CherryBones, at your service!

The land hadn’t seen joy in so long, Lizzie worried she might have to start doing something herself.

Queen Lizzie was, for better or worse, more of a deity than a queen. She hadn’t walked so much as stumbled her way onto an empty throne in the midst of a war, and with the size of an apple there wasn’t much she could do with her own two hands.

And yet the winter solstice came, and the land lit up in celebration.

“M’lady,” Rendog said, offering his hand. She let him lift her up, until she could comfortably rest up on his shoulder. “The people are waiting for you.”

“Uhm, well, the people can wait a bit longer maybe,” She said, yet stayed in place as her knight carried her out of her alcove. “I honestly didn’t think anyone would have the energy to celebrate, but I’m not complaining. As long as the offerings keep coming.”

To that her knight smiled, sharp wolf teeth giving an edge to an otherwise gentle demeanor. “Ah, do not fret my queen. The solstice has only made everyone more generous in their adoration.”

She let the words nurture her pride, sitting a bit straighter. “Good, as it should be.”

The castle they resided in was overrun by nature, vines wrapping around cracked bricks and broken windows, moss muffling Ren’s armor ever so slightly. The sun had just begun to seep underneath the horizon, leaving only the briefest rays of warmth to come through the exposed masonry. Many citizens, mostly human, had offered countless times to renew the dilapidated rooms and cut off the overgrown plants. She hoped once the war was over, she’d have time to explain how the castle was already cared for, in the ways that made her feel less homesick.

On the courtyard, a dozen or so booths circled the estate, round paper light strings tying wooden posts with each other, a trail of yellow, pink and blues guiding each of them through the festivities. Ren turned his head to look at Lizzie through the corner of his eye, long mane almost covering her from view. They simply stayed there for a moment, a moment of silent communication isolated from the cheer and laughter outside their bubble. She was the first one to break eye contact; she stood up, flickering her wings until they glowed ever so slightly, and with that they made their way through the crowd.

In a clear example of a celebration miracle, queen Lizzie mingled with her subjects until night fell and the first few campfires started to appear. It was believed by them that their queen was too busy, as the feywild was but a mystery to the common folk. In reality, she simply lacked enough interest in human life to play pretend for longer than necessary. Up to a certain point, it became increasingly hard to remember what story belonged to who, and the song of the wind dancing through the leaves became far more appealing. Now, she stood on the stones of the lake, shoes and hands wet, and silently begged that she was given at least a few moments to breathe.

In truth, she welcomed the celebrations with open arms, as it would, surely, increase the offerings she’d be getting, but that did not mean she wanted to partake in them as much. She knelt down, sliding her hand on the pond’s surface, and once she closed her eyes she concentrated on their bond, the one that linked her gifts to her. The three knights of the Fae Queen.

Her body shook, as the heat of fire wafted over her skin. There were rushed footsteps, muffled voices, the sound of water wrung off a cloth mixing with the fish swimming around Lizzie, and when her inner eye focused, she saw for the fifth time that day Martyn’s battle camp.

It had been just a few months and also far too long since he’d left with Cleo to defend the borders of her kingdom. His hair was longer, she noticed, in dire need of a cut, and his eyes looked tired, far more than she’d ever seen in him before. She mumbled a quick thanks to the gods for letting her be the one witnessing this and not Ren; only they know how much this would destroy him. She watched him kneel down next to a medical bed, wet rug in hand, and only then did she dare glance up towards the third one of her knights. Cleo.

She looked dead. The first time she’d thought so was so devastating, she had closed off the link for a fortnight. Her skin had gone from a healthy tan to pale, pale as bone, as dead earth. Now it was turning green and blue, taut in ways no corpse should be, and so she breathed, and looked as her once human knight smiled at Martyn, unfocused eyes peeking underneath the wet cloth.

“Warm water?” Cleo scoffed, hands folded over her stomach.

“Listen, I am not a doctor, and so I thought maybe this worked like a fever, and I could just…reverse engineer it to heat you up a bit.”

“You are trying to bring me back from the dead with water?” Her scoffed turned into snickering, as Lizzie watched Martyn’s ears turn red, his eyes regaining a bit of light behind them.

“That and you smell so bad, I thought you could use a bit of a shower.” A loud smack rang out as Cleo weaponized the wet cloth, smacking him on the arm and turning the tender moment into a full on scuffle.

Martyn’s hands tried to pin Cleo down, as she kept breaking free and pinching the sides of his stomach, whispering swears and cackles breaking the tension of the war around them. Lizzie tried to let her body relax as well. She couldn’t. There was a bitter tension twisting in her gut at the moment, a voice deep in her mind testing her, pulling at their bond as she saw her gift, her knight turning into an undead. The fae blood in her bristled with disgust. Her own mind shut it down, as not even her own ancestry would take away a gift from her hands. They were hers after all.

Suddenly the sheet covering Cleo’s body slid down her shoulder, exposing her wounded ribcage, and as she watched Martyn freeze at the sight Lizzie broke off, barrelling back into her own mind. 

The first thing she noticed, once her body stopped shaking, was that she was no longer sitting down by the lake. Ren had picked her up at some point, hands gently holding her closer to his face. The sound of the festivities was distant, and yet the cold wind of the forest glided through her wings. They must have walked off, towards the wilder terrains of her castle. 

“My queen, you are crying,” Ren whispered, and it was only then that she took notice of it.

For a moment she calmed down her breathing, looking up to try to stop the tears from falling. Next moment she was wailing out loud, hands tangled on the fur of Ren’s paws, as he scrambled to bring her close to his chest while not squashing her.

“Oh no, oh no, it’s okay, it’s okay-”

“She’s alive!” She exclaimed, stopping him in his nervous rambles.

He brought her up to his face, until their eyes met straight on. “Cleo? She’s alive? She survived?”

“No!” Lizzie felt a sob block her through, and it took a couple seconds of tense whimpering for her words to come out. “She, she’s undead now, she woke up-”

“Oh god, is she still with us?”

“Can you stop being rude and interrupting me!?” Lizzie groaned, hands cleaning off the snot and tears on her face.

With the ease of many years he brought out a small handkerchief from his satchel, big enough to almost cover her completely. It took yet another good couple of seconds until she calmed down enough, only the occasional sniff coming through. Ren remained silent. Not even his ears moved, completely held in place so as to not upset her further. Lizzie ran her hands through the fur of his palm, in a half-assed attempt to be soothing.

“She’s still there, same Cleo, same everything. She’s my knight, I’m not just going to let the enemy take her.”

“Right….right…” He whispered, and only then did a smile start to shine on his face. The silence of the forest only made the swish of his tail louder. “So, things are looking up huh?”

Queen Lizzie thought back to the war, to the suffering of her people, to the way her power waned as those who respected the fey became fewer, how the offerings became sparser. She thought of dead, blank eyes in the face of her knight, and how there was now an undead amongst their ranks, an enemy in the eyes of everyone else but Lizzie’s. She, who’d rather see her undead than dead, and that regardless of everything, was glad that this only brought their return closer and closer.

“I really, really hope so,” she answered. “Now, I’m in need of some pampering. Bring me to my offerings!”