FAIRYTALE Read online

  It was difficult to believe that the grand ballroom had been in near shambles only a couple days before. If Killian hadn’t experienced it firsthand, he might have assumed it had never even happened.

  The floor was already lit with twirling figures, swathed in the rich hues of gold and silver. The only light beamed from an enormous golden globe set directly in the middle of the room. Made entirely of crackled glass, it cast long, soft shadows into every corner. The ceiling was left open, revealing a glittering black sky, and the soft flakes of snow wafted inside. A band of drums had joined in with the usual quartet, and the entire hall filled with their thumping beat.

  When Killian was younger, the Silver and Gold Ball had always been one of his favorite dances of the entire summit, drawn to the globe like a moth to flame. It was as though the moon itself had fallen from the sky, transporting him to another world entirely, a night of nonstop dancing and laughter.

  But tonight, Killian stopped at the top of the stairs, less than eager to join the fray. He easily spotted Melchior in the crowd, already swept up in the eager twirling of Cosette. Her cheeks looked pinker than usual, her laughter a little more wild. Neither of them noticed him.

  “I didn’t expect to see you out so soon.”

  Killian turned and offered a weary grin as Annette approached him on the stairs. She wore a mermaid gown in snowy white, but she more than made up for it with the glittering silver powder she’d sprinkled in her hair. “I just needed a little break,” he said. “I probably won’t stay long.”

  “You should dance with me.”

  She looped her arm into his and led him down to the dance floor, and Killian fell into step beside her. Despite the open ceiling, it felt suffocatingly hot near the glowing orb. She steered his hands around her slim waist and rested her wrists on his shoulders as they fell into a slow, lilting dance that didn’t mesh with the rapid beat of the drums. Killian stared out at the crowd as they twirled around, wishing he could melt into their beauty.

  “Something on your mind?”

  He jerked his head back to her and Killian realized Annette was staring at him, brows furrowed. He sighed and rested his forehead against hers.

  “I’m sorry; I guess I’m really not in the mood for much of anything tonight.”

  She pulled him in a bit closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Come on, you can tell me. You know I’ll get it out of you one way or another, so you might as well make it easy on yourself.”

  They sashayed around the globe; the bright light grew warmer the closer they neared. Killian swallowed, but his stomach continued to contort itself, threatening to rise right out of his throat. He sucked in another shaky breath and tightened his grip around Annette’s waist.

  “I don’t know,” he finally sighed. “I guess I’m just not really ready for any of this. Marriage, I mean.” He stumbled over his words, feeling stupid. “I thought I was, or at least, I thought I could be, to make Maman happy.”

  Annette nodded sympathetically. “And Astrocia.”

  “Exactly.”

  He groaned and pulled his head back from hers. “When did this all become so complicated?”

  “Well, you know, you could have avoided all this three years ago.” She tossed her head back and smirked, waggling her ring finger at him. “I was a free woman not too long ago and you missed your chance on this fine prize.”

  “Yeah, because that would have worked out.” Killian snorted. He glanced back at the crowds, but he knew better than to ask where Annette’s husband really was.

  He stopped dancing, and the room continued to go on without him. She gave him a small tug to continue, but stopped when he refused to budge. All around, laughter drifted by; everyone seemed so happy here. Surely someone else was filled with as much dread as he was, right?

  He pulled away from her and gently took her hand, pressing it to his lips. Annette smiled but didn’t stop him as he walked away, hiding behind a chocolate fountain atop one of the tables set up around the walls of the room. He watched as Annette easily fell into the arms of another prince, tilting her head back as she laughed blissfully. At least she was having a good time.

  “Thank you.”

  Killian jumped at the familiar voice and turned around, startled at the sight of Fedya standing right behind him. He was dressed in a solid, brown leather jacket, a far cry from the rich metals that twirled throughout the room. But he wore two glimmering gold earrings in each ear, and a simple gold circlet rested atop his head. His ebony hair was pulled up into two slick braids, leaving only a few wisps to frame his face. He almost fidgeted beneath Killian’s stare.

  “I didn’t realize how extravagant people dressed for this event,” he said awkwardly.

  It took Killian a second to realize what Fedya was referring to, but then he smiled. “No,” he said with a shake of his head, “it’s nice. It makes you stand out.”

  Fedya looked like he wanted to respond, but then changed his mind. His eyes flicked to the side as he drew in a breath, and Killian felt a rush of delight at the growing pinkness of his cheeks.

  “You’re welcome,” Killian said.

  Fedya blinked. “What?”

  “Didn’t you say thank you?” Killian said, trying to be careful with his words, but it was ruined by the effect of his unstoppable grin. “So I’m saying you’re welcome.”

  Fedya paused, and then nodded. “Yes. You helped me, back in the gardens, and that… I just wanted to thank you for it.”

  Each word was clipped, embarrassed. Fedya kept his eyes on the dancing crowd as he spoke, head turned completely away from Killian. He seemed conflicted about what he wanted to do, his toes practically tapping in anticipation to leave, yet every time he spoke he leaned in just a little bit closer.

  Killian tried not to smirk, but it was a losing battle. He hadn’t spoken to someone so delightfully awkward since he was in grade school. “Do you like the rose?”

  Fedya drew in a deep breath. Killian half expected him to walk away right then, but to his surprise, Fedya only crossed his arms over his chest. The hazy light skimmed across his features, pulling out speckles of gold in his russet eyes. “So, is this the dance you mentioned before? The one you had invited me to?”

  Killian’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to respond, but for the first time, there were no words.

  “Or was that a mistake?” Fedya noticeably tensed. “Am I wrong to assume that offer still stands?”

  “No.” Killian broke into a wide grin, trying to force his heart to stop trembling. “No, of course not.”

  Fedya nodded, but he didn’t look away from the glowing sphere. Killian curled his fingers against his sweaty palms and focused on steadying his voice. It didn’t work. “I would still like to dance with you too.”

  Fedya’s eyes shot back over to him, and before he could refuse, Killian offered his hand. His fingertips visibly shook, but Fedya didn’t seem to notice.

  “I don’t know how.”

  Killian leaned in a bit closer, but only by a sliver. “I’ll show you.”

  Fedya’s fingers were a touch warmer than the night before, but they sent the same electrifying chills coursing through Killian’s body. Killian led him to the dance floor, and suddenly the energy from the music seemed to take on a life of its own. He could hardly hear what the band was playing or what dance everyone else was even doing. But he didn’t care.

  They stopped once they reached the crowd, and Fedya’s hand quickly fell away. Killian could see the rapid rising and falling of Fedya’s chest, as though he were unable to catch his breath, and Killian wondered if his wounds had completely healed. Fedya looked back at him, eyes wide. “What now?”

  Killian smiled and held up his hand, his palm facing Fedya. “This dance is easy,” he said, “just place your palm against mine.”

  Fedya hesitated, but then did as he was told. Their palms met, and so too did their gazes. The music was a faded blur, a faraway thumping
that carried their feet and transported them to another realm. Fedya looked afraid, his eyes growing wider as he attempted to follow Killian’s steps. He wobbled, and Killian almost laughed. “You really don’t know how to dance.”

  Fedya frowned, but Killian tightened his grip as his playful smile faded and he tugged Fedya in just a little bit closer. Fedya didn’t resist.

  “Don’t be afraid of making a mistake,” he whispered.

  Slowly he felt Fedya’s hand relax again. Fedya’s expression was tight, yearning to smile but never fully daring to. His wide, round eyes reflected off the light, sparkling like diamonds. Every step, every spin, brought them in closer, until he could feel Fedya’s breath brush against his neck. The warmth tickled Killian’s flesh, and his lips were suddenly dry.

  That’s when he saw Fedya’s gaze drop, just for a second, to watch his mouth.

  They stopped moving. The music still blared, the swirl of gold and silver rushed around them. But everything else was still. Fedya’s hand clutched Killian’s, squeezing tight, and it was the only thing that mattered anymore.

  “Fedya, can I…”

  He leaned in closer. He wanted more. Fedya didn’t resist, unafraid. Killian trailed his other hand along Fedya’s arm, along his neck, before resting against his cheek. He pulled him in, closed his eyes, and their lips brushed together.

  Fedya backed away. Killian’s heart dropped into his stomach, hope rapidly fading. “Fedya?”

  “I can’t.”

  Fedya pulled his hand away, and suddenly there was music again. The people were laughing, the drums booming. And Fedya was already turning away.

  Killian tried to follow, reaching for Fedya’s hand once more. “Wait.”

  As their hands touched again, Fedya froze. He searched Killian’s face, dark eyes speckled with stars, yet somehow clouded in regret. He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” Killian’s hand fell back to his side. “What happened?”

  Fedya’s jaw clenched, and when he shook his head, his eyes sparked. “You’re engaged.”

  He slipped away, and Killian let him go. Fedya’s words rang in his ears, hollow and true, and there was nothing left to do but watch the crowd swallow him whole.

  T

  he day of the Union Ceremony arrived.

  The entire castle was in a strange sort of flurry. An excited electricity buzzed through the air, captured in rushed, quiet conversations and quickened footsteps all along the halls. Servants swarmed back and forth in frenzied preparation, and the rich scent of jasmine laced the walls. It was the day Killian would finally meet his fiancé, the day of celebration for every new country and province that would come under new rule and treaty.

  He got dressed that morning in a daze. He’d known what he was going to wear on this day since he was a child. A structured, silken suit in a rich sapphire blue. Crisp, button-up white boots that went to his knee. Spotless ivory gloves. An emerald at his throat. It was the traditional attire of his family. His father had worn such an outfit when he had met his mother. As well as his father before him. So too was it now Killian’s turn. They already had his crown, ready to be placed symbolically on his head when he was to bow before them all, hand in hand with his betrothed.

  He waited for the nerves to set in. He almost welcomed it, the racing of his heart, or his nerves sizzling with the anticipation of what was to come.

  Except he felt nothing at all. Killian had seen the ceremony plenty of times before, had clapped his hands in applause and smiled in congratulations to all the newly announced. After all, every single one of them had accepted it. A tradition dating back to the very first Peace Summit, it was the height of anticipation for every attendee. While the rest of the event may have been filled with long days of meetings, seminars, and endless nights of dancing, the Union Ceremony was the real center of attention. It was the day of ultimate reconciliation, a time of coming together, forging bonds between countries, a display of compromise and strength.

  Now it was his turn.

  There was no music drifting down the halls today. Breakfast was quick, hardly more than oats and cold milk, but Killian touched none of it. He sipped a cup of tea and his empty stomach turned as he thought of that evening, of sharing his very first meal with his hand next to a stranger’s.

  Fedya would have to be there tonight. His older brother was a part of the ceremony too. Killian’s stomach tightened even more. He needed to talk to him, just one more time. But what was there left to say? There was no stopping what was to come, no way to turn his back on his duties. Why couldn’t he have met Fedya before all of this happened? Would things have turned out differently then?

  No one looked at him as he walked through the halls. Maids bustled past with loaded armfuls of white linens, and servants quickened their paces, stacks of papers in hand. Killian wandered down to the gardens, only to find they too were bursting with the vibrant colors of traditional regalia. Everything from feathered jewelry to wooden shoes, thick cloaks and sheer, silken robes, hundreds of places Killian didn’t even recognize. Snippets of languages he never knew floated all around, eager, fast.

  Killian focused on his tea, avoiding as much eye contact as possible as he passed them by and walked deeper into the gardens.

  Soon the excited chatter fell to a distant thrum, and Killian sighed, slowing his pace. He was alone, surrounded by the lush, green foliage of the perfectly trimmed bushes. There was hardly any snow today, and the sky was bright and cloudless. The jagged mountaintops cradled the castle in a flawless bed of white, concealing them from the rest of the world. It was a perfect day for the Union Ceremony.

  Killian shoved his free hand in his pocket as he strolled along the path, the bushes growing taller the deeper in he went. His fingers clamped around the small, black box that held his wedding ring. After today it would be on the finger of a man he’d never met. He remembered the ring he’d found on that very first night, its simplistic, strong design, and the magical way the dark metal reflected off the light.

  Would things have been any different if he’d never found it at all? Maybe then he wouldn’t have chased after Fedya to return it, and maybe then Fedya wouldn’t have given him his coat. Maybe then he would have never allowed himself to dance.

  Somehow, Killian doubted it.

  He released the box and grabbed the other object inside his pocket—the mirror. He’d quickly stashed it away after getting dressed that morning, the cold, heavy metal strangely comforting.

  It hadn’t changed at all since the last time he’d looked at it. The same beautiful image of the rose reflected off its otherwise smooth surface, graceful and elegant. He turned it over in his hand for a moment, warming it against his palms, when the mirror began to shimmer. Killian’s eyes widened, watching as the etching glowed a bright, white light. Then the mirror pulsed.

  Killian jumped and the mirror clattered to the ground. He looked around, but he was alone, and the mirror glowed brighter. Cautious, he reached to pick it up. It was hot against his fingers. Then it pulsed again.

  Like a tiny, beating heart, the mirror began to hum. The heat didn’t burn like he expected, and he clutched the mirror close to his chest, concealing it with both hands. It continued to pulse, and he hurried deeper inside the gardens until he was surrounded by hedges and the last of the voices faded away. The mirror practically buzzed against his palms. Heart pounding, he cracked open his hands, peeking inside. Killian gasped.

  The mirror sparkled like crystal, and even the metal itself looked transparent. He fiddled with the tab, trying to open it, but it was stuck again. He dug in his nails, but the clasp refused to budge. It somehow felt heavier than before. Solid.

  Killian looked up, and the sky looked darker than before, heavy gray clouds overtaking the peaks of the mountains and casting everything in shadow. But the cobblestone trail remained lit ahead of him. He continued walking, only vaguely aware of the direction he was headed. With each step he t
ook, the mirror shimmered brighter. Voices drifted from up ahead, and Killian froze.

  He ducked off the path, darting behind an iron statue of a peacock, clutching the glowing mirror against his chest to conceal its glow. He bit his tongue, waiting in silence for whomever it was to pass by. But the voices only grew louder, and he recognized who was speaking.

  It was Fedya.

  He wasn’t speaking the Common Language anymore, and Killian couldn’t understand a word he said. The words sounded jarring, the rhythm and inflections unlike anything he was used to. Killian turned his head the other way, looking back at the path. It was rude to listen. He should leave. He held his breath and leaned in closer.

  The mirror continued to pulse in his hands, practically encouraging him. After all, he’d been searching for Fedya for days. He only wanted to see him. A moment couldn’t hurt.

  Killian pressed up close to the statue, trying to peer down the path. It wrapped around the bushes before drifting out of sight, yet it remained lit, beckoning him over. Sucking in a breath, Killian crept forward, back hunched, mirror safely out of sight. As he grew closer, Fedya’s voice grew more and more irate, practically yelling, the sharp bite of frustration cutting into his every word. Killian stopped once he reached the bush. There was a flicker of movement on the other side.

  Another voice finally answered, and Killian stiffened. It was Fedya’s brother. His voice was much calmer, more subdued. He spoke the same language yet somehow his words flowed smoother. Softer. But there was something else too.

  Killian eased in closer, and carefully peeked through the dense leaves. Light streamed in, nearly blinding him, and he saw them. Fedya’s brother sat on the edge of a frozen-over fountain, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the ground. Every so often he would glance up at Fedya, who stood in front of him, pacing back and forth.

  Fedya was yelling again, gesturing in front of him. A familiar dread welled up in Killian’s gut. He shouldn’t be watching this. He turned to leave, but then Fedya reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and said something that even Killian could understand.