Heir of Stardust and Secrets (Mythic Spark #1)

22. New Melodia, New Steps

Chapter 22

New Melodia, New Steps

A warm summer breeze lazily joined in the festivities through the gaping archways, playing with the hem of my skirt. As the king and I scouted the perimeter, the dance floor became awash with movement once more.

Servants flitted about the bordering promenade, offering us food and drink at every turn. Although, water was the singular offering we indulged in, and even then, only after Nevander or Tarrin had taken a sip first. I hated it. Not only them acting like our lives were more important than theirs, but also their intrinsic mistrust of our hosts—even though it wasn’t without its merits.

We knew abstaining from food and drink throughout our entire visit wasn’t feasible, but as I was slated to dance with the high lords this evening, we didn’t want to risk my body reacting to their foreign delicacies.

The king and I were stopped often by a myriad of fae introducing themselves as we meandered the outskirts. It seemed that was the custom of those not dancing or watching from the balcony above. We exchanged brief pleasantries, nothing more substantive than small talk, and I thanked the stars for that .

“Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty,” Tarrin said formally as he bowed to the king. I almost laughed at the sight of it, but I tamped down the urge.

“Excuse us,” the king said politely to the two fae we had been talking to, then turned to Tarrin.

“The High Lord of Spring and his lady have requested an audience,” Tarrin said. The king raised his brows but didn’t question him before following through the crowd.

I spotted Nevander across the room speaking with two fae. Their backs were to us, but from their clothing and statures, I could tell it was a male and female standing hand in hand.

As we approached, they turned to face us, and my breath caught in my throat like someone witnessing nature’s wonder for the first time.

The female wore a layered gossamer gown as delicate in its making as her refined features, while the male was clad in fine linen that catered to his lean, yet sturdy, form. They radiated health and vitality just like the condensed life force of a bud before its anthesis—full of possibility and hope. I couldn’t help but be drawn to them like a bee to nectar, as if I, too, could drink in their radiance.

Their graceful features lit up when they saw us.

Stars, they were a handsome couple.

Nevander gracefully stepped toward us and said, “Your Majesty, may I introduce you to Myron, High Lord of Spring, and his lady, Fiora.”

Myron nodded in acknowledgment, while Fiora gave a low, elegant curtsey to the king.

“High Lord and Lady Fiora,” Nevander continued. “King Thaddeus of the human realm, and his companion, Nyleeria.” I took my cue from Fiora and gave the high lord of the Spring Court a curtsey, but I made mine deeper still, as I was no lady. I turned and gave Fiora the same consideration. Fiora’s soft cherry-blossom-pink lips curled upward in appreciation, and a look of approval crossed the high lord’s face as he stole a lingering glance at his lady .

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance,” the king offered, meeting both of their eyes.

“The honor is ours, King Thaddeus,” Myron said. “Your reply has caused quite the stir. We’re all curious to meet the first humans who believe after so long.” His voice was kindly, soft even, with the calming lilt of a babbling brook.

“We’ve heard rumors that you’re a dreamer, King Thaddeus,” Fiora said, the sound of her voice like wildflower honey melting off a spoon into a fresh cup of tea.

“He is,” I said. “Since we were children, he would imagine the most fantastical things and conjure unbelievable tales.” I smiled up at the king sweetly, as if in reverence for those moments. The moments that never existed, but the ones we had to make them believe—lest our cover story be ripped apart.

It was surprising how easily the lies bloomed from within me.

The king’s features softened as he looked at me and caressed my face with a soft stroke. “She has always been the one to animate my dreams.” I had to stop myself from looking surprised. Those words were true for him. I was, in fact, the key to dreams that had spanned centuries.

“I suppose, then, it requires both a dreamer and a believer for magic to become a reality,” Myron said. “Maybe it’s the pairing that made this reunion possible.”

“That’s beautiful, my darling,” Fiora said, rising to her tiptoes before pressing a soft kiss against the high lord’s clean-shaven cheek without a thought, like she’d done it countless times before.

“Are you married?” The curious words tumbled out of me before I thought better of it.

Myron smiled. “The fae don’t marry in the same way humans do, but yes, we are bound to one another. Can you not tell?”

I looked at the two of them more carefully. There were no wedding bands, no markings that distinguished such a thing, and yet, I could tell. They had their individuality, but there was also a subtle energy interwoven between the two of them that seemed in continual movement. Like their auras were constantly courting one another. Was that the dance of love between two souls?

As a simple human woman, though, I shouldn’t be able to see such things. I schooled my features to hide the wonder and genuine curiosity of it all before saying, “In the human lands, we have rings that indicate such unions.” I made a point of looking at their hands, which were devoid of any such adornments.

“Our binding is one of magic. It’s curious that those who believe cannot see,” Myron said.

“Darling, it’s been over five hundred years—you can’t expect them to see things the way we do,” Fiora said kindly.

“Were we able to see such things before?” I countered.

“Truthfully, I’m not certain. That was before my time.” Myron seemed to think over what my question implied.

“If I’m honest, I’d assumed you were married—bound,” I corrected, “but your titles gave me pause.”

“Oh?” Myron asked with raised brows, not quite understanding my meaning.

“Well, if King Thaddeus were to marry, his wife would take on the title of queen.” I looked to the king, who nodded in confirmation. “I had thought the same applied here, that if the two of you were bound, that Lady Fiora would be a high lady, by right and title, if not by honorific.”

“Oh, I like her,” Fiora said to her high lord with an enduringly sweet smile.

Myron chuckled as he took in Fiora, then shifted his attention to me. “Very observant, Nyleeria, but no, there is no such thing as a high lady among the fae. High lord is a birthright and is passed down as such. The powers we possess, the land we are connected to, the fae we rule—they are all the blood right of a high lord, paternally propagated, but bestowed upon us by the Mother herself.”

“Interesting,” the king said with curiosity. “Has it always been so? ”

“As far as our written histories recount, yes,” Myron answered.

A fae whispered something into Fiora’s ear, and her violet eyes glittered with excited delight as she faced Myron. “The orchestra is about to perform our favorite melodia.”

Without waiting for a response, the lady of the Spring Court took my hand in hers and led the four of us to the dance floor.

We gathered with other pairs, the four of us facing each other as if readying for a square dance. I soon learned it was nothing like the traditional dance I’d practiced. The pairs broke apart, allowing couples to flourish, before returning to the classical box formation.

The dance’s intricacies reminded me of a card game that the same group had played for so long that, when a newcomer joined, they could know the rules of the original game but had yet to be versed in the new and evolved version. Sure, it was more fun, but the learning curve was steep.

I was grateful to be the female counterpart, only needing to follow Myron’s lead. The king moved flawlessly with Fiora, a skill that baffled me. Then again, if Myron wasn’t old enough to have met humans before the war, that meant the king was older than him. Perhaps that was how he knew the dance well enough to make it look effortless.

The thought jarred me, but I quickly set it aside, content to pretend the king was only as old as he looked. Stars, that all of them were as old as they looked. I was literally the only mortal at this event—gods, in this realm. I stopped myself from pulling any further on that thread. There were some elements in my life where denial was key, and this was most definitely one of them. It might not be the healthiest way to cope, but I refused to dwell on the thought either.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” Myron asked, bringing me back to the present.

“Nothing worthy of regaling you with, I’m afraid. I’m just taking in this new world, trying to reconcile it all,” I said in earnest .

“I can imagine. I have to say, you’re taking it with great poise.”

I looked at him, questioning.

“I’m not sure how to describe fully,” he said. “As the High Lord of Spring, healing powers run through my veins. I know when something is born in its element and will thrive, and when something has found itself in a place it doesn’t belong. Your interactions with Caius, your ease, how you react…well, I’d say it’s like you were born for this place, Nyleeria. But that wouldn’t be quite right. It feels more like this place, our realm, was born for you.” His voice held the weight of a revelation discovered while speaking its truth.

How did one respond to that? Their realm, born for me? I went to open my mouth but closed it. Not even a fake pleasantry came to mind.

“I…I’m not sure what to say to that,” I said.

He continued to stare at me with verdant eyes that still held tiny remnants of leaflet brightness amid the deepened maturity of summer’s cusp. I didn’t feel his power wrap around me the same as Caius’ had, but it felt like he was trying to find answers by looking into me. I checked my core to make sure the spark was dormant—or as dormant as it could be in this place—and I found it still thrumming like a purring cat.

Thankfully, the dance shifted, and Myron released me to the king, who spun me and then pulled me in close as we continued to dance.

“Are you okay?” he whispered into my ear.

“I’m not sure.” Myron’s words had shaken me to the core, like my world had just shifted slightly and I couldn’t quite find my footing on this new axis.

My mind had stepped off that dance floor while my body continued to oblige the king’s silent cues.

Relief washed over me when the music ended, and I forced myself to give the customary curtsies to our partners, making sure to project good cheer as I did so .

Once off the floor, Myron and Fiora seemed keen to continue visiting, but I excused myself from their company, letting the king hold the conversation.

Tarrin followed me.

Despite the open ceilings and limitless fresh air, my breathing constricted just as it had when the king had shown me the map; I needed to get out of there before panic took over.

Stepping through the yawning archways, I felt their imposing presence mocking me as if they mirrored the magnitude of my own life’s unfathomable arc. The path I couldn’t escape, no matter how hard I tried.

I’d walked far enough that the celebration was a distant murmur. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see the expansive moonlit gardens. I breathed in deeply, able to discern the freshly cut grass from the flora underpinnings.

A hand touched my back lightly, and I screeched, whirling around to find Tarrin—I’d completely forgotten he’d followed me.

He stayed close, placing a hand back on my shoulder. “What’s wrong, Nyleeria?”

Panic bubbled up as I said, “They can tell, Tarrin. They know I’m different.”

“No. They suspect, but they don’t know.” There was such surety in his voice.

“How do you know? What’s the difference?” I asked.

“The difference, Nyleeria, is that if they truly knew, we would be in hot shit right now and you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation. As for how I know, the high lords are different with you. I’ve been watching them closely, as has Nevander, and I’m sure he’d tell you the same thing. You bring out a different side of them, even high lord to high lord. It’s like they drop their guard in your presence.”

“Truly?”

“Yes,” he said, pulling me to his side. I was grateful for him—the contact, the gesture of reassurance .

We stayed there long enough for the disturbed cicadas to continue layering their rhythmic whir over the evening’s otherworldly symphony before Tarrin said, “Ready to go back in?”

I smiled at him, flashing a like I really have a choice look, then turned back to rejoin the celebrations.