A Faery Tale - Finished

Chapter Three - One Night With The Fae

- Azarel -

Azarel, the Queen of the Unseelie Court scowled viciously at her twin sister. She wanted to rip those red locks of hair out of her head in chunks. She would one day pay her back for their father’s death, but unfortunately, tonight’s festival was not the time. She hated these festivals; the centuries passed by so quickly that she felt like she was forced to look at her sister’s hateful face more often than not. At least the Irish fae had been no trouble. There had been whispers for a long time that this night would be historic for all the wrong reasons. Azarel almost pitied the Irish, but they had been ruled by a weak king who had lost his throne and his life for his own stupidity. Whereas her own father had lost his life out of his own carelessness combined with Mirela’s betrayal.

Azarel clenched her fist until her nails made her palm bleed. Mirela’s smirking mouth riled her beyond belief. Watching her grant her dog of a bodyguard a flirtatious look was almost too much to bear. How she wished the rules could be changed. She licked her lips, feeling her sister’s lust spread over her, much to Azarel’s disgust. She spiked up the bloodlust a few notches to gain the upper hand. Her sister didn’t react at all.

“Why is she so happy all of a sudden?” she enquired of her second-in-command, Wyla. The warrior Wyla was one of the most aggressive and feared faeries amongst the fae. She was almost feral in her attempts to protect her Queen, who considered Wyla to be a loyal friend as well as servant. She was the only one who understood Azarel’s frustrations and limitations, choosing not to see them as weaknesses as others might. For that, Azarel was grateful.

“I think Brathnach may have found her a toy,” sneered Wyla glancing over at the dark-haired Brathnach, his usual smile plastered on his face as he knelt before his Queen, whispering to her. They both hated Brathnach, Wyla’s counterpart. He was the Seelie Queen’s favourite, as a warrior and bedfellow.

“Her happiness never bodes well for me,” Azarel said. “I fear she is up to something tonight.”

“Shall I find you something to play with?”

“Only if it belonged to her first. Find Brathnach’s gift if it exists. Let her consider reacting to us taking it. Maybe then she will see that I am more powerful than she will ever be.”

Azarel hated her sister with a passion more fierce than anything else. They maintained a balance together. An uncomfortable sort of peace, but peace nonetheless. The Unseelie Queen would have welcomed a war, but Mirela was far more interested in making her own subjects lust after her. She was a pathetic Queen whose deviant antics regularly disgusted Azarel. Wyla slipped away from the Queen’s side to beckon a banshee. Azarel forced herself to look away from her sister and view the crowds dancing and offering their loyalty and support to both Courts instead.

They all sickened her. She wished to be left alone in her own Court without all of these festivals to attend. What was the point in being in the same room as her sister if she wasn’t allowed to shed her blood or retaliate to her petty games? She sighed wearily, wanting to get back to her real life, the one that didn’t involve listening to solitary fae or watching them dance badly to poor music. The ones who were enchanted to dance all night were already looking weak and tired.

She hoped the next hosting nation would do a better job. The band had obviously peaked before she even arrived, she noted as some of them collapsed to the ground. They were stepped on by replacements almost immediately, but the whole set up seemed shabby to Azarel. The lack of effort was almost disrespectful. It riled her, but she couldn’t tell if the slights were intentional or simply a lack of anyone capable in charge.

After a few minutes of questioning, and plenty of threats, Wyla had apparently found the answer she was looking for because she returned to Azarel’s throne, seeming pleased. By this time, Azarel was fidgeting and agitated, but she could always depend on Wyla to do a job quickly and without waffle, unlike her sister’s poor excuse for a second-in-command who couldn’t function without a treat or a pat on the head.

“My Queen, there is indeed a human here. Brathnach warned the hosting fae to hide all exits from the human until he is ready to claim her for his lady. The banshee says she is in a room, locked to all those belonging to the Court of Unseelie.”

“Arrogance,” Azarel muttered in disgust. “Is my sister planning on showing me up tonight, I wonder?”

Wyla glared at Brathnach. “If Brathnach even considers such a thing, his head will be released from his body.”

“Remember the treaty,” Azarel warned. “We cannot afford a war right now, particularly not here. But I can’t pretend to be upset if the dog slave dies. If it could be seen as a mistake by one of the solitaries…”

Wyla smiled knowingly at Azarel, taking her words in carefully. Azarel hoped that Wyla would be cautious. It was a delicate situation, but her sister was asking for trouble if she thought to bring a human to the festival and force it to make itself an offering. It was the height of insolence, begging for punishment. The Queen fumed at her sister’s impudence and slyness, barely able to focus long enough to wonder how Mirela had bypassed the laws to sneak in a human. Always the same, she thought, sneaky and conniving in her bids to be on top.

Azarel bit her lip, trying to calm the bloodlust that was growing swiftly. If Mirela felt the change, she would be aware of the danger and alter her own plans. She was waiting for the chance to show up Azarel who always struggled to control the frenzy within herself. It was getting harder every time. Wyla, perhaps sensing the Queen’s trouble, offered her palm to Azarel discreetly. Azarel bent her head and bit hard, drawing blood instantly. The release of the blood of her own servant cooled her nerves straight away, allowing her to relax enough to tone down her influence in the air.

A solitary tear rolled down Azarel’s cheeks as the tension released. She sat back in her throne, sweating heavily. Some of the fights brewing on the dance floor eased off before any damage could be done, to Azarel’s relief. She was too hot-headed to control her own power sometimes, and that was why Wyla was so invaluable to her. She always knew what to do to calm Azarel down.

All the Queen and her servant could do next was to wait and see what move the other court would make. Brathnach didn’t stir from his Queen’s side for long moments. When he finally made a move, Azarel realised she had been holding her breath. She was surprised at herself; she wasn’t scared of her sister. But her power combined with Azarel’s own was a deadly mix; it made it almost impossible to stick to the treaty, particularly when the sly bitch made plans behind her back.

“Hold for a moment, and then follow Brathnach,” said Azarel, breathing deeply to keep calm. “Try to find the girl before he makes her agree to give herself up to my sister. Kill him if you have to, but make sure that nobody sees you. There are too many solitaries here to judge the numbers on our side.”

Wyla bowed before Azarel with respect, but her eyes were anxious. She obviously didn’t want to leave her Queen’s side. The Queen nodded at Wyla reassuringly. She knew her orders would be followed and only hoped that Wyla would survive the night if anything untoward happened. If Wyla wasn’t there to keep her in check, there was no knowing what Azarel would do. She waited impatiently for Wyla to return, amusing herself with fantasies involving her sister’s bloody and painful death.