Fairytale prompts (Fae AU here we go again)

*I finally decided on the spelling I am going to use. Fey = fairy folk collectively, plural. Fae = a single member of the Fey. From what I saw during my looong research, every person does it differently, so I might as well do it how I want to.

** Prompt quotes are in italics

The snippets read like an IF, where "[]" means a choice. There are 3 of them in total. Sadly I can't use hyperlinks here, but hopefully it's not too annoying to read them one by one.

Start:

The main chamber, save for being infinitely larger, is as dim as the hallway. Offering you but a couple of spots where the candles are placed to guide your way. With how meager the light is, though, they might as well be extinguished entirely.

The interior isn’t as cramped as you were initially led to believe. That doesn’t mean it’s any safer than a room full of vultures would be. The illusion of privacy is created by the flimsy black draperies that divide the room into separate spaces, with the long table being the unsorted - and deserted - center.

That’s where you head, dodging stray glances thrown your way from time to time. Fortunately for you, even as the new arrival, you’re simply not that interesting.

It would be different if the Fey weren’t busy discussing the latest scandal. But they are, and so, you can simply merge into the background along with the shades, visitors, and servants that circle the buffet.

The wooden counter is barely visible from under the heavy cinder dinnerware that contains mountains of desserts and fruit. These - you know now - are there for the sake of human spouses and children that reside within the realms. The Fey themselves prefer their dishes as they prefer everything else: bloody.

The ambiance that echoes inside the walls is low, given their keen senses, too low to muffle the conversations. The Fey are not covert here, spilling out secrets and rumors like humans share greetings.

In a place where ruining another’s reputation is no unlike small talk, the only safe secret is the one you take to the grave. Any sign of trust could be considered a weakness or a trap. Knowing too much, however, isn’t any better.

Turning a deaf ear to the murmurs around, you focus all your attention on the table in front of you, glazing over the polished silverware and the crystal candelabras.

There’s no tablecloth, and the wax that drips carelessly on both the wood and the black tiles reminds you of round cherries. Even the scent brings the picture of a summer garden into your mind. Alluring, but then again, that’s the purpose of the decor.

Clutching the invitation in one of your hands, you try to relax as you wait for your contact to appear. They take their sweet time. You wouldn’t be surprised if they forgot all about you, but you dread that possibility with all your heart.

Each time someone appears in your peripheral a dull disappointment follows the quick strike of hope. It’s only the servants replacing the empty plates, filling up the jugs with an overtly sweet punch.

The cloying redolence increases your anxiety, making your stomach twist not from fear alone.

The longer you loiter, the more engaging your presence; a solitary human in attendance, no escort in sight. It’s like you’re asking to be picked up by a stray Fae with too much time on their hands. And all they have is time.

You’re almost ready to make a retreat, your freedom be damned, when all the heads concurrently snap in the direction of the entrance a second before the heavy-set door opens, revealing a flock of Fey.

Your contact, for better or worse, doesn’t seem to be one of the newcomers. The only high Fae you know isn’t someone who would come to your aid.

[] Disinterested, you stay by the table that becomes more and more desolate.

Whatever caused the tumult it’s undoubtedly safer for you to avoid it altogether. That, and with the attention of the Fey diverted, you can hold off your escape until - hopefully - your contact shows up.

Busying yourself with taking a closer look at the table, you regard the finger-sized confections adorning one of the cake stands.

At first glance, they appear to be regular fruits covered with frosting, intricately decorated with tiny landscape paintings depicting various places across the realms.

Only when you help yourself to one, do you discover how heavy they are. From up close they give off no scent at all, just like common rocks.

There are no such dishes where you come from and even if they were, you certainly couldn’t afford them.

Lifting the treat to your lips intending to taste, you let your guard down. Before the mock-cake can touch your tongue a hand swats yours.

“Ouch!” you snap, as the confection falls on the ground. Landing on the tiles it leaves a visible dent when it rolls away and disappears under the table.

“Didn’t I say, ‘you’re not to partake in a fairy feast’?” The owner of the hand hovers right behind you, so close that the satin of her sleeves brushes against the bare skin of your arms as she leans over to lift your harmed hand. “Don’t you know it’s the food that will devour you?” Her rough thumb rubs at the scrape in an absentminded manner as she continues to scold you in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“I was... distracted,” you mutter, acutely aware of her presence. Aware and... something else. Something that’s decidedly not safe nor wise to entertain. It takes you a moment to shake both your thoughts and her hand off you. “Besides, you’re late.”

“Late? What if it wasn’t me who invited you here?” That’s what she says, even as she shepherds to the side exit, gesturing at you to follow her.

“I’d say, ‘finders keepers’ then.” Your guess has to be right, though. You’d bet your head on it. In hindsight, you should foresee that the identity of the contact is one you know all too well. “What took you so long?”

She grimaces, eyes flicking to the entrance.

Ah, that’d explain it. She’s not one to be late, after all. If anything, you’d expect her to arrive way before you.

“I’ll explain in a moment,” she says after you cross the room, holding the door open for you. “I think you’ll find the information valuable.”

Knowing her? There’s no other option.

[] Curious, you take after the Fey that begin to surround the entrance. Whatever it is that made them all advance towards the adjoined room has to be worth your while.

It was your mistake, you realize when your eyes meet a pair of ruby-red ones across the crowd.

In a blink, your heart pummels right to the bottom of your stomach and stays there. Drumming in the rhythm of the invigorated footsteps, it mimics the stroll of the esteemed guest as he secedes from his cohort and progresses further into the room.

Fixing your gaze at the nearest sconce, you hope against hope that he’ll pass you by, preferably ignoring you altogether.

It takes five drops of wax for you to abandon the thought.

First come the stares, like needles digging into your back. Then, the voice, smug-stained and deliberately raised, singling you out even before the Fae halts a few paces in front of you.

“Aww, you don’t look too happy to see me. And here I thought you’d surely seek me out with your little... problem yourself.”

There he comes, that bastard with no manners, courtesy nor reliability. Leave it to him to air his grievances in front of the entire court.

Though, in a way, you should be grateful the party is on the smaller side. Not that it matters in the grand scheme of things as the rumors here tend to spread faster than a flame throughout a dry meadow.

Gritting your teeth and donning the least annoyed smile you can muster, you lift your head and face your adversary. “What a coincidence.”

“Says the one who sought me out, oh, how many times now? Two? Thr—?”

“More like I tried to escape your notice. But as they say, the third time’s the charm.”

“A third time is not a charm, but a bargain,” he recites in a sing-song. His eyes bore into you as though reading your deepest desires and laying them bare for all to see. “It says that you want something enough to wager your sense.”

Easy for him to talk in riddles when he knows exactly what you need and what you’d give to obtain it.

“What a fascinating line. You are all so poetic.” Risking a few scoffs you divert the conversation, bringing up another topic before he can expose you to all and sundry. “I remember you mentioning that the gatherings held at the lower court are beneath you. I suppose you changed your mind?”

“I had a free afternoon.”

Grinning from ear to ear, he brushes a hand through his glossy locks, as if to fix an already perfect hairstyle. The all-too-casual gesture brings attention to his elaborate circlet - a gift from none other than his newest friend, the Queen herself.

The response of the surrounding Fey is far from unpredicted, and the chamber fills with whispers that only barely muffle his next words.

“Aren’t you lucky?”

“Lucky? A matter of debate,” you reply, still maintaining a polite expression. You couldn’t afford to offend a Fae from the lowest of courts, let alone a high Fey. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Pivoting as soon as the ‘now’ escapes your mouth, you power walk to the closest exit, chanting, ‘please fuck off,’ inside your head. And when you think the tinkling laughter is the only thing that follows you, you hear the bastard’s footsteps not far behind.

[] Tense and no less than apprehensive of the ruckus, you sneak out to one of the balconies, searching for respite.

Minding the hubbub caused by whichever special guest decided to grace the halls of the lower court with their presence, it’s no wonder most - if not all-  balconies are completely empty.

Though, the area you enter is more of a terrace given the size of it. There are even stairs on the right, leading down and around the side of the building.

The massive black columns studded with a myriad of precious stones and other glimmering baubles provide great cover from the wandering eyes that might spot you through the tall windows of the chamber you just escaped.

On the other hand, as you find out when you approach the railing, that means you were also blind to the second occupant that just now comes into your view.

Standing with his back to the entrance, holding an untouched flute of red copper-smelling liquid, is a person you’ve least expected to see during a formal gathering.

Oh, he’s dressed the part, all dark satin and tanned leather, albeit on the plain side considering the exaggerated outfits of the Fey you saw in the main room.

If you weren’t acquainted, one look at his aloof and hostile mien and you’d run in the other direction as fast as your mortal legs could carry you. Alas, you come closer.

You don’t need to alert him to your presence. Even if he only turns to you when you pause next to him, he must have heard you the moment you closed the balcony door behind you.

With a covert glance he sends at the invitation, you understand who sent it to you. A part of you is surprised that he would involve himself with the likes of you, so openly at that. Another is glad to have him on your side.

You don’t doubt him, nor do you fear him. Not anymore, at least. Unlike other Fey, he’s straightforward. Only his position and severe personality shield him from being taken advantage of.

With him as your convoy, you’ll finally have a real chance of fleeing this hell.

You surmise that’s why he summoned you here, using an invitation without a sender to ensure that he won’t be connected. And the place - though at first, you think it’s daring - makes much more sense when you realize that matters are hidden best when done in plain sight.

Even so, a modicum of deception and caution is also required.

Therefore, for a long while, you remain silent. He, listening ardently to the bustling inside making sure you won’t be interrupted any time soon. You, with your hearing far inferior to be of use, observing the landscape.

The mint-green woodland spreads itself in front of you like densely-woven carpet. As far as your eyes reach there are only trees with little to no landmarks that could aid your escape.

“Crossing the forest should be the least of your worries,” your companion murmurs, guessing your thoughts based on your frown.

How peculiarly optimistic of him to disregard both the traps and the creatures residing just outside of the realm. “Then what should I worry about?”

Tilting his head as to indicate the far end of the horizon, right where the two suns descend in parallel, he recounts, struggling to recall the exact words, “To cross this bridge... you’ll have to pay a heavy toll.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs, then after a moment, adds, “We will have to wait and see.”

And what other alternative is there for you other than wait?