***
He halted his troops at the outskirts of the Seelie Court atop a small hill from where he could see the path disappear into the Whispering Woods. The first row of trees marked the invisible, yet protected, border to his remaining kingdom.
Many of the court’s inhabitants heard the horn and ran out of their houses the moment the king and his knights passed, but none of them tried to follow the procession. Instead, they ushered their children back inside and locked their doors.
Hovering a few feet above the ground, the king turned around to look at his army. None of the knights had wings, so most of them were on foot, wielding all kinds of weapons: swords, daggers, spears, and bows and arrows. Others sat on stags, allowing them a higher view, their wary eyes searching their surroundings for danger. They all kept their gaze straight ahead of them where the forest stretched into the distance in the dark night.
"It's quiet," the knight to the king's right observed. "Too quiet."
The king shot him a sidelong glance then turned to stare into the gloomy woods. The first two or three rows of trees were perfectly visible in the moonlight, but everything farther into the woods was consumed by pitch-black darkness. On most nights, the chirruping of birds filled the air, but this night, there wasn't a single sound to be heard.
"My king, did they sound the horn by mistake?" asked the same knight.
The king didn't answer him and kept his gaze intently forward. He thought that somewhere in the distance he'd seen a shadow move. Or was it just his imagination playing a trick on him?
Murmurs rippled through the army of knights, and the king sensed their apprehension. He knew that they didn't like standing this close to the Whispering Woods. It was the court’s only flaw. The remaining borders were protected either by a mountain range or ended in a steep coast at the sea, but they were vulnerable on this border, exposed to whatever lurked between the trees.
"She's out there. I'm certain," said Ophira.
The king turned his eyes away from the void in front of him and looked down at his daughter. She was clutching the hilt of a sword, something he hadn't seen since she’d finished her training. The hope that she'd never have to use those abilities outside the citadel slowly faded away.
"I can feel her presence. She's out there," Ophira repeated, gazing into the woods.
There was a whirring sound followed by a thump, and the knight to the king's right collapsed, an arrow protruding from his eye.
No one moved. They all stared in shock at the lifeless body of their fallen companion. All but the king, for his eyes were riveted on the spot from which the arrow had come flying, and the more he concentrated on the dark abyss, the more shadows came into sight. They darted between the trees, approaching them at high speed, but they didn't make the slightest sound as they moved.
"They're coming! Now!" the king cried, and half his army of knights charged down the hill, holding their swords up high. The entire ground shook under their feet as they bolted past the king and his daughter. Their battle cries tore through the night and carried on even long after they had been consumed by the dark forest. But then they ceased and were replaced by the sound of clashing metal and iron.
"We should be with them." Ophira took a step forward, still gripping her sword, but he held out a hand to stop her. An icy chill ran down his spine as the first tormented cries came from the trees, and he understood, with a sinking heart, that it was his men dying.
"She'd expect that," he said. "And when she realizes that we're not in the forest fighting, she'll come looking for us here. That's what we want. That's how we're going to catch her."
He'd never thought he'd say those words. He'd never thought he'd have to regard one of his daughters as a criminal. That he had to be the one to put an end to her life. After all, he was the one who'd given life to her.
"Something is wrong." Ophira leaned in closer to the woods. "Why can't I hear anything? Father?"
There were a few muffled sounds from the trees. The sound of his fallen warriors moaning as they took their last breath.
He closed his eyes for a second, inhaling deeply, and then faced the remaining half of his knights. "The enemy seems to be stronger than we have anticipated, but this doesn't mean we'll be defeated. We will fight! We will win this battle so that none of those souls die for nothing. We will bring justice to those who have done wrong!"
The group of knights answered with raucous bawling, seizing their weapons. The king's fingers closed around the hilt of his sword, and as he drew his weapon, rage shot up his throat and emerged in a battle cry. He no longer cared about his plan. If someone was killing his people, he wanted them dead.
The knights bolted forward, roaring like thunder. The king watched them with satisfaction as they raced towards the woods, but his elation was short-lived. The first of his knights collapsed when an arrow hit him in the chest.
Suddenly, their opponents were no longer shadows, and one after the other, they appeared between the trees. Even from where he stood, the king could see some familiar faces, but the expression they wore was unknown to him.
The Fair Folk weren’t an angry people, and in all the battles the king had fought in his life, he'd never seen someone so possessed with hatred as the group of faeries approaching them. Their faces were smeared with blood, their hair covered in dirt, and some were snarling like wild animals. All they seemed to care about were their enemies. They kept pushing forward, their eyes blazing like fire stones in their sockets.
The king's knights had stopped a short distance away from the Whispering Woods, some gazing at the oncoming army and others firing away, letting one arrow after the other fly. It didn't stop the enemy. If anything, it provoked them, and they picked up their pace, wielding their maces and axes or whatever makeshift weapon they had a hold on. The king knew that they would soon cross the edge of the forest.
"Father, there's too many of them!" Ophira called out over the clamor. "We don't have enough knights to fight an army."
He had worried about that before. His knights had been trained to protect their kingdom, but they weren't equipped to defend it against a force so strong. They never expected that they'd have to fight their own people.
"We should—" he began, but he was cut off by a deafening cry so stricken with pain that it chilled him down to the bones.
He whirled around to the forest in time to see a faerie from the opposing army being catapulted back by an invisible force, almost as if he'd crashed into a wall. He collapsed between the trees, surrounded by his fellow soldiers, who had come to an abrupt halt, looking like statues with fear chiseled into their faces.
"What just happened?" Ophira asked, her eyes widening in shock.
"I don't know," the king answered. "But it might be our only chance." He turned away from the scene to face his daughter. The sobs and cries of the fallen faerie carried up the hill.
"Father— "
He placed a hand on her shoulder, locking eyes with her. "You need to get the chancellor. He and his son are farther south with their troops where I ordered them to keep an eye on the path. Tell him that he should meet me here with reinforcements."
Another bloodcurdling cry pierced their ears.
The king glanced over his shoulder. The faerie was still writhing on the ground, and his companions were caught in their stupor.
"I know you want your revenge." He turned back to Ophira. "And I promise you, I will get it for you. Now leave!"
He was certain she'd contradict him, and he could see her contemplating it. Her lips parted, but she said nothing. After giving a short nod, she sprinted down the hill away from the battle.
A huge burden was lifted off his chest. He descended the hill in the opposite direction that she had gone, towards the Whispering Woods at whose edge both armies had gathered. Once he was close enough, he called to his knights.
"What's happened?"
The crowd in front of him parted, revealing the faerie man who la
y a few feet away on the forest ground, squirming in pain. His tattered clothes—a wretched breastplate and woolen pants—left most of his skin exposed, and a large part of it, especially the arms and legs, was covered with red blisters. A couple of the blisters were oozing whitish fluid.
The king addressed the knight that stood closest to the wounded faerie. "I need you to tell me where exactly it happened. Was it at the edge of the forest?"
The knight stared at him in bewilderment. "I-I don't know."
"Was it at the edge of the forest?" the king repeated firmly. He could feel the eyes of the enemy watching him. It wouldn't take much longer for them to comprehend what had happened. "Does anyone know the answer?" he bellowed. Finally, they seemed to have understood.
One of the knights stepped forward. "My king, he was suddenly thrown back. It was as though…there was some kind of invisible wall."
The king nodded. "I see. This should buy us some time." He glanced over his shoulder at the faerie whose blisters were already starting to heal. The skin was knitting over the injuries, closing them up. Then the king faced the first knight that had spoken. "Take this man and bring him to the Glass Citadel. We might need him later."
The knight hurried to the faerie and two more joined him. Together they lifted the man up. The moment they crossed the border from the woods into the Seelie Court, the faerie began to cry in agony.
"And you—" the king began, but faltered when he heard the sound of hoofs pounding the forest floor.
"Why did you stop?" a voice bellowed. "I thought my orders were clear."
At the sound of the voice, the king's heart skipped a beat and his insides turned cold. A series of gasps rippled through the crowd of knights surrounding him. All their arrows were aimed at the newcomer.
"Hold your fire!" the king cried, whirling around to face the woods.
Between the army of faeries that still stood unmoved, he saw, perched atop a golden-bristled boar, his firstborn daughter, Titania.