Then, the crowd parted a bit, and through the sea of bodies, I saw the dance f loor.
Meghan, my beautiful, unchanged faery queen, swirled around the room, as elegant and graceful as the gentry surrounding her. Holding her in his arms, as handsome and charming as he had been twenty years ago, was Puck. My stomach tightened, and I gripped my cane so hard my arm spasmed. I couldn’t catch my breath. Puck and Meghan
glided around the f loor, f lashes of color among the other dancers, their eyes only on each other. They were laughing and smiling, oblivious to the crowd watching and my slow death in the corner.
I pushed myself from the wall and walked forward, shouldering my way through the crush, ignoring the growls and curses thrown my way.
My hand reached under my cloak and 329/387
grasped the sword hilt, welcoming the searing pain. I didn’t know what I would do, nor did I care. My mind had shut off, and my body was on autopilot, reacting instinctively. If it had been anyone but Puck…but it was Puck, and he was dancing with my queen. Rage tinted my vision red, and I started to draw my sword. I couldn’t beat Robin Goodfel ow in a fight, and my subconscious knew I couldn’t, but emotion had taken over and all I could see was Puck’s heart on the end of my blade.
However, as I neared the f loor, Puck spun Meghan around, long silvery hair swirling about her, and she threw back her head and laughed. Her chiming voice hit me like a brick wall, and I stumbled to a halt, my gut clenching so hard I felt nauseous. How long had it been since I’d heard that laugh, seen that smile? As I watched them together, my former best friend and my faery wife, the sick feeling spread to every part of my body. They looked…natural…together; two other-worldly, elegant fey, forever young, graceful and beautiful. They looked
like they belonged.
In that moment of despair, I realized I couldn’t give her any of that. I couldn’t dance with her, protect her, offer her 330/387
eternity. I was human. Destined to age, wither and eventually die. I loved her so much, but would she feel the same when I was old and doddering and she was still as ageless as time? My hand slipped off the hilt of my sword. Puck and Meghan were still dancing, laughing, spinning about the
room. Their voices stabbed at me, a thousand needles piercing my chest. I turned and melted back into the crowd, left the ball room and limped down the dark, icy corridors of the palace until I reached the carriage. Glitch took one look at my face and silently climbed out of the seat, leaving me in the shadows.
Slumping forward on the bench, I put my face in my hands and closed my eyes, feeling completely and utterly alone.
Even more time passed.
Dropping my hands, I raised my bleary eyes to an empty hall, squinting to see through the gloom. The light streaming in the windows behind me did little to chase back the shadows, but I was almost sure I had heard someone come in. One of the servants, perhaps, come to check on the withered, gray-haired human, to make sure he hadn’t fall en from his chair. Or to help him totter back to his room, to curl up in his single bed, alone and pushed aside.
Meghan was gone. War had come to the Iron Kingdom at last, despite many years of peace, and the Iron Queen had gone to help the 331/387
Summer King in the battle against Winter. Glitch was there beside her, commanding her army and Kierran had become a monster on the bat-tlefield, carving through enemy ranks with the icy sword that had once belonged to me. Most of the castle had gone to war, following their queen into battle. Even the gremlins had gone, their constant chatter and buzzing voices missing from the walls, leaving the palace silent, cold and empty. Only I had been left behind. Waiting for everyone to return. Forgotten.
Rain plinked against the windowpanes, and I stirred. Outside, lightning blazed in the sky, and thunder rumbled in the distance. I wondered where Meghan was, what she and Kierran were doing right now.
Lightning f lickered again, and in the f lash, a figure appeared beside me, a dark, robed figure in a hood and cowl, standing silently at my arm.
Had I been younger, I might’ve leaped up, drawn my sword. Now I was simply too tired.
I blinked and stared at the intruder, peering through my filmy vision.
The robed figure gazed back, its face hidden in shadow, not attacking or threatening, just watching. Waiting. A memory stirred to life, rising from the cobwebs of the past, like a long forgotten dream. “I…remember you.”
The Guardian nodded. “We are at the end of your trials, knight of the Iron Court,” it said, and thunder rumbled outside, shaking the windows.
“And you have discovered the final truth about being human. No matter how strong, no matter how brave, mortals cannot escape the march of time.