: Cardan's voice, our vows, images of him hovering over me, the sensation of his mouth on mine, my hands on his bare hips, his breath heavy in my ear. But also the cries of my sons, the feel of them swaddled in my arms, gazing into their dark almond-shaped eyes, the panic I felt the morning I found their cot empty.

My composure is spiraling and I struggle to hide my seething rage. He has Auron and Virion. Took them from me. Has them here, hidden somewhere. Cardan has stripped me bare. And forcing myself to stand here as my docile twin, I vow to return him the exact courtesy.

The land seems to shift with Cardan as he moves. If you blink you would miss it: a flower swivels from the moonlight's path in favor of him, vines grow and stretch toward him as he passes, the clover undulates beneath his steps. Perhaps that is why he is out here in the gardens, barefooted and alone. To feel the power he has over the land.

Cardan stands before me. Too close. His lithe faerie height looms over me. He smells of woodsmoke and something earthy like rotting autumn leaves. He pauses to watch me. He knows. I am so certain he knows. So certain that he can hear the truth by the pounding rhythm of my heart. His eyes travel down my body. Calculating, assessing. He appraises my hair, jewelry, dress and even the soft leather slippers on my feet. I quickly hide one of the only physical differences between my twin and I by clenching my hand into a fist.

"But I believe I am to congratulate you." He rocks back on his heels, and one corner of his sullen mouth curves up slightly at the confusion he sees in my eyes. "On the fruitfulness of your mortal womb. I must admit it has been somewhat sickening to see how much happiness you have brought Locke."

My confusion furthers and Cardan appraises me a moment longer. The air between us feels alive with an intimidating energy. I have been rendered speechless. A horse whinnies nearby. Followed by the rhythmic clopping of its hooves and carriage wheels crunching over loose gravel. The sound cause both Cardan and I to break out of our uncomfortably long scrutiny of each other as Locke's coachman eases the carriage along the path.

Cardan takes a step past me, pauses, and then faces me again, "Oh, I will be sure to let Locke know that his wife has returned home safely. Would that you could expect him tonight, though it isn't likely at all. Goodnight, Taryn." He forces a cold smile that fades just as soon as it appears, before slipping back into the shadows of the gardens.

I don't linger despite how frozen in place I feel after my second encounter with Cardan tonight. I greet the coachman with merely a nod when he opens the carriage door for me; and plop down on the velvet seat thinking about how I have managed to not say one word to him. The moment of proximity to Cardan had my head in a such a spin, I couldn't even comprehend what was said to me. I could only focus on forcing myself not to act. Struggling just to stand there in front of him, whom I feel almost born to hate.

On the fruitfulness of your mortal womb. Cardan's words repeat in my mind. Was he referring to me? Does he know I am not Taryn? But if he did, would he have just let me go?  It all begins to click into place on the slow and somewhat bumpy ride back to Locke's estate: I do not want for your illness to hinder your enjoyment. The elixir...Locke is not poisoning or glamouring Taryn...Taryn is carrying.

I must admit it has been somewhat sickening to see how much happiness you have brought Locke. I fall back against the plush seat and stare at the empty bench across from me. Just as my sister would. Just as I assume she does many a night. Perhaps that is why Locke had us travel by carriage, so that Taryn can return home safely. Alone. While he remains at parties throughout the night and possibly longer, doing things I'm sure even Taryn pretends not to be aware of.

And guilt creeps over me as I think of my twin living under a glamour in the human world. But I tell myself that it will be safer for her there anyway.

I can't imagine what it would be like to not be able to lie.