Courting Fae Thieves and Crowns

Prologue

The high king’s voice booms through the town center, seemingly out of nowhere. Spring fae everywhere stop what they’re doing to step out of shops and cottages, or turn from their work to listen as their sovereign materializes with what some call witch magic, but no one dares speak it aloud.

“Greetings,” he says, lifting his youthful and smooth elven chin.

Their ruler, High King Estelar of the Summer Court, isn’t actually in the center of Rosewind, far away in his western palace with a glittering sea behind him. The Summer King claims he has come to an agreement with the Winter Court, thus the use of their illusion magic, but some still think something nefarious is going on. Fae cannot lie, and ‘illusion’ also means deception. Misdirection.

“The wait is over.” King Estelar raises both hands in his grand gesture and flashes a dazzling smile at no one in particular because, although they can see him, he can’t see them. “Even as I speak, hundreds of invitations are being sent to eligible young fae who will report to their court capitals in a fortnight. At that time, I hope all of Faerie turns to watch as we choose fifteen lucky females as contestants in the upcoming Consort Tourney. The winner will become the bride and mate of my son, the crown prince, and will someday be the High Queen Consort.”

A murmur of gossip spreads like summer fire as the spring fae speculate what this means. One of their own could be chosen. One of their own could find herself on the High Court throne. Everyone knew this was a possibility, but it’s been seventy years since the Tourney was first announced. And now it’s upon them.

“I look forward to this Tourney and may the best fae win!” says the king before evaporating into the spring air.

Chapter 1

I crouch on the balls of my feet with my toes gripping the edge of the ledge and peer into the room through the window. Balancing is easy with the dragonfly wings I was born with. They’re the perfect color of iridescent blue and are nearly invisible after sunset. Still, I quiet them so the hum doesn’t give me away. No one likes a spy.

The sky is dark, but a shadow catches my attention.

I flick my right wing once with a quick signal. Wait. He hasn’t left yet.

The shadow retreats.

I adjust my feet and watch the fae called Nightfall inside. My stamina is good, but after six hours and nine nights of waiting for Nightfall to leave, with his twitching lion’s tail and permanent frown, my joints are stiff from disuse.

I have memorized his routine. He never leaves his cottage. He rarely leaves this room or takes his eyes off the locked trunk. He opens it often, so I know where he hides the key. Nightfall is like a dragon the way he hoards his treasure.

A loud, ear-splitting commotion sends a shock through me, and for the first time, I lose my balance. Jerking backward, I push both wings outward with force to right myself before settling back on the ledge.

Breathing heavily as blood rushes through my veins, I listen for any sign he heard me. I wait for the fae to peer out the window and catch me. A door slams deeper in the house and I dare look back into the room. Nightfall is gone. Likely rushing off to see whatever caused the racket.

Now is my chance.

I dart forward, propelling myself through the open window and into the room, landing quietly on my feet. I rush to the bookshelf and reach up for the red-spine, hollowed-out book on the top shelf and retrieve the key.

A door below slams. I freeze.

Did Nightfall leave? Has he come back?

Heavy boots sound on the stairs. The footsteps are ascending.

“Amberle!” Clay hisses from outside the window. “He’s coming back!”

I don’t look at my partner and fall hard on my knees before my wings can soften my fall. They crack painfully on the wood floor. My fingers are quick and still as a seamstress as I shove the key into the lock and twist it with a satisfying click. Jerking the lock away, I lift open the trunk expecting to see a glittering diadem encrusted with diamonds, a ruby-hilted sword, or even a sack full of gold coins, but I see none of those. Just the leather-bound bundle of papers I’m here for.

The footsteps reach the top landing. I only have seconds.

I grab the papers and tuck them under my arm while fumbling to replace the lock. Then I stand and press myself against the side of the bookshelf as Nightfall enters the room. The key is still clutched in my hand.

To better conceal myself, I suck in a breath and press harder against the wall, crushing my wing and a radiating pain shoots up my left side. I bite my lip to stop myself from crying out.

As expected, Nightfall glances at his trunk as soon as he enters the room but seems satisfied that nothing is amiss and goes back to his seat, hovered over his desk, pouring over a book.

My heart hammers in my chest. If the fae glances over, he’ll see me. I hold my breath. Even a small twitch might capture his notice. A pit forms in my stomach.

No one likes a spy, but everyone hates a thief.

Movement at the window catches my attention. I scowl at Clay, the pain still thumping in my back. He’s up to something.

What are you doing? I want to scream at him, but know that even if I could, he’s stubborn enough to do whatever perrifool thing he’s got his mind set on.

I hear the same commotion just outside, causing Nightfall to fly from his seat and rush to the window. I don’t hesitate and fly out the door and down the stairs, keeping my feet just off the floor so my steps don’t make a sound. My adrenaline is pumping so hard I barely notice the throbbing of my wing. When I reach the bottom landing, I slow and plant my feet back on the ground, fold my wings protectively against me and crane my head to listen for signs I’m being followed. Whatever Clay did to distract him has stopped, and the cottage is quiet. Slowly, I turn the knob to the front door and pull it open, cringing as the hinges whine from desuetude.

But I’ve disappeared back into the night without bothering to find out if I was heard. If Clay has been found out or captured, it won’t do either of us any good if I am too.

* * *

Clay and I lounge in the shadows of a high rooftop, eating rainbow fruit-tarts and dividing the payout between us. Thankfully, whatever distraction my partner created, he wasn’t caught or even seen. He tosses the key I never returned upward, then catches it.

“Why didn’t you put this back?” he asks, tossing it again. The action is becoming irritating. Although Clay is an expert at thieving, it’s times like this that I’m reminded of our age gap. He’s like the irritating younger brother I never had but felt responsible to take in. Although I’m nearly grown now, I wasn’t much older than him when they took my father and forced me into this life—alone—on the streets to thieve for survival.

“I ran out of time,” I say, taking a bite of blackberries and puff pastry. At least my wing is feeling better. My injury was like stubbing a toe. Painful in the moment, but it didn’t last long.

“But the next time that fae looks for his key, he’ll know he was robbed.”

“The next time he looks for his key, he probably plans to open his trunk again,” I say. “He’ll figure out someone robbed him, anyway. I might have bought more time by keeping the key because he won’t know the deeds are missing until he breaks the lock to look.”

Clay ignores my triumphant look. “Did the client say what the deeds were?”

“Just that they were for some undiscovered land in the human world. Nightfall planned to wait until the humans found it and settled, before announcing himself as their king.”

“Classy. Ruling a bunch of humans.” Clay scoffs and shakes his head.

“You’re part human,” I snap. “Why did you say that like humans are worthless?”

“I never said they were worthless,” he says, tossing his blue-black hair out of his eyes. “And you’re half-human too. It’s just like a lowly fae like Nightfall to exploit the humans in their own world to make himself feel powerful.”

“It’s better than exploiting star fae like us.”

“Is it? At least we have a chance of fighting back. Humans have no chance.”

He has a point.

“It’s a good thing they stay in their realm. For their own safety.”

“Maybe now,” I point out. “We’d both be full-blooded fae if they never stumbled into Faerie.”

“True.” Clay throws the key again. I snatch it mid-air and pocket it. He scowls at me, but says nothing and reaches for another rainbow tart and changes the subject. “Well, if keeping the key was the only mistake then I’d say—”

“What do you mean?” I interrupt. “The only mistake?”

“I’m just saying, if not for me, you would have failed tonight.”

“Yes Clay, we make an excellent team,” I drone, but he’s wrong. I could have done it alone. Clay’s distractions just helped speed up the process. “But I wouldn’t call it a mistake.”

Clay makes a noncommittal grunt.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” I protest, sitting up and shooting him a challenging look.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says sincerely. He sits straighter to drive the point home. “Still, after the king’s announcement today, I thought best-case, you’d postpone the job for another night.”

“And worst-case?” I aim an eyebrow at him and twitch my wings in annoyance.

“You’d get us both caught and sent to a cell.”

“I assure you I don’t care about some silly Consort Tourney.”

“I think you do. Whenever it’s mentioned, you excuse yourself or disappear,” he says. “Do you want to be chosen or something? Do you think you can woo and win the heart of Prince Orion?”

“What? No!” I nearly shout but keep my voice down. We’re not likely to be heard so high on the roof of this inn, but I’m not taking chances. But if Clay wasn’t such an asset, I’d strangle him for even mentioning it. “You know they won’t let star fae into the competition, anyway.”

“You’re right,” he says. “I heard invitations were already being delivered. Raine Hazelfalls received one.”

“Well, she’s practically spring royalty. It’s not unexpected,” I say, then lean back. “Why do you care?”

He shrugs. “I like to know what’s going on. This fancy magic they intend to use so we can all watch the competition has me on edge.”

I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them and press my wings against my back. Now that the thrill of the job has worn off, the night chill is getting to me. “It bothers you?”

“Yes. It feels... deceptive.”

“Ha! Everything the full-blooded fae does is a deception! I don’t even want to imagine what Faerie would be like if one of them could actually lie!”

Clay picks invisible dirt from his shirt, then brushes his hand along his sleeve. “You know how I created a ruckus to distract Nightfall? This entire competition feels like the High Court is doing the same thing just to keep our attention away from something else.”

“What do you think they’re hiding?”

“I don’t know,” he says, then glances at me. “What are you hiding? Why do you always clam up when someone mentions the Tourney? I mean, besides now?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say and flit my wings outward to aid my balance as I stand to leave.

“Is it because of your father’s disappearance?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I repeat and turn away, touching the skin next to my right eye to feel the edge of my promise mark. It’s an unconscious habit whenever my father is mentioned to trace the curves and lines of the inked mark.

“Amberle, I’m your closest friend,” Clay says, pulling at my arm. “I’m pretty sure I’m your only friend, but all I know is that your father went missing seventy years ago—” He jerks his hand away as something occurs to him.

I whip on him and see the look of epiphany on his face.

His eyes rise to meet mine as my vision blurs. “He disappeared the same year they announced the Tourney, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t disappear,” I say. “He was taken. He was imprisoned.”

Clay’s eyes widen. “Do you think it’s connected? His imprisonment and the Tourney?”

I pump my wings, taking off from the roof.

“Amberle!” Clay calls, threatening to wake up all of Rosewind. But he doesn’t have wings, so he can’t come after me.

My eyes burn as I push myself higher into the sky. Clay can’t be asking me questions like that. Not if he doesn’t want to share a cell with my father. Because if he knew they took my father the same day they announced the Tourney, not just the same year, he’d know the two were connected. It’s the reason I’m a thief. It’s the reason no one, not even Clay, knows where I live. Because if the high king found out that I suspected anything, I’d disappear too.

I take the long way home, stopping on rooftops far from my neighborhood to watch the streets and ensure I’m not being followed. Even by Clay. So, when I finally arrive at the small, unused storage room above the bakery shop I call home, the sky is the color of pale lavender, announcing the rising sun. I already smell the bread and pastries in the oven down below and envision what delicacies I’ll buy after I get a few hours of sleep. Maybe I’ll send that youngling who lives down the street to buy them for me.

My fluttering wings send a piece of refuse sliding across the floor, just another piece of parchment blown in by the wind from the bustling city below. I go about my routine, picking up the jug of water from the corner and pouring the rest of it into my makeshift washbasin. I take my time scrubbing my face and hands before glancing at the broken mirror-glass leaning against the wall. My silvery hair could use a wash too, but my water is gone. I’ll have to get more soon.

I sit on the edge of my mattress and eat one more tart before lying down for some much-needed sleep. My eyes trail to the rectangular paper still lying on the floor and my mouth goes dry when I read my name in curling calligraphy across it: Amberle Kindra.

My heart jumps into my throat.

I swallow and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I inch forward to pick it up.

It’s a letter. Addressed to me.

In the seventy years since my father was taken, I haven’t received a single package or letter from anyone. When I became a ghost—aka the infamous Silver Shadow—to keep my freedom, I trusted no one. I disappeared from the village where anyone knew what happened to me and my father.

With fumbling fingers, I turn it over and break the seal I’d recognize anywhere. It’s the royal seal of a sun wearing a crown.

Amberle Kindra,

You are hereby requested to report at Herdan in a fortnight as one of the potential candidates in the upcoming Consort Tourney. At The Choosing, fifteen young fae will be selected from the candidates to compete in front of all of Faerie for a chance to win the heart of Prince Orion Illuminae.

—Signed, King Estelar Illuminae

Chapter 2

All thoughts of sleep flee as I stare at the invitation. My hands shake and the letters blur. Thousands of questions fill my mind as I contemplate what this means until I nearly go mad. Shoving the letter into my boot, I grab my pack and hooded cloak to conceal my head and wings, then emerge into the already crowded streets of Rosewind.

It’s market day. Everyone wakes early on market day. I buy some pastries from the bakery shop owner, but I doubt I’ll be able to eat them anytime soon. My appetite is gone. Still, I need a distraction so I make my way to the erluitle booths for chamois goat cheese.

Why was the letter sent to me? I wonder as I lose myself in the crowd. The erluitle’s stall is at the far edge of town and I’m not in a hurry. Was it a mistake? Was it meant for someone else, but made its way to my hideout?

No. I think, feeling the edge of the letter dig into my ankle. The jabbing reminds me the invitation is real, and I didn’t imagine it. It’s addressed to me by name. Amberle Kindra. It wasn’t a mistake.

So why me?

I come up with nothing that makes sense in the time it takes me to arrive at the erluitle booth. I purchase my cheese, but the red-faced, stocky creature’s constant twitching and shuffling of their feet makes me nervous, so I quickly shove the cheese into my pack and turn back into the crowd.

If I dared fly away, I would, but the few faces who might recognize me don’t know I have wings—and that the Silver Shadow does. I need to remain unforgettable. Wings on a star fae are rare. I force myself to calm and walk back to my hideout the same way I came. When I’m lost in the crowd again, I ease and slow my steps, but my thoughts are still a mess.

How do they know where I live? It’s the most terrifying question of all. Even Clay doesn’t know where I sleep at night, so how did the king’s messengers find me?

And again, why me? I’m a nobody. I’m a star fae. I’m a thief.

A flash of light catches my eye and I notice the fine jewels—likely emeralds and sapphires—carved into beads wrapped around an elf’s wrist with sea-foam colored hair piled in a high coif.

I’m not out to lift anything today since I have enough coins from last night’s job to support my needs for weeks, but she oozes an air of entitlement. When she lifts her chin and looks down her nose at a shop owner, her disdain could cut glass. She’s pure elf, by the looks of it. The shop owner meekly lifts a carved wooden hair comb in a humble presentation. It’s intricately designed with a deft hand, one of the many fine adornments on the table. The extravagantly dressed elf’s nostrils flare just a bit, the only indication of her ire before she tosses the spring fae’s table, spilling the owner’s wares all over the pathway. The more delicate pieces shatter, while the busy foot traffic crushes others. The elf shouts, each word punctuated with venom.

The devastation on the spring fae’s face breaks my heart. With a loud wail, she rushes to salvage any of her beloved pieces, scooping them up while risking being trampled. The fae who caused the damage, the elf with the arrogant hair and expensive beads, presses the ball of her slipper onto a delicate pendant and grinds it into the cobblestones. The sound of a hundred tiny scratches signals the death of its value. Then she scoffs and walks away.

She should pay for that. For many spring fae, selling wares at the market is their only way to support themselves. It’s their way to survive. And now that poor fae might go hungry; her entire family might go hungry because of a rich and spoiled elf’s tantrum.

I set my sights on the elf with the too-fancy beads. Snatching that bracelet will be the perfect distraction, but I lose her in the push of the crowd. Still, I keep moving in the direction the elf went, watching for her ridiculous hair.

Lifting jewels and picking pockets is child’s play, so my thoughts wander back to my dilemma as I track her.

I could probably just ignore the invitation. I try not to act like I’m in a hurry as I meander through the crowd. In the king’s announcement, he said that hundreds of invitations were delivered. If I don’t show up at The Choosing, no one will notice—

There.

The elf has stopped at a booth to examine another artisan’s craft. I pivot my direction to bring myself closer to her without being too obvious.

That’s it. I won’t go to Herdan. The prince, let alone the king, doesn’t want me in the Tourney, anyway.

My fingers are quick and make light work of removing the bracelet as I pass behind the elf. In a half-breath I’ve pocketed the precious jewels and make a wide berth to turn back the opposite direction. Slipping these jewels into the spring artisan’s pocket will only heighten my good mood now that I’ve decided to ignore the invitation.

“Thief!”

My heart stalls.

I recognize the shout. Moments ago it rang out when the rich elf shouted at that poor shopkeeper before tossing her table. I make the mistake of turning my head and meet the elf’s eyes. She points a long finger directly at me.

“Thief! She stole my property!”

I run.

“She stole my jewels! She just admitted it! Stop her!”

Footsteps and more shouting pursue.

How did I slip up? I chide myself as I weave and push through the crowd. That was supposed to be a simple job! A quick lift! I was supposed to be long gone before the elf even realized she was missing her bracelet. What did I do wrong?

I scan the area for a booth or alley I can duck into and slip away, but I feel them practically breathing down my neck. They can see me. If I duck anywhere, they’ll see where I go.

I make a sharp turn down another street lined with more stalls and lose them. I only have a moment before I’ll be in eyesight again. A strong hand grabs my wrist and jerks me downward. My already bruised knees crack on the stone street.

I cry out and try to pull away, but my captor’s grip tightens.

“I’m trying to help you. Just trust me,” he says. He’s hooded too, so I can’t see his face, but his voice is too low to be Clay.

This fae sounds older. Closer to my age.

He watches for something, then says, “Come on,” and pulls me back to my feet and into a very narrow space between two booths and farther back between the stalls. Keeping us more concealed.

If I break free and run back into the street, my pursuers will see me for sure. I have no choice but to follow this fae, whoever he is. I must trust him.

Without releasing my wrist, he slips through a curtain into the back area of one stall, then finds a hidden door that leads to a secluded alleyway that opens up to the next street over. When the hooded fae releases my arm to sprint, I follow. It goes against my better nature not to slip away now that I’ve lost those who were after me, but I’m curious about this fae who saved me. Why did he help me?

He turns left on the street, then takes another hard right, then left again before slowing his steps. The noise of my pursuers and the market quiets and we soon slip out onto one of the less crowded streets lined with small houses and hovels.

The fae slows—as if we haven’t just been running for our lives—to walk beside me and removes his hood to reveal a mess of walnut-brown hair and familiar golden cat-like slit eyes. I can’t place him though. I don’t know how I recognize those distinct eyes because I don’t think he’s from Rosewind. He’s not a spring fae. Summer, maybe?

“Now, we act casual,” he says.

I nod and remove my hood, letting my own silvery hair spill around my shoulders, but keep my wings tucked underneath the cloak. My heart still pounds, especially having my face in full view, out in the open and in broad daylight, no less. But I understand what he’s trying to do. He doesn’t want us to seem suspicious.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask, trying not to look like a paranoid fae by darting my head and eyes at everything that moves.

When he looks at me, directing his gold eyes paired with a full smile, I have to tell myself that the flip of my stomach and the pounding of my heart have more to do with what I just escaped.

He shrugs and pushes dark hair from his eyes.

I look away.

“I stole the gems from that elf. I’m a thief.” When he doesn’t comment, I ask again, “Why did you help me?”

“It seemed like she deserved it.”

Don’t let the high court hear you say that, I think, but don’t voice. “Who are you? What are you doing in Rosewind?”

He remains silent for a long moment before answering, “My father has business here, I came with him.”

We walk up to the entrance of one of the famous spring orchards with trees forever covered in pink and white blossoms, and meander in to catch our breaths. The stranger stops at a tree and leans against the trunk. I should keep moving, but my feet won’t obey. A blossom flutters down and lands in his windswept hair. My fingers itch to remove it, but I refrain.

“So why did you steal the bracelet?” he asks. “Is it for your drinking habits and shady activities?” He winks and I’m nearly undone, but I keep a stoic expression. “Weren’t you ever taught by your father or mother that society breaks down when the fae steal?”

I only have few memories of my mother, but the mention of my father smarts, and I wince and close my eyes against the prick of pain in my chest. “No, I steal to survive.”

We hear the ringing shout of the Rosewind authorities just outside the orchard.

“Come!” my self-designated protector says, pulling up his hood and gripping my arm again to run.

“I can run very well on my own, thank you,” I say as I pull my arm away to put my own hood up.

He scoffs but makes sure I’m trailing him as he weaves through the trees, and we put more distance between our pursuers again. His movements aren’t predictable, and he moves in a roundabout way that leads us back into the heart of Rosewind.

This guy is good, I realize and wonder if Clay would be opposed to adding a member to our unofficial team. Although, this stranger mentioned he isn’t from Rosewind.

“But I didn’t steal to survive today,” I say when we press against a building as two enforcers pass by. Sucking in a breath, I pray to Vejo I’m not seen and recognized. I sigh when they pass without incident. “You were right. That elf deserved it because she destroyed one of the artisan’s booths.”

His cat-eyes widen, revealing the points at either end of his slitted pupils.

“The elf was angry and tossed the table. The spring fae’s work and livelihood were destroyed, so I took the bracelet with the intention of slipping it into the pocket of the artisan. To pay for what she had destroyed.”

I don’t know why I’m telling him any of this, but it just spills out.

“That’s very noble of you,” he says, holding my gaze.

“The street is clear,” I say to break his spell.

He nods and we move further down the road in the direction of the market, but after a few steps, I slow in hesitation. How can I get the jewels to the fae without being seen? Without being recognized and caught? I won’t help anyone if I’m carted away to a dungeon.

“I can take it to her for you,” he offers, as if reading my thoughts.

I clutch my pack tightly. “Or maybe you’ll take them and keep them for yourself.”

He smiles. “One can never be too careful.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You still haven’t told me who you are. Why are you helping me?”

“I’m just someone who wants to help.” His hand hovers in the air between us, but I don’t move to hand him the jewels. “They’re not looking for me, they’re looking for you. If you try to go back to the market, you’ll get caught. I promise I’ll get them to her. You have my word.” He winks again. “And I think I’ve proved that I’m capable.”

I consider his offer, but we’ve only just met. It doesn’t require much to gain someone’s trust in a few moments, only to betray them at the first opportunity. I know nothing of him that tells me he wasn’t helping me escape, only to keep the jewelry for himself. For all I know, he’s new to town, ready to take over my territory here in Rosewind. I’d be a fool if I trust him this quickly because he has a nice smile.

“No, thanks,” I say, and walk swiftly away. Clay can slip the string of emeralds and sapphires into the artisan’s pocket tomorrow. With that thought, I reach in my pack to feel for the jewels, but only feel the now-smooshed pastries and erluitle cheese. Frantically, I lift my pack to search more thoroughly, but they’re gone.

Looking up, I see the mysterious fae slip them into his pocket as he hurries back to the bustling market.

Thief!

But I can’t follow him into the crowd. I can’t demand that he give back what isn’t even rightfully mine. I can’t do anything! Scaling the cottage next to me, I crouch on the rooftop so I can peer over it and get a bird’s-eye-view of the market. I can watch, but I’m powerless to do anything to get the bracelet back.

My eyes search the crowd for the dark-haired fae. I spot him strolling through the press of bodies with his hood back up. When he reaches the stall of the artisan, he stops. She’s hunched over, still in distress over her broken wares. Has he figured out who I wanted to give them to? Does he plan to do what I can’t?

The artisan jerks in surprise when he addresses her and looks up. He doesn’t hand over the bracelet. Instead, she riffles through her broken pieces and hands him a couple of her creations, which he pays for with a few coins. When the spring fae turns her back and before he walks away, I watch the mysterious fae slip the gems into the pocket of her dress. She didn’t even notice. I can’t help but smile.

Are you hooked? Click the link!