A Fairy-Tail Marriage

A messenger stepped in, straight from his travels. He hadn’t bothered to find clothes after shifting from his wolf form to his human form but had come straight to the castle and Braxton’s office with mud still clinging to his feet. His nudity was not even noticed; many of their people loped around in human form nude, although it was mostly the country folk who did that. Those who lived in the more urban areas wore clothes most of the time.

Braxton lifted an eyebrow, a gentle smile on his face. “Good morning, sir. You must have important news indeed to come see me immediately after returning.”

The messenger smiled in return and answered a little breathlessly, “Yes, sir. I have news from the border.”

Braxton and Blake exchanged a look, then returned their attention to the messenger. “Yes, what is it?” Blake asked as he rose to his feet.

“There has been another breakout of violence on the border near the river. Two fairies and one werewolf have been killed.”

Braxton hissed out a breath and slammed his hands down on the desk as he, too, stood. “Two fairies and a werewolf. Damn.”

The messenger glanced at Blake, who nodded for him to continue. “A rumored uprising of the fairies is all anyone can talk about there, and the werewolves who live there are getting skittish. They’re arming themselves against the fairies’ magic.”

“Arming themselves?” Braxton exploded. “How? With what?”

“Some elves have taken the ‘initiative,’ so to speak, and are selling weapons or armor that is supposedly resistant to fairy magic,” the messenger told them with a roll of his eyes.

Amazed, Braxton said, “And people are falling for that nonsense?”

“Yes, sir. They believe the lies the elves are telling. That they bewitched the sword or the shield to repel the fairy magic,” the messenger replied.

“God’s breath, this is absurd,” Braxton huffed.

“Absurd, yes, but we’re talking about simple country folks, Braxton. The werewolves who live on the border are uneducated and superstitious,” Blake reminded.

Braxton nodded at Blake and spoke to the messenger. “Thank you for the information. Go get some clothes and some food.”

“Yes, sir,” the messenger answered, bowed slightly, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Blake watched Braxton with a wary eye. His face, so handsome, was mottled with red. “Braxton, do not have an aneurysm. I cannot deal with that right now.”

Braxton released a breath that sounded more like a bark. He sat down and looked across the desk at Blake. “That’s the third time this month that something like this has happened. And it’s escalating. Three deaths.” Braxton began rubbing his temples with his fingertips. “What the hell are we going to do? At this rate, either the fairies or our own people will be calling for war within a month.”

“I have a crazy idea,” Blake said after a moment of silent pondering. Bracing himself, he spoke. “Perhaps you should travel to the border where this skirmish took place.”

Braxton looked at him skeptically. “What for?”

“Your presence handling this issue would make a bigger impact than sending a messenger or a liaison. The werewolves need to see you are a hands-on king, that they’ve made the right choice. And the fairies need to see that you’re willing to work with them but not be run over by them.” Blake, ever the politician and diplomat, looked pleased with his plan.

Braxton watched the smug smile on Blake’s face and hated to admit he was right. Blake was almost always right. “All right, Blake. Let’s make our travel plans.”

“Our travel plans?” Blake asked.

“Of course. I’ll need my trusted advisor by my side,” Braxton informed him. The smug smile became less smug; Blake did not like to travel. He preferred the comforts the castle had to offer.

Blake sighed. “I’ll get on it. We’ll leave in the morning.” He rose and shuffled to the door. “I pray to the gods for a decent inn. I am in no mood for tents.”

Braxton grinned to himself as the door closed behind his friend. He took a sip and began running scenarios through his mind.

*****

Across the wide expanse of werewolf land, the king of the fairies, Tristan, paced in his chambers, his anger over the skirmish between fairies and werewolves forcing him into privacy so he did not say or do something un-kingly. His beard and hair, white as snow, belied his age, making him look like a wizened leader with much experience. He had ruled the fairies for nearly thirty years, and the hatred between the fairies and werewolves had only grown.

His wife, Mariah, watched him, trepidation in her eyes. He was far too old to allow his blood pressure to rise because of anger.

“Dear, calm down. I know this is bad news, but it’s not the worst news,” Mariah said, her soft voice, which usually acted as a balm to his anger, having no affect whatsoever on her husband.

“Two dead,” Tristan bellowed again after a moment of silence in which his wife thought he might have settled a bit. “Those damn werewolves bring violence wherever they go. What the hell were they doing on our land?”

Mariah, always reasonable, countered. “Dear, they weren’t on our land. The skirmish took place in the neutral border zone. You know that.” She had been painting when he’d burst in to the room, interrupting her tranquility with his bellowing. The danger of a heart attack seizing her husband over, she returned to her canvas as she spoke again. “The only way to settle this dispute between us and the werewolves is a treaty.”

Tristan watched her as she serenely painted what looked like a cotton ball on the sky she’d already painted. Her beauty struck him yet again. Even at nearly fifty, she exuded an aura of contentment and loveliness. He sighed and wished he could be as calm as she all the time. As he considered the possibilities of her suggestion, their daughter, Althea, burst into the room.

“Father! Two fairies have been killed by werewolves! Something must be done!” Althea, her shining blonde hair swinging around her shoulders, stopped abruptly in front of him.

Tristan sighed again and wished his daughter were more like her mother than him. “Yes, Althea. I’m aware of the situation and am considering our course of action.”

“Course of action? Shouldn’t this mean war?” Althea asked.

“Good heavens, no, Althea!” her mother exclaimed. “War is the absolute last thing this kingdom needs. Besides, a werewolf was also killed.”

Althea frowned at her mother. “But shouldn’t we stand up for ourselves? The fairies are squished into this small section of the kingdom like sardines in a can. We’re practically living on top of each other.”

Mariah looked at her daughter blandly. “Young lady, you live in the castle in your own suite of rooms. Do not presume to sound so put upon.”