CONTENT WARNING: References to abuse and neglect

Being the eleventh child out of a gaggle of 12 siblings had more disadvantages than Blue would’ve liked. Born into the Cadwalader family – infamous for its sense of brutality and grit – Blue had grown up as an insignificant parasite in the body of a great beast. From a young age, he’d been raised more by his nannies than his actual parents, and his days were often spent dodging various abuses and the occasional attempt on his life. He was, in a sense, the runt, though not for any noticeable physical disadvantage.

Dafydd.

That was the name emblazoned along the rim of his mirror, situated across from his bed. It had been a gift received at his birth, one of many treasures offered by friends and family to newly born fae nobility. Technically, it was his name, but he didn’t really see it as such. Everyone had started calling him ‘The blue one’ when he was around seven, and it stuck like tree sap. Blue. He was Blue. That was part of being the runt. Unless you were one of the eldest three siblings in his household, nobody ever remembered the name you were born with. 

Sighing, he sat up, looking out the window at the glittering night sky. He knew, deep down, that sleep would be impossible tonight. He was too full of thoughts to close his eyes, golden wings twitching nervously and iridescent claws tapping against each other absentmindedly. Sitting still was not an option, it seemed. Slipping from his bed, he strode over to his elaborate wardrobe and opened it, deciding to pick out his clothes for tomorrow so he could have something to do to pass the time.

Am I seeing her tomorrow? I hope I’m seeing her tomorrow.

The black top with its long sleeves and frilly cuffs came out of his closet on instinct. His favorite, discreet yet handsome. It matched so well with his vibrant skin – and it would echo her color scheme as well. Blue and black, like the night sky cut through by inky fingers of trees. He quickly nabbed his corset and a pair of dark brown pants, then placed them out on the armchair in the corner so he could get to them easily the next morning. He was careful to avoid wrinkling them in doing so, however. If he was going to see her, the most wonderful girl he’d ever met, then he’d better look good.

Don’t get your hopes up, Blue reminded himself internally, but he wasn’t really listening to himself. He wasn’t getting his hopes up. Surely, she’d feel the same. It might take a while for her to realize it, but they were perfect for each other. They teamed up wonderfully while hunting, he always made her laugh, she listened to him sing while she cleaned her bow. He’d known her since he was little, coming over whenever he needed to hide, building blanket forts with her and then having their questionable structural integrity lead to them collapsing – leaving them as a writhing mass of children and fabric. Home, he’d realized when he was 16 or so, lay not in his family’s manor, but by her side and the sides of their friends. His parents may not have remembered him, but theirs sure did.

“You have that look in your eye, guiding light of mine…” the young man sang under his breath. It was part his song for her; the one he obsessively perfected every month and that kept getting longer each time he saw her. Blue felt she was a living form of music all on her own. “Determined and wild, what’s on your mind?”

One day, it’d be perfect enough to actually sing to her. For now, he settled for other melodies everyone he cared for liked, some original and some not. Whiskey told him once that he should pursue a career in music once he was able to get out of his house, and he’d taken her advice to heart. If Blue couldn’t have power in his house as a nobleman, then he’d have power through his voice and lyrics. The key part was finally getting that sense of power, finally escaping the world in which 12-year-old Blue had been chased around the house by his father, screamed at to wield the unfamiliar sword in his hand or risk death.

Looking back, Blue honestly wished he’d taken that opportunity to injure his old man, but instead he’d hid in the garden until his father ran out of energy to look (perks of having parents pushing 70). The experience had terrified him into honing his swordfighting skills out of sheer paranoia, though it wasn’t like he used them for anything but to show off. Violence? Not really his style if he could avoid it.

BANG!

All nerves on high alert, ears perked, eyes wide. That was the other reason sleep was hard tonight. Blue had been expecting something to happen after the argument at dinner. His elder sister, Gwen, had been more than a little ticked off by teasing from her siblings, Blue included. She was overly combative, and it had led to a fight with a lower-class woman around her age that day. Subsequently, she got thoroughly defeated and just as humiliated. Since Gwen had started the fight, the other girl was well within her rights to put her in her place – and her siblings were well within their rights to mock her around the dinner table.

Apparently that was a great way to make Gwen even more combative.

Maybe it’s not actually her?

Carefully, he opened his bedroom door and poked his head out into the hall. His hopes were dashed immediately when he saw the figure of a fae with long, curly dark hair just like his attempting to drag a winged menace with pearlescent white skin – Efa – from the bedroom down the hall. Swiftly, he shut and locked his door, turning to his window. Blue did not want to be around when Efa was inevitably dragged from the safety of her opulent den and he became next.

This was not the first time he had done this.

It would not be the last, either.

Opening the window, Blue leapt into the cool night air. At first, he felt his stomach sink as he fell, but then his trusted wings did as they always did and began to flutter. Large, strong scarab wings combined with a lightweight body made for a swift, agile flier. Heavier fae could really only glide or jump, but Blue came from a family of slender yet strong individuals with an ideal wing-to-body ratio. He shot up towards the starry sky, glancing down at the ground below him. Garden. Find the garden.

Nobody ever found Blue when he hid in the garden. Among the towering trees and thickets of brambles and flowers, it was easy to feel like he’d fallen into another universe altogether. Time and fear did not exist, and neither did responsibility or shame. It was his happy place, where he could be confident nothing would bring him harm. Shooting up into the air, he turned himself in the direction of his safe haven, letting the wind ruffle his hair and the stars make his wings glitter. The moon was full tonight, bathing the world in soft silver light.

Alighting on the edge of the stone wall surrounding his family’s garden – really more of an arboretum, frankly – Blue paused to glance around him. Their particularly intimidating elm loomed large in the distance, and the ground below him was covered in moss and baby’s breath. Carefully climbing down the wall, he did his very best not to crush the delicate flowers with his bare feet.

I really should’ve changed out of my nightclothes. Or at least put on some shoes.

It miffed him that he hadn’t come more prepared, but Blue knew deep down there wouldn’t have been any time. It usually took him around 10 minutes to throw on something simple, but Gwen would’ve easily gotten to him in 5. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Taking a deep breath, he began to pad forward along the winding, mossy cobblestone path. An owl rustled in the branches up above, hooting softly, but he paid it little mind.

All he really wanted to think about was her.

Her black hair, the way she braided it, the way that braid whipped around her when she ran. Those blue eyes. That sharp-toothed, bright white smile. She was so perfect in every way, even when she was sopping wet after running through the rain to visit him. She could’ve had deer blood all over her face, matting her hair, and he wouldn’t have cared.

She was smart. She was strong. She spoke her mind. She was kind and caring and firm and loyal.

That was all he needed.

Veering off the path to a little alcove lined with lanterns, Blue knelt on the pillows underneath a tiny awning – one of many quiet spots he was particularly fond of. The lanterns, powered by eternal fire, glowed a low, warm golden color like smoldering embers. He could easily imagine he was in front of an actual fireplace, letting the shadows flicker along the walls.

Speaking of shadows…

Folding his left hand so his middle and ring finger touched his thumb while his index and pinky fingers stuck up in the air, Blue did his best to make a horse. It was by absolutely no means close to looking like an actual equine, but he’d take what he could get. Holding it up to the light so it cast a shadow, he played with it, using the fingers of his other hand as grass for it to bite. 

Stupid, utterly childish, and exactly what he needed. After about five minutes of the horse, he began to branch out. Shortening the snout, he could make a dog. If he folded his ring and middle finger in and trapped them under his thumb, he got a slug. If he touched only his index and thumb, he made a weird bird. Flattening his hand fully and using his thumb like a lower jaw, he had a duck – or was it a goose? Though he wasn’t exactly the master of hand puppets, Blue found that he had a pretty broad range to work with, and endless antics he could get up to. Eventually, leaving the safety of his little den, he rushed out into the garden with his hand-horse to let it eat whatever plants it could find. Striding between the roses and hawthorns, he allowed the garden to enchant him with its usual careless magic.

---

Come dawn, Blue was perched on one of the lower branches of the elm when the gardener came by. He didn’t remember them by name, but they were middle-aged with gold freckles across leafy-green skin.

“Young lord?”

Blinking and coming back to reality from his night-long reverie, Blue realized he had been humming rather loudly. Glancing down, he saw the gardener – a froglike being with a friendly smile – looking up at him with soft eyes.

“Oh,” he said softly. “Good morning. I’m sorry, did my humming disturb your work?”

He did his best to keep his tone genuine, despite the slightly snobby rich boy act he was used to putting on whenever he had conversations. Fortunately, they only shook their head.

“No, no, it was quite lovely,” they replied in a kind voice. Stepping forward, they patted the tree trunk as though it were a trusty steed. “You have a very good voice. I simply wanted to let you know that I believe breakfast is ready back at the house.”

An eyebrow shot up. “It is?” Blue asked, tilting his head to one side. “In that case, I appreciate you telling me – and the compliment about my voice – but I was wondering… Could I stay in the garden a while longer? I’ve felt very…” Safe? Like I’m not going to get randomly killed? “… At peace out here.”