Page 68 of Secrets of Avalon

Isolde reaches out, her slender fingers gently grasping my hands, her touch a grounding presence amidst the whirlwind of my emotions. "Never apologize for speaking the truth, Melinda," she says, her voice a melodic caress. "It is a rare and precious gift, one that far too many in these halls have forgotten."

A conspiratorial smile plays on Queen Isolde's lips. "Now, let's see about getting you ready for the ceremony, shall we?" With a wave of her hands, the ladies-in-waiting spring into action, their movements graceful and efficient. They bustle about the room with the energy of honey bees.

I stand frozen, overwhelmed by the sudden activity. One attendant rushes to a large wardrobe, throwing open its ornate doors to reveal a dazzling array of gowns. Another heads to a vanity, arranging an intimidating assortment of cosmetics and hair accessories. A third appears with a measuring tape, eyeing me with professional interest.

My gaze moves from one lady to another, uncertainty gripping me. Am I supposed to do something? Say something?

Elen and Lydia approach, kind smiles of encouragement on their faces. Elen reaches for the fastenings of my outer gown. "We were so glad to be called by the queen, Domina. This is an honor."

I stiffen, suddenly very aware of all the eyes in the room. They’re going to undress me… right here… in front of everyone? Heat rises to my cheeks and my hands move to cover myself, even though I'm still fully clothed.

"I... um.” I look around for a private corner.

Lydia leans in close. "It's alright, Domina. We'll be quick and discreet."

With a deep breath, I force myself to lower my arms, allowing Elen to begin unfastening my gown. Her nimble fingers work quickly at the clasps. "We saw the confrontation in the market. We followed to make sure they got you safely away from the Darkwoods."

I meet her gaze, surprised by her candor. A small nod is all I can manage, but relief washes over me. It’s good not to have to keep secrets from everyone, and to have familiar faces here with me in the queen's rooms.

As Elen and Lydia gently ease the gown off my shoulders, Queen Isolde moves behind a nearby dressing screen, her own attendants following close behind. The soft rustle of fabric and the gentle clink of jewelry fill the air.

"Tell me, Melinda," Isolde calls from behind the screen, "where are you from?"

I freeze, my eyes darting to Elen and Lydia. Their hands pause in their work, and I see a flicker of curiosity in their eyes. Elen gives me an encouraging nod, while Lydia's lips curve into a reassuring smile.

"You need not fear, child. This is a safe space. Speak freely."

I hesitate for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal, my heart fluttering like a caged bird against my ribcage. "E-earth." Lydia helps me step into a shimmering undergarment, the fabric cool and slick against my skin. "I was born in America."

Elen and Lydia exchange a quick, wide-eyed glance, their hands resuming their work. I can see the questions forming in their eyes, but they remain silent, allowing me to continue at my own pace.

There's a pause, a momentary stillness from behind the screen. Isolde emerges, resplendent in a gown of deep, rich blue, the color of a moonlit sea. Her hair is adorned with a delicate crown of silver and sapphires, the gems catching the light like stars plucked from the heavens.

"Earth." Her eyes are distant, like she’s lost in memory. "It's been many centuries since I last walked on that planet. I’ve never heard of the land of America." She focuses her gaze on me, a flicker of understanding dancing in their depths. "Nimue brought you?"

"Yes. My mother searched for Avalon her whole life because…" I trail off, the full truth lodged in my chest like a lead weight. Part of me hopes that admitting this will bring understanding, acceptance, maybe even help. But another part fears rejection, fear, or worse—that they'll see nothing more than a threat to be neutralized.

I take a deep, shaky breath. This is it–the moment that could define my future here. "Because my magick is dangerous and I don't know how to control it," I finally manage. I keep my eyes lowered, afraid to see the reaction on her face. "She thought Avalon would be the answer. Nimue thought bringing me here would help."

I force myself to meet Queen Isolde's gaze. "But my magick still hurts people here too."

The moment is broken when Elen drapes a gown of shimmering gold over my head, the fabric cascading down my body like a waterfall of molten sunlight. As the weight of the gown settles on my shoulders, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions surges through me.

Hawke wants to marry me. The thought should fill me with joy, with a sense of belonging I've craved my entire life. But then, like a dark cloud obscuring the sun, the memory of my curse crashes over me. If I bond with Hawke, marry him, if I get pregnant, he'll die when the baby is born. The golden gown suddenly feels suffocating, its weight a crushing burden rather than a badge of honor. How do I balance that?

Isolde approaches, her steps measured and graceful, a whisper of silk and satin against the polished floor. Elen and Lydia back away, their heads bowed in deference to the queen. "You were why we felt sick earlier in the market?" Isolde asks, her voice devoid of accusation or judgment.

Her statement snaps me out of my spiral. I have to focus on right now. On the fact that if I don’t bond with Hawke… I will lose him to the darkness.

She reaches out, gently adjusting the fall of the gown, her touch feather-light and soothing, like a mother's caress. Something I’ll never feel from my mother again. "This is perfect. The color matches your eyes."

Tears well up in my eyes, hot and stinging, and cascade down my cheeks. The weight of my guilt and the burden of my uncontrollable power presses down upon me. My mother died to protect me. My father. Everyone. I cost everyone their lives. How many will die because of me? "I'm sorry. I try really hard. My guardian helps a lot. And Kellan. I don’t want to hurt anyone."

"Shhh, dear girl." Isolde wipes away my tears with the pad of her thumb, the gesture so tender, so maternal, that it sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over me. "You're from Earth, but you're not Fae, at least not entirely. Which in and of itself is odd. There have never been hybrid births between peoples."

I jerk my head back and forth. "No one seems to know what I am."

"Many other people stayed behind when we were forced to abandon Earth." Isolde’s brow furrows in contemplation, as if she's sifting through piles of old memories. "What can you do with your magick?"