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Chapter Text

By the seventeenth year of their marriage, there was still no heir to be had, and the court was growing increasingly worried.

Though both King and Queen were married at the youthful age when it was easiest to be fruitful, the war with their neighbouring Kingdoms inherited from his father kept the King away from their bedchambers in the first few years. But the court was preoccupied with war efforts, and the Queen was a Good Queen. She faithfully waited for her husband to return, the perfect martyr. 

The war ended on the enemy Kingdom’s surrender. So instead of the disgrace of defeat, the King returned to his Palace in the glory of victory, Only then did talk of an heir start up again. And the King, finally in the company of his wife after so much time away, did not argue.

There would be nothing bourn until nearly a year later; but, less than a month later, what would have been their heir died tragically in the womb. The King and Queen tried again, but they would not conceive until the next Spring. 

It would be dead by Winter. 

Soon it had been a decade, and both King and Queen so much older, and yet not a single child to show for it. There was fear that soon the Queen would no longer be able to conceive, and that the King ought to marry a second wife, one more youthful, one that might birth him his heir. 

However, the King refused to remarry. What an insult to his Queen! But he was not unwise; they had to have an heir, and he understood that the odds were against them. Increasingly so, as day by day passed and no heir was conceived. He invited help from all the corners of the world, summoning midwives and beseeching witches but nothing did any good at all. 

Perhaps fortunately, or unfortunately, when he asked for the cause of their misfortune, he was told that the cause was just that; there was no illness, no curse. They were simply unlucky. Time would bring to them their heir soon enough. But time, he feared, was not on their side.

It was in a moment of great desperation that the King began searching the Fae texts for anything that could help. 

It was, again, fortune or misfortune that there was indeed something.

The birth of the Princess was a truly momentous occasion. She was said to be as bright as Summer skies, and just as lovely a s Spring fields, as the daughter of the very best of their people. So the people rejoiced! And very little of this was a lie. The Princess was lovely indeed, though all babes do seem to be to their parents.

For the wonder that was her birth after seventeen years of failure, she was named Mira***.

The day of her christening was a day of celebration. Nobles and commonfolk alike were invited to the feast, and in his jubilation the King extended the invitation to even the Fae.

The ceremony was only the start of the celebration; the festivities ran into the afternoon, and the feast ran into the night. 

It was by the end of the feast that the Fae came forward with gifts for the Princess. 

The King and Queen exchanged glances, but they sat still on their gilded thrones and watched the first of them to step forward.

The skeletal faerie in silver armour and, interestingly enough, scarfed in blueberry blue, was the first.¹ He stepped to the cradle, and bent to kiss her forehead. “May courage serve her well.” 

For an instant there were blue sparks sticking to her forehead left by the kiss, then he gently pulled away from the girl and strolled to the side for the next Fae.

The second Faerie, who was quite a glutton, kissed the girl and commanded, “She shall be as sweet as honey cakes.” There was a slight tension at that, but not an uncomfortable one at all (save for the few who immediately choked on the honey cake in their mouth).²

The third Faerie was meek, reptilian yellow scales glinting in the light as she approached the girl, back hunched.³ She was far quieter as she murmured, “She’ll be an inquisitive girl. One as curious as the breeze of fall.” And the curiosity of the autumn winds had carried the chill of fall to all four corners of the world. Indeed, there was nothing above-ground that the autumn winds had not felt out at least once, curious as they were.

The fourth Faerie was also skeletal, the curious blooms poking out from under his clothing.⁴ Still, there was just a gentleness in his smile as he gave his blessing. “May the blossom-filled airs alight even her breaths with peace.”

The fifth Faerie’s smile was almost sharp, but he did not approach the girl and merely waved his hand for a cascade of rosy sparks showered upon the girl.⁵ 

“She shall be as beautiful as Springtime.” His violet tongue slipped out beneath his teeth as he spoke, voice edged with a certain alluring hunger.

Now the fifth Faerie stepped aside to join the other Fae, and the silence of bated breath swarmed the hall. All this while the Princess was blinking curiously, sweeping her head to the side to catch another glance at these mysterious strangers. 

The King and Queen let out sighs of relief, exchanging looks, for they had both been afraid that a Fae’s well-meaning gift might have ended up being a curse. The King got to his feet, ready to address the crowd with new bravado now that the danger had passed. Surely now there was nothing to fear.

‘Nothing’ let out a laugh edged with ice.

The grin on the King’s face froze, the laughter slicing through the brief moment of relief and cutting down to bone. But he did not speak, for he had not seen the intruder form out of thin air. Because no one had. No one noticed the silvery moonlight light being blocked by the figure emerging from its shadow, and nor did anyone realise the appearance of a well-dressed boy before the window. 

What they did notice, however, was how every gaze of the Fae fell to the stranger. Then even the King’s eyes were upon them as well. The stranger’s purple eyes scanned the crowd, sweeping across the nobles and commonfolk before pausing at the cradle.

The King’s Guard began to reach for the hilt of their swords. Before the King could raise a hand to halt them, there were yelps and the suddenly frozen swords shattered into useless splinters. 

Though the stranger was merely a boy, the King could not quite move. 

“Your Majesty,” He spoke, and his voice was a quiet, earthy rumble that permeated the hall. “I see talk has not been exaggerated, much. She truly is beloved. Celebrated.” The stranger’s smile did not meet his eyes. “Quite a miracle, was she not?”

The King’s mouth went dry. And, suddenly, the King on the throne seemed quite powerless. “Guardian, I—”

“And miracles have costs, do they not?” A cost for reward, a price for folly. And the glint in the stranger’s eyes was akin to glare. Suddenly, the miracle baby was the focus of all within the hall, and the stranger— a Guardian?— was watching them with the patience of a predator.

“We did not mean to offend you,” The Queen pleaded. “We simply made— we simply forgot.” 

Gasps rippled over the hall. Forgot? And the immediate stiffening of her mouth drawing her lips into a tight grimace might as well have been the nail in the coffin: the confirmation of a debt would be enough to fuel rumours of illegitimacy for weeks, and people had talked of far less. And in the tense quiet no one saw the Fae guests stiffen-flinch-sigh, for they felt the lie as clearly as the stranger did. 

“I was so gracious to you, Your Majesties,” He mused. “Seventeen years without an heir? My, in another time that would have meant utter annihilation. And what did I ask in exchange for saving your bloodline from its end?” 

“Don’t do this,” The King breathed. He was not so regal anymore, even up on his raised throne. There would have been disdain, if not for the overwhelming fear. And the stranger knew it coyly.

“Without my mercy, your reign would have become ruinous, would it not?” And the stranger’s eyes gleamed with an odd sort of amusement. “Come now, esteemed guests and lessers. Allow me to elucidate. Shall you make your own judgement?”

“Don’t.” But the King was absolutely helpless. 

“Did none of you find it odd there was not a single heir for seventeen years of marriage? No, perhaps odder that after all that stagnancy, there was a miracle of life. Time was running out, was it not? And you sought a child. I was very fair with the price, no?”

She clambered to her feet. “You wanted our daughter—”

“Your daughter?” His voice was so very quiet. “Your daughter?” The air had turned freezing. What warmth was left was stolen away from the broths like gems picked out of the soil. “My, what an awkward situation. I assumed, even after all this offence, you would know to pay back your debts.”

A whoosh of wind blew out the candles.

“A child for a child. A life for a life. The Fair Folk are very fair, Foolish King. I will be fair. So tell me,” And his voice had grown deafeningly quieter. “How will you pay for your offence?”

There was a sharp pause as the people registered it: this was a Fae. Sharp breaths echoed throughout the space, some taking steps back but the King hesitated only a fraction of a second.

“Gold.” The words came as if drowned in the quiet. “Jewels, land, crowns—” He began to trip over his tongue. “Paintings, sculptures—”

“No.”

The single word broke up the King’s offers.

“No gold shines as bright as the smile of a happy child. No jewel could ever compare to the joy in a child’s eyes. I am unsatisfied.”

The Queen began to shift. “Kind sir,” She spoke with the tone of a plea, “It was our offence, we shall repay it for ourselves, the Kingdom had had no hand in this.” And the stranger began to laugh.

“Is that so? Are you the only souls in this hall celebrating the Princess?”

And the Queen faltered. “I—”

“Payment, then? Every Fae present has presented their own gift to the Princess. I think a curse for the offence is thus suitable, isn’t it so?”

And the Queen’s fair skin grew pale as the King’s eyes widened minutely.

“Good sir, kind sir—”

“A plague, perhaps? Maybe pestilence would break in the lesson well enough. Perhaps famine or flood? Or shall I turn you into a boar? A pig, to be carved up and served for dinner?”And he laughed a cruel laugh. “Or perhaps the Princess into a cow.”

At this the Queen had let out a cry of grief. It was this that the stranger’s gazes honed in on, though he did not miss the King’s clenched fist of the cloth of his clothes.

But then the stranger’s gaze flickered to the Fae, who were looking upon him with a sort of detachment. (The thrum of their gifts hummed, so faint compared to his power.)

The stranger pulled his gaze back. “No, I suppose not.” And there was a strangeness in his eye. A gleam, but made of a shadow. A darkness, but a swallowing one.

There was a lapse in the moonlight. It lasted for a second more. Two seconds. Three.

It was a lunar eclipse. 

In the darkness, no one noticed the green emerge from the darkness swallowed purple pupils. No one could see the tendrils extend and lurch out of his back. The King and Queen could not see in the overwhelming darkness, but they could make out a shape of a shadow slowly moving to them— no, the cradle.

No, the Queen tried to choke out, but she couldn’t move from her throne. The King tried to give the command to the King’s Guard, but he couldn’t move a finger.

In the darkness, no one could see the harsh line of the stranger’s mouth soften. Momentarily there was an almost gentleness in the stranger’s eyes looking upon the Princess.⁶

“The Princess shall indeed grow to be all that the Fae have blessed her to be.” The voice rumbled quietly. “Beloved by all who meet her. But she will never grow older than seventeen.” There was a pause. There was still a gentleness in his eyes that could not be seen. “She shall leave you before she may ever inherit.”

There was a terrible silence. He touched her cheek, green sparks falling from his fingers. 

He was long gone by the moonlight filtering back into the hall.

One by one, the crushing pressure loosened on the people and weeping began to fill the hall. The Fae watched on, silent, but with slightly bowed heads. The King seemed stuck, as if not quite grasping the reality or perhaps resisting it. The Queen got to her feet at once and stumbled to the Princess.

“Oh, my darling,” She murmured, fighting the sobbing in her throat. “My darling, my darling…” And against her will her voice began to break.

Then, abruptly, it seemed, gazes one by one turned to the Fae guests. It seemed it would be mere moments before some foolish— “Do something!” Some foolish noble (for only a fool would shout at a Fae) in the crowd cried out. “You are here to bless the Princess, are you not? What could be a greater gift than a lifted curse?”

The Faerie in armour slowly turned his gaze to them. 

“We cannot undo the curse of a Ruler.”

And the other Fae dipped their head in silent assent.

The Feast would be concluded with an air so much more sombre than the morning’s. Still the girl in her cradle was quiet, having fallen asleep some time ago. The Kingdom’s beloved little Princess, now doomed to never come of age.

Most of the Fae thereafter vanished into thin air. However, perhaps the sight of the weeping Queen brought one or two Fae to pity, because not all were gone by the midnight bells. The Faerie in silver armour remained by the side, overstaying his welcome, but who dared to chase him away by bringing out the iron?

Long after the last guests were filling out, someone entered the hall. At once the Faerie in silver armour moved, and the two approached the wary King and Queen by the cradle. The Queen kept close to the Princess, as if ready to fling herself to her defence at a moment’s notice, and the King’s hand on his sword was not-too-slowly clenching into a fist.

But the two Fae were unperturbed; they paused a few paces away and did not reach the cradle. 

The new Faerie appeared to be a small human child, or she would have had it not been for the blooms swallowing half her face.⁷ “I have not given my gift.”

The Queen, with her child still in her arms, could not speak. The King spoke first, his voice hoarse and weary, “What gift could you possibly offer now? After what has been done?”

The new Faerie did not flinch. She looked so much like a little girl. She was so small, so little, hardly a threat. Her head was barely above the armoured Faerie’s waist. The sight made the bleeding ache within the Queen’s heart marginally worse. 

“Do not despair, Your Majesties. All is not lost.”

“Can you revoke the curse?” She pleaded.

“I am no Ruler,” She spoke softly. “But do not despair. I cannot say if they will agree to help, for I cannot speak for them. But neither does the Winter Ruler.”

“Can they lift the curse?” The King questioned, desperate. 

“We only say that they might be willing to,” The armoured Faerie interjected. His face was still neutral, but there he broached the subject with the slightest gentleness. “The Summer Ruler will have the most power to help you. Summer counteracts Winter, after all.”

“He may refuse,” The new Faerie said softly. “If he does, go to Spring before Autumn. You will have a higher chance of saving your daughter’s life in the season of life. But if all else fails, seek from any season but Winter.”

“How do we ask them to help us?” The King’s voice trembled.

“Go to the Summer Court,” The armoured Faerie responded. “And present your case directly to the Summer Ruler.” He gazed upon the Queen. “It will be best for a mother to request his help, he is kinder to mothers. But whoever you send must be ready to make an offer on behalf of the Kingdom.”

The Queen clutched the babe tighter, her voice barely a whisper. "And, if we succeed, he will revoke the curse?”

The two Fae slowly turned to each other. Their gazes were utterly unreadable.

“It is possible. Though we have no authority to challenge the Winter Ruler, the Summer Ruler might be amenable to your pleas. But that all depends on what you offer in return.”

The weight of their words hung heavy in the air. The Queen took in a shaky breath. 

“But what if he desires something beyond our means?” The King interjected, his brow furrowed with worry. “What if we cannot fulfill his request? It was a deal that ended us in this… altercation, in the first place.”

The armoured Faerie sighed. “Then you must be prepared to negotiate.”

The new Faerie simply shrugged. “I cannot preside over whatever deal you strike to save your child.”

The Queen carefully placed the Princess back in the cradle. “But you did have a gift for her, yes?” There was an intensity forming in her gaze, the almost-power of a Queen, as she searched the new Fae’s face for any sign of hope.

The new Faerie hesitated. “I do,” she admitted, her voice quiet. “My original gift was spirit. But the gift I have for the girl now, in light of all that has happened, is a chance. A chance for life beyond the curse.” The now sixth Faerie to bless the child tiptoed to the cradle and spoke the words softly, as if afraid they would break if she was too rough with them. “She shall hold the hope of the stars in her heart.”

“That’s a lovely gift.” The Queen’s heartache eased slightly at the Fae’s words. But then all at once they lifted themselves up and turned away.

“Now we must go,” The Faerie in armour murmured, and they were gone.

Humans who entered the Fae Realm were usually considered fair game, but when the Queen and her entourage arrived, no Fae deigned to lure them. Or perhaps little Fae, surely one or two thought of it before the weight of the Summer Ruler’s authority crushed any thought of dissent. 

For the Queen was there for the Summer Ruler, and no Fae would be so foolish as to attempt to sway his prey away from his grasp. Most Fae, anyway.

The Queen was foolish. There was no way around it; anyone deigning to make a deal with the Fae would be foolish, especially one traversing into their realm for it. But the Queen was clever enough to not fail at the first step; with iron around her wrists, neck and ankles, she followed the path carefully with not a single step off it. Not to say her entire entourage obeyed, but they could not stop for one or two led astray.

They had more important things to worry about, because the Queen was a Queen, and as desperate as she was foolish. But she was also a mother, and it was her sent on the journey because of the advice of those two Fae: ‘It will be best for a mother to request his help. He is kinder to mothers.’ So, her it was. And so they tumbled through the Fae Realm with earnest desperation in their hearts with the Summer Ruler’s eyes on them from their first step in.

As the air grew warmer and warmer, they realised they’d found their way into Summer. And Summer had been waiting for them, because it seemed so very swift that they found themselves in the Summer Court.

There was a gleam of golden light, then: “Ah, Good Queen, what brings you to our Court?”

The Queen, who had come with the hope of hiding her true identity, had to swallow her discomfort and answer. “Good sir, I come looking for the Summer Ruler; whom I have a favour to ask of.”

The surrounding chittering Fae quietened.

The Summer Ruler laughed a clear laugh, and then all at once she realised who he must be when he replied, “Very well, Good Queen. Since you’ve come all this way, I’ll hear your request.”

All at once the Queen was relieved, then the tension of asking something of the Fae settled in her chest so quickly she deflated. 

“Come, Good Queen.” And when the Summer Ruler, or Dream as the stories called him, reached out a hand, it was after only a moment's hesitation that she took it. A gleam of scintillating light; then they were gone.

“How long will they take?” The casual question was edged with nervous uncertainty. They had their hand resting awkwardly on the hilt of their sword, fidgeting with the slight leverage it gave them.

“Who knows. Could be here 'til sundown.” And did the sun in the Summer Court even set?

A Guard murmured, "Hope they hurry up. I’m getting chills.” His eyes were scanning what they could see of the horizon. 

“Don’t say that. You’ll piss them off,” Someone hissed.

Some of the Royal Guard were on their feet, shifting awkwardly and exchanging glances with just enough effort put in to disguise worry. Some of the Royal Guard were resting on the sand, stretching their sore limbs and warily watching the sun above them. It shone like a dozen suns in one; like an otherworldly thing, as if a fire that could burn them up in a flash of light.

Cross was part of the latter group, but he paid no heed to the sun. He was toying his armband as much as the inflexible material allowed, but his mind was elsewhere. This was practically a suicide mission. Literally everyone (or most people, there would always be idiots) knew not to mess with the Fae. Usually it was the Fae messing with them. 

Even if the Queen succeeded, they might still be left behind. She didn’t care for them, not so much as to demand their return.

Something cold settled in his stomach. So cold that it burned him from the inside out.

It was nothing personal, he knew. 

It was so hot. Cross wiped the sweat off his forehead. 

A laugh echoed from the side. He paused.

“My bad, my bad,” The guilty soldier murmured. “It’s not that funny, you’re just sweating a lot and— um, you’re soaking the sand.”

Cross blinked, and looked down. He was.

“Ah,” He said very eloquently, shifting away from the soaked sand with a slight burn in his cheeks.

“Wait, it’s fine!” They were very clearly trying to bite back a smile, and Cross shook his head, almost exasperated with himself. “Seriously, I feel bad now. It’s not that big of a deal,” They tried again.

“It’s very hot,” Cross murmured. “Sorry about it.”

“It’s fine, really.” And there was a glint in their eyes that betrayed their attempt to disguise the humour they found in it. “Really!”

They lapsed into a silence. The other Guard hovered there, quiet. Cross was conscious of his presence, but also didn’t really care, so he just sat there too.

“How long do you think they’ll take?” They prompted. 

Cross glanced at them. “Hopefully not long. I’m soaking through my clothes here.”

They let out a laugh. “I can see that, uh, sorry, what was your name?”

A beat. He side-eyed them for a fraction of a second. Bemused, after a moment of silence, Cross replied, “Probably not wise to share names in the Fae Realm. But you can call me Cross.”

They looked at him sheepishly. “Then, uh, you can call me Blue.” 

Cross hummed. 

“Alright.” 

Cross would never realise Blue was never a member of the King’s Guard.

The Queen did not panic upon being whisked away; she was well aware that most Rulers preferred to make their deals in private. So she eased the slight panic in her throat and spoke.

“I ask for your assistance, kind sir.” The Queen did not waste a second in her haste. “For my daughter has been cursed by another Fae, and the direst of fates has been imposed upon her by it.”

“Ahh. I understand,” Dream mused. “And what would you give for my help?”

The Queen, who had come to bargain, had a ready answer on her lips. “All the jewels in the Palace, good sir. No jewels could ever compare to the joy in a loved child's eyes.” For she truly wanted her daughter to be safe, and she could always source more jewels from the mines.

Dream smiled, tickled. “I agree, no jewel could ever match up to the joy of children. What else would you give?”

“All the gold in the Palace treasury,” The Queen answered, for they could always raise taxes on the Nobility to regain the lost gold. “For no gold shines as bright as the smile of a safe child.”

Dream laughed. “Indeed, Sweet Mother. But what else would you give?

At this, the Queen hesitated. She could think of no more that could be given without even direr consequence, and after a pause carefully asked, “Kind sir, what price would you ask of me?”

Dream chuckled. “I’m sure we’ll figure out an arrangement. Perhaps we should first discuss the feasibility of your ask. Tell me what curse has been put upon your daughter.”

“A terrible one, kind sir. A curse of death, cursing her to never pass her seventeenth birthday.”

It was at this that Dream laughed. But he mentioned nothing of it as he continued, “When was she cursed? At infancy, or after?”

“At her christening, kind sir.”

“Well,” Dream smiled. “Who was the one to curse her?”

The Queen hesitated. 

“I— I believe it was the Winter Ruler, kind sir.”

“Oh, yes. Nightmare does seem the type. But I hear this is not the first deal your kin has made with the Fae.” His eyes were gleaming with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. “Is that not how you invoked his wrath?”

She froze. 

“Well? Speak, Your Majesty.”

“It was my husband, not I.” She took in a heavy breath. “He made a deal with the Winter Ruler, yes, for a Life Flower. So that I would be able to conceive.’

“Ah, the Flower. Each one takes centuries to bloom, you know. I must admit, I was not too pleased that it was plucked before blossoming into an Apple, but what can you do?” His eyes twinkled. “So shall I keep prompting you? What was your end of the bargain?”

The Queen did not speak, for a moment. She squeezed her eyes shut, let out a breath, and only then did she confess. “There were to be two children. A son, and a daughter. The oldest would have been ours to keep, but the youngest would have been owed.”

“Oh? A fair price,” He mused. “I did not hear of any Prince. You did not want to give your daughter to him?”

“He did not survive.” The Queen had to bite back the anger. “The boy was dead before he left my womb. The exact wording of the deal afforded us the oldest, and my daughter had been the only child to live. Is she not the oldest? How can the only child be younger than any other? Show me the boy that’s supposedly where our claim lies. I know him better than anyone, I spent hours in agony as they removed him from me in bits and pieces. The oldest child is yours, and the youngest child is what is owed. Is it our fault there is no younger child to claim?”

Dream was entirely silent. The Queen was beginning to fear that she’d overstepped when he let out a clear laugh. 

“Very well. But, sadly, you still have nothing to offer me, so we cannot make a fair deal. Why don’t I grant you a wish instead?”

The Queen blinked. “What?”

He smiled, amused. “Your argument has merit. I confess, it does please me to thwart Nightmare. I will grant you one wish. Use it wisely.”

She clamped her mouth shut. A wish? 

“Is there really nothing we can offer you?”

“Depends.” And by his tone, he was teasing. “Are you willing to part with your True Name?”

“No.” It came so vehemently that it surprised even her. But Dream looked unbothered. “Could you… revoke the curse?”

At this, Dream frowned. “Why does everyone always assume Summer can negate Winter? We may be sides of the same coin, but we don’t cross each other out. Winter is all about death and despair and everything adjacent; Summer is— well, I won’t delve into it. But we aren’t life. That’s Spring’s domain.”

“So you can’t?”

“Revoke it?” He crossed his arms. “No, I can’t undo what has already been done. But there are other ways to prevent the dire fate of the curse.”

The Queen let out a breath, beside herself. “How?”

Dream smiled. 

“I could curse her to die at sixteen, instead.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She stared at Dream, searching his face for some sign that he was jesting, any sign—

“But of course, that’s not the only option. I could also, say, turn her into a statue and revert her after. But I suppose you would not be pleased with that?”

“What?” She stared at him, incredulous. “Of course not!”

“So fussy. “ He tsked. “Then what would you have me do?” 

Her voice trembled with fear. Or was it frustration? “Anything but that.”

Dream tilted his head slightly, considering her words. “You ask for mercy,” he mused. “But mercy takes many forms. A quick end, a long sleep. Being turned into a wolf, being crushed under the sun. This could all be mercy.”

“What can you do,” The Queen, who felt like she was going insane, said slowly. “To prevent her from dying at or before seventeen, without causing her harm?”

He frowned. “You humans are so fragile. What if she walks off a cliff, or drowns in a river? I’d have to watch her every hour of the day.”

“Can I wish for that?” She could barely process what he was saying. “For you to protect her?”

He reached out, and gently lifted her chin. “I would have to guard her constantly. Every step she’d take, every breath she’d draw, would be shadowed by me. She would need to grow up under my watch in the Summer Court, far from the Kingdom where Nightmare could snatch her up like a bird with the worm.” 

Her hands fell to her side, limp.

“You won’t see your daughter grow up. Do you think you can live, truly live, under such a burden?"

The Queen faltered. The weight of choice was— crushing.

Dream stepped closer, his voice a soft whisper now, almost tender. "But if you truly wish it, I can make sure the curse does not so much as grace her dying breath."

She stared at him, torn. And she was not a Queen, but a mother when she begged, "And she’ll be unharmed? No suffering?”

Dream’s gaze was piercing, but not condemning. 

“Yes.”

The Queen’s hands were clenched, her arms limp by her side. If this meant never seeing her daughter grow up, even if that would ensure her survival— her heart screamed at her to stop, but her head... her head whispered to her, however resignedly, that there was no other way.

“You will return her home, after?”

Dream looked at her, amused. But he nodded his assent. 

“Then I wish it.” She felt so small, but she fought to keep her words steady. “I wish for you to protect her against the curse, and return her home after.”

Dream regarded her for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slight bow of his head, he said, "So it shall be. I will help you. I swear it by the Sun of the Summer, by my Crown as its Ruler. But you must obey my instruction to protect your child to the letter. Do you understand?”

The Queen exhaled, the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding escaping her in a shudder. 

“What do I do?” she whispered, speaking more so to herself than to him.

He shrugged. “On the morning of the Summer Solstice, remove the iron in her walls so I may retrieve her. I shall return her to you after her seventeenth.”

Relief was coursing through her. Or was it fear? Had she made the right choice? It was too late to second-guess now. “Is that it?” For a moment the Queen forgot herself and let her surprise slip out. Dream merely laughed again. The Queen shrunk back. 

“You may replace the iron thereafter, but do not forget what you owe, Fair Queen. Come; you may have safe passage out as a courtesy.”

Dream reached his hand out again, and the Queen took it in an instant. A gleam of light; then she found herself back where they had been just before entering the Fae Realm. Her entourage was there waiting for her, albeit rather nervously.

It was surprisingly kind for a Fae to return them. Indeed the Queen had already considered the possibility that she would lose members of her party to the Fae Realm, but that was nothing compared to her daughter’s safety. Besides, they knew the risk.

But since the Summer Ruler had returned them whole, it hardly mattered anyway.

But when she returned home and found her sleeping Princess in the cradle, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath, the thought of missing so many years made her ill with grief. Perhaps she cried for more than one night. How could she bear it? To be absent for her daughter’s first steps, her first words, her laughter and tears— the Princess had taken seventeen years, and now another seventeen would be taken from them. 

"Forgive me, my sweet girl." Her voice cracked, though her words were oh so quiet for she did not want to wake the child. "I did this to keep you safe. I will miss you every moment, but I will do what I must.” Her voice was tight, filled with the resolve that only a mother could summon in the face of such pain. 

Whatever it takes to protect you, even if it means letting you go.

On the day of the Summer Solstice, the Palace was high strung with tension. The King had been sent away, for the danger that the Summer Ruler would pose to him (oddly enough, the Queen was of no concern; suppose she did not mean much to their court after all, but she knew that already, they were already planning to find a more fertile replacement before the Princess’ conception). The Princess’ servants were all sent away, and the Queen joined her daughter in her room to await Dream. The Princess had fallen asleep yet again, but the Queen did not have the heart to awake her.

All she did was press a soft kiss to her forehead. She did not wish to consider that it would be the last kiss from her for the longest time. Already the sorrow was achingly present— but she had to hold her resolve, or it would consume her whole. She closed her eyes, trying to memorize the feel of her child in her arms, and the sound of her gentle breathing.

When she opened them, the Queen briefly felt blinded by a gleam of sunlight. She rubbed the blurriness away, only to find the Summer Ruler sitting opposite her by the Princess’s side.

“So this is your daughter?” The Summer Ruler tilted his head. “She’s been blessed by a number of Fae.”

The Queen nodded stiffly.

“Ah, well.” His fingers dipped to the Princess’ forehead. The Princess, in her sleep, flinched slightly, but he made a soothing noise and she relaxed once more. “Let’s see here.”

His golden eyes began to glint. Carefully, he plucked the hairs away from her forehead and pressed ever so gently. 

A quiet. His golden eyes began to gleam. The Queen hovered by his side, uneasy. 

“Tell me, Fair Mother. What have you named your daughter?”

And the Queen stilled. Stiffened. "You may— you may call her Mira," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Dream let out a quiet, almost amused laugh. "Mira? But that is not her true name, is it?"

"You do not have a claim to her true name," she replied, with more certainty than she felt. She knew the power of names, and they had already failed to protect her Princess once before. For a moment, fear gripped her—had she been too bold? But the Fae merely dismissed her words with a wave of his hand, oddly forgiving.

"Very well," he said, his tone light, as if amused by her defiance. "I shall make do."

And he laid his arms open: waiting, expectant. The Queen’s breath froze in her throat. It was time to hand her over.

Her hands trembled as she lifted the tiny, warm bundle. 'Mira' stirred slightly in her sleep, but she went on snoring, her small eyes remaining blissfully shut. The Queen held her daughter close for a moment longer, pressing her to her chest, as if it could somehow delay the inevitable. But she knew she could not delay any longer. She was already pushing the Fae’s mercy. 

With a shaky breath, she placed ‘Mira’ into Dream's outstretched arms. Just as his arms closed around the child— she let out a breath, the wind knocked out of her. 

“Farewell, my little light.” And she could speak no more, or it would be a sob.

Dream cradled the infant with surprising gentleness. “Hello, little sunshine.” He gazed upon her with an expression quite unreadable, but then he glanced up to the Queen, and he said softly, “Fear not. I will keep her safe."

Then all at once he ripped his gaze away. The Queen, confused, met his eyes and flinched back because his gold eyes were burning. Dream’s form was melting away, the air turning a golden glow; the Queen let out a gasp, for his features were blurring into light burning so intensely her eyes were drying up. 

She blinked, and both him and her daughter were gone. The Queen stood there, alone in the room. Without a Princess, without her daughter.

She stood there, numb. 

The command would be given to seal the Princess’ rooms away, and the King and Queen spent a fortnight in solitude. Away from court, away from the people, as if they were in mourning.

Chapter Text

White was the colour of mourning. It was another one of the nameless traditions associated with grief; as if grief had rules to follow, as if to mourn was just another duty. And for the royalty, it was even more so.

The Princess had not been loved by all the populace. Not everyone had the time to fawn over a girl, and not everyone had the ability to come to the christening. What use was there in praise for a girl quite a stranger? Ambivalence would be the kindest outcome.

But then the christening brought strange stories. 

A man of the moon stealing the babe away. The King having made a deal with some inhuman creature for the girl. The Princess having been a changeling, made beautiful by glamour. Some said that the Princess had been born by Fae magic, not the Queen’s womb. That the reward after seventeen years of toil was won out of trickery, not will.

And together, the rumours brought the worst thing that could happen to royalty. They brought shame. 

Now, of course the commonfolk knew of the Fae. Foolish men would barge into the forests known to be Fae-inhabited for glory and power, and desperate women had sought out Fairy circles on more than one occasion. 

It was not too infrequent that a girl or two would show up with jewel-encrusted shoes otherwise unretrievable from the countryside, or a boy to procure some axe that would never get blunt. But countless more had been lost to the Fae in their pursuit.  It was foolish to risk such a thing for a wish or two; even the rare successes were greeted with stony envy, if not disapproval. 

There had been villages razed to the ground for one of their members having offended a Fae in their search, after all. 

So the rumours of the royalty were certainly unpopular— and did nothing for their reputation.

It was to no one’s surprise, then, that there was a funeral held for the Princess not too long after. The girl, it was said, had gone missing. Gone missing the same way undesirable children disappeared from the sight of the public, gone missing the same way royals that damaged the family name beyond repair were exiled to mountains far beyond their walls. 

Such a fate was as good as death. 

So the King and Queen dressed in their purest hues, and the child that had once been so loved was as good as dead to the Kingdom.

The girl awoke once they broached the borders. Dream felt the weight in his arms shifting, and made to adjust her so she would not tumble right out.

Her white eyes were blinking up at him. Clear and curious, but not quite intent; they were shimmering faintly in the sunlight. Drool was collecting in the corner of her mouth, like a spool of thread. Her eyes were curious, but not quite lucid; ah, a child exhausted was no sweet thing, even if they had just awoken. 

“Mira,” He mused. The shape of the name was wrong, a hollow thing. 

She did not so much as flinch. It was evidently not her True Name. She did make a soft noise, but it could have just been the tail-end of a breath. 

Her hair was coming in. Not a lot, barely any at all, but faint baby hairs were growing in the same shade as her eyes. The same white, or perhaps silver. The iridescent sheen marked her as a child born from a Life Flower. Though she was flesh and blood, wholly human, he was curious if there was any magic left over from the fruit. 

“Shh. Go back to sleep.” She did not seem very excited to fall back asleep. “ Sleep, Mira .”

In a few blinks, she was out cold. The command did work, the heat in his throat only gave proof to it, but the name was no more effective than if he’d spoken any other word. No more effective than any other thrall.

“Stars, Blue, you owe me for this.”

It would be easy enough to deny the curse with an enchantment to keep her young forever. But perhaps an infant would be too much trouble. He’d rather have her a little older to save the hassle of raising a babe that could perish so easily. 

Surely, at the very least, a girl slightly older would be a little less fragile. 

Dream touched her cheek. She was still out cold, even if it’d taken a few more seconds to put her back to sleep. 

“If I’m going to call you by a false name,” He mused. “Might as well be a nicer one.”

He traced his fingers along the edge of her jaw, pondering it. “Mira,” he repeated softly, testing the false name. What other names had he heard of her? Miracle child. Beloved daughter. Oh, and little light? He made a considering sound. My little light. The full address came to him, and he pondered it over.

“How about Lux?” He poked her cheek, and she predictably stirred. “Little light. Is that agreeable?"

She let out the tiniest snore. Dream hummed, the half-formed notes of siren song lingering warmly in his throat.

Mortal children were much too fragile. Ink had sent a letter detailing all the ways a mortal infant could pass, and goodness, Dream was sorely tempted to turn Lux Fae just so he would not have to worry about any of it.

It would not be too difficult. If her soul withstood the fire, it would be easy enough to mould the melting soul-flesh it into the shape of a Fae’s. If she didn’t, she would die. Done and done, with no room or reason for worry. 

But alas, it would be troublesome to return a Fae-turned child to a mortal mother; away from the magic-imbued Fae lands, she would likely die, or have to return to his Court anyway. It would be much less hassle to just keep her alive as a human for the next seventeen years. 

Or course, it would also be much less hassle if he just let her die now.

But Nightmare had wanted tragedy to befall them, and it would be better if he at least tried to prevent that. Perhaps Nightmare would be even the slightest bit satisfied by their grief. And seventeen years was a small price to pay to deny him it all. 

Nightmare stormed up the steps of his palace. His footsteps left the ice cracking. 

Frost crept outward from his boots, trailing behind him like the afterfrost of a winter storm. The cold air was rising higher and higher, stirring violently in his wake. The mountain was completely quiet. No Fae would be so foolish as to cross the path of a furious Ruler. Even his own Fae were retreating into the deepest crevices of his Court.

How dare they? The ward was meant to be his child.

He could still remember the desperation of the mortal King, set into his face like cracks in brittle stone. His voice had trembled so greatly, more man than King, eyes hollowed by sleepless nights.

He ought to have frozen him on the spot. Even if he’d been on the very borders between Spring and Winter— he ought to have lured him just a few steps off the path, then frozen him solid for the hubris. At least then an ice statue would make for decent decoration.

But he’d seen the desperation for a child, for a family. And he’d remembered the centuries long, long before his first collected soul; when there had still been so few Fae in the early beginnings of time, when he’d grown tired of seeing no one’s face but his own in the shimmering ice.

And it had been a fair deal. He wanted for a child too, did he not? All the mortals that came traipsing through Winter were always so brash and rude, most quite foolish and stupid, so rare was it that a mortal even half-worthy would be chanced upon. Even fewer were those who had survived their souls freezing over. 

In fact, there had been almost none claimed in the last few centuries. The number of new ice statues that littered Winter were perhaps a hundredfold that. 

He rolled his eyes. The amount of mortals that came seeking power, thinking themselves to be gods among men, only to be ensnared by the simplest trick and taken by the cold was innumerable; surely, by now, they would’ve learnt their lesson. He had watched them approach with bravado, their laughter echoing through the icy air, only to see that bravado falter as the frost seeped into their bones.

But men were always fools first. And he was getting bored of trophies. He’d wanted for something to break the monotony, and a child full of life and promise had seemed like the perfect remedy.

It had been a deal fairer than the rest. He had not laced it with his usual provisions; a child, for a child. How could it be any fairer? He had a room ready for the Princess, stories to put her to sleep, and the softest furs ready for her comfort. 

But by their own fallibility, they had lost their own child, and now they sought to claim his own?

The frost crept up the walls.

He let out a quiet sigh, and dissolved the frost. 

The ice trickled away, and true enough, Killer was right there. He leaned against the side of the doorway with his usual casual air, though he did not approach. For all his usual audaciousness, he knew when to be cautious. 

“Approach.” He would not have another one of his own retreating from him as well. 

Killer did approach. "You’re upset," He said in a low amused drawl. Restrained, for him. Still wary, then. He took his usual place to the right of Nightmare’s throne, lazing on the steps to it.

Nightmare reached out to touch Killer’s cheek, the viscous hate gently dripping onto his palm. Though he didn’t have pupils, it was fairly obvious that Killer’s attention was on him. Good.

“They refuse me,” He said softly. Delicately. “They think they can take what’s mine.”

His thumb traced the line of Killer’s jaw. Killer didn’t flinch, but he was completely still. 

“Killer.”’

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. 

“Yes, Boss?” He grinned. Good enough. He gently stroked his cheek.

“They took her. They would steal from me, Killer.”

Killer let out a laugh. He stretched out further on the steps, arms lazily draped behind his head. “Stupid, aren’t they?” He drawled. He reached up, and grazed Nightmare’s palm on his cheek. “Why waste your time on them? Honestly, I’m surprised you bothered to go.”

“I’m very angry, Killer.”

His grin stretched out. “I know. But it’s not worth it, is it? You could freeze them with a flick of your wrist. Why not let me handle it? I haven’t had fun in so long.”

His lips curled into a hint of a smile. Ah, Killer was always so skilled at making him fondly irritated. “You had a hunt a week ago. And no. I’ll handle them myself.”

“Come on, Boss. It’ll be fun!”

“No, Killer.” 

He leaned in, just as he let go.

“Why not?”

“How long,” He quietly said. “Would the horror of a statue last?” 

Killer cocked his head to the side. “Not nearly long enough, huh?”

They’re not just some stragglers that got unlucky. Nightmare’s gaze darkened. No escape for them, not even madness. Let them feel the full height of their stupidity with painfully lucid heads.

“I will find a way to my child,” He said slowly, “And it will be my pleasure to make it hell for the two stupid souls who thought trying to trick me was a decision that would end well for them.”

The thick frost was dripping on the walls.

Killer was quiet, once again.

“Why?”

He looked back to him. “Why what?”

“Why bother? What’s the child to you?”  

Nightmare opened his mouth. Then, he slowly scanned Killer.

“I’m curious, Killer. I ought to be angry. But you, oh, I don’t see why you’d be angry. And I don’t think you’re so loyal that you’d get angry on behalf of me.”

Killer’s grin was gone now.

"I don’t see how she’s worth it, Boss. She’s not even Fae. There’s dozens of brats running around you could pick up with ten times less fuss." A sharp gust of wind sliced through the room. Nightmare rolled his eyes. 

“Did I make a deal for all of them?”

He shrugged. “It’d be half the effort. Especially since your brother’s made a counterdeal.”

Killer’s casual arrogance was met with a long, chilling silence.

Nightmare’s lips curled up into something far from amused. The temperature in the room plummeted, and for the first time in ages, Killer felt the bite of the frost edging into his bone.

“You forget your place.”

Killer let out a breathy laugh. “Maybe. But I remember how we first met, and I don’t think you took me in because I was docile and pliant.”

Killer had been his first soul taken in as his. The first soul of his collection. Before Dust, even before Horror. Even after all this time, he was the same insolent soul.

He looked at him, and let out a long sigh. 

“Are you worried?”

“Who’s worried?” He got up from the steps. 

“You have a reason, you always do,” Nightmare said plainly. “Spit it out. What’s bothering you?”

The quiet footsteps of the other retreating were not so quiet in the otherwise silence. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, Boss.”

The ice on the walls slowly began to recede.

"Don’t play games with me, Killer."

Killer shrugged. “I would do anything for you, Nightmare. I’ll just complain every step of the way.”

Nightmare made no move to stop the ice from melting, made no move to block off the doorway slowly forming. 

“Tell Horror and Dust to come out of hiding. It’s unbecoming.”

Killer let out a snort. Then he was through, and the ice quickly formed back over.

Nightmare stood in the dimly lit chamber, the cold light of the moon filtering through the ice. He let out a quiet sigh.

Outside, the storm abruptly ceased.