A Dream of Fate & Flesh (Courts of Malice #2)

Prologue

Alessia

15 Years Ago

“ T ell me a scary story, Char,” I whisper, clutching the sheets to my chin. “About the fae.”

Char rustles around, getting comfortable in her cot. We had a long day serving the lord and his pals, and though we both need the rest, my mind spins with fragments of conversations I overheard about the fae, keeping me awake.

Char slowly inhales, as if contemplating my request. “Those stories might be too dark for a little girl who is up way past her bedtime.”

“Please?” Even though she can’t see me in the dimness of our tiny room, I stick out my lower lip and pout. “I’m not a baby .”

She sighs, then it turns into a chuckle. “What kind of story would you like to hear, my Alessia?”

I ponder that for a second. “Something magical.”

Char hmms to herself, and a few long moments stretch before she speaks again.

“Once upon a time, a mighty queen oversaw the seven faerie courts. She had everything she ever wanted and ruled the land with a soft heart and firm hand. The faeries admired her, and the courts bowed to her. But one day, she heard whispers of a princess in her realm who was rumored to be equally strong and beautiful. A princess, she feared, who might one day challenge her rule.”

I snuggle deeper under my blanket, closing my eyes to imagine the two beautiful women and their crowns.

“Instead of embracing the princess, the queen accused her of using dark magic and deemed her a threat to the realm. The queen cast her and her family away, exiling the entire bloodline and all those who lived in the court.”

“Why?” I sit up, balking into the darkness. “I thought you said she had a soft heart.”

“Are you listening to the story or questioning the story?” Char chastises.

“Sorry,” I mumble, sliding back down between the sheets.

“Over time, jealousy hardened her heart to iron.”

I frown. “That’s awful.”

“Like I said, the queen banished the bloodline. But it did not stop there. With a taste for power, she began to banish other bloodlines, deeming them evil. She garnered enough support from the courts through manipulation.” Char clears her throat, and her cot creaks as she shifts. “Generations later, a descendant of the banished princess—fueled by the fury of her displaced ancestors and stolen land—claimed a new throne of her own, desperate to carve a new legacy in the realm she was born.

“Only this throne was fragile, not bound by the powers of magic or ancestral courts. This legacy was built upon human land, bound by human law. The princess—now a queen in her own right, held dormant power that stirred beneath her skin but could not be accessed due to the disconnect from her homeland. She vowed to create an army, to one day take her land by storm, and challenge the faerie queen who was still alive all these generations later.”

“What did the first queen—the mean queen do?” I squeak out.

“The old queen did not care, for she knew she was more beautiful, powerful, and feared than the new queen would ever be. The two realms had many issues, mostly staved off by treaties and peace agreements. There was an illusion of peace for quite some time.”

Questions burn my tongue, but I stay quiet, desperate to hear more about the feuding queens.

Char sucks in a slow breath. “Generations later—”

“Again? More generations?”

“Yes, more generations, my Alessia.” Char chuckles. “This story is long; the ancestral lines are longer.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Generations later, another new descendant was birthed. One who could challenge both queens and their cruelties. One whose dormant power was awe-inducing—something the bloodline had not seen for some time.”

My heart beats fast. “Did the descendant take them down?”

“Patience, my dear.” Char’s silent for a moment. “You see, the old faerie queen had heard a prophecy about this child, so she had been secretly seeking the bloodlines she exiled, murdering them to prevent them from returning to the realm and rising against her. Riddled with her fear and jealousy, she sent the child to her death, like many others, suffocating her with flames.”

I gasp, flying up. “Char! This is not magical.”

“Oh, but it is.” I can hear the smile in Char’s voice. “Neither queen knew that, like a phoenix, the girl would rise from the ashes, guided by fate to her destiny.”

I stay awake long after Char, staring at the dark spots on the ceiling. The shadows comfort me, encasing me in their dark arms. That night, I have nightmares about fires, shadows, and evil queens. I toss and turn, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin.

The next time Char tells me stories, she keeps them light, refusing to feed my nightmares any further.

Eventually, the story fades to a distant memory, weighed down by years of new stories, make-believe, and brutal, harsh realities that overshadow fiction.