The Dark Fairy King

Now calm, we moved through the castle’s corridors in a leisurely manner. Come to think of it, this might be the way we should go about doing things. There’s no telling how many others who believe in the prophecy are out there.

Richard was one of those extremist goons.

You’d never know if they could be in the palace too. Paranoia is a great way to survive. No need to draw unnecessary attention.

Juniper trailed behind us, nose to the carpet, her tails twitching slightly as she sniffed along the velvet path. The plush fabric muffled our footsteps, adding a softness to the quiet castle that somehow made the growing tension more palpable. The walls around us were adorned with faded tapestries—warriors, battles, and old fairy legends—that whispered stories of long-forgotten conflicts.

Other Fairies passed us as we walked, offering gentle nods or curious glances. At one point, a Love Fairy elder with curly white hair and a magenta tunic bowed deeply.

"Your Majesties," she greeted with reverence, arms placed behind her back.

"Hi, Faragonda," Scarlette smiled, slowing slightly.

"The Council..." Faragonda began, but we were already halfway down the hallway.

Scarlette winced. "Ver, we cut her off. She might’ve had something important to say."

I gestured ahead. "She can wait. The Council always wants something. We’ll return to her. But not yet."

At the corridor’s end stood a massive wooden door, its surface etched with swirling vines and stars. The craftsmanship was exquisite, worn smooth by centuries of hands. There were no handles—only a hollow in the shape of a hand. I placed my palm into the cavity.

A soft click.