Yesterday, I was driving to pick up my husband after work and listening to some retro music when my recent creations of fantasy books made out of clay and mythical creatures took over. My mind drifted back to a few old stories that I started to write about a Fae kingdom and a family of gatekeepers set in Ireland.
I pictured a family that has royal Fae blood in their lines. A brother to a kingdom long forgotten who choose to watch the gates outside in the mortal realm. Not being the eldest, or heir to the throne his bloodline remained outside as the guardian.
Centuries later and with no blood heir to the throne, one unsuspecting college graduate is going to get a visit from her betrothed Fae prince. Being the only one to carry on the bloodline, she believes she still has a choice. Walking away and knowing that you could end centuries of a long line of Fae that you never knew isn’t an overnight decision but she has until the next full moon to decide. At least, she believes she has a choice.
Her rival and betrothed doesn’t see any other choice. It is what is expected of him and her. But she didn’t grow up in his world, she didn’t know it existed until he appeared out of the fog on the lake with his long white hair. He stood like a warrior on bow of his boat and his eyes were set on her. She stood frozen, entranced, staring at what she thought was a hallucination.
She knew from the moment that their eyes met that he was here for her, and only her. He was her destiny. The electricity in the hair gathered around her and the hairs on her arms raised in recognition. He was a dream that visited years ago but that always escaped her when she woke up again. She knew as soon as she heard his voice call to her that she belonged with him.
The thoughts in her mind tugged at each other as she struggled to understand the meaning of reality. Her ears listened for any sound but he just floated to her across the water until he stepped up onto the dock in front of her. He was taller than in her dream. He walked like a prince. When his midnight colored cloaked bent and he bowed before her, all she could do was blink.
“Princess De Danann.”
His voice lifted off his tongue like music and she had to curl her toes to keep from falling into him. His green eyes never left hers and they sparkled deeper than any emerald she had seen in her grandfather’s shop. A tingle of electricity shot up her arm and she bit down on her lip.
“You. I know you.” Her grandmother’s Irish accent tipped off her tongue and the corners of his eyes smiled down at her.
If her heart was pounding, she suddenly felt it thump in that moment. A reminder that she was still alive, still standing on the dock in the middle of the summer night. And she was finally with him.
“I don’t know your name. Er -“. What did you call a beautiful warrior like him? His broad shoulders and sculpted arms made him look like a warrior.
“I am -“
“It’s not time yet! Yer early!” The sharp tongue of her grandmother cut off his reply and they both turned to her.
The air of magic suddenly fell behind the curtain again and the electricity quieted on her skin.
“Gran?”
Her eyes were like hard, round stones. Her head shook firmly. “No! Ya can’t have her. I haven’t had the talk yet!”
“Gran?”
A small crack appeared in her grandmother’s eyes that let out centuries of secrets. Her thoughts clouded like the fog on the lake and her eyes went back to her prince afraid he would disappear again.
To be continued
And that’s all I have for today but this is an old story that I thought about when I was looking at artist communities in Ireland. This is just a rough idea of what I have in mind, so don’t be too harsh on the beginning of my story. The writing is also raw so forgive the grammar.
As St. Patrick’s Day approaches, I’ll let you know how things are going. Until tomorrow!
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