A Short Story from A World in Crimson
Step into the past of Kain Knightstone, once known as Cathán Glas na Gáia, an ancient Fae Prince bound by duty and destiny. Betrothed to the radiant Órlaith, a golden goddess of a woman, Cathán’s heart is pulled elsewhere—toward a dream he cannot escape. On the eve of his engagement party, the mysterious figure who haunts his dreams steps from the shadows, whispering of a bond that transcends time itself. Is it love or something far darker?
I stood at the edge of the lake, watching the moon pour itself into the water like spilled milk. Somewhere behind me, the engagement feast raged on. A chorus of clinking glasses and hollow laughter filled the air in the distance. My future wife was there, glowing like a ray of sunshine bottled up and sold as a cure-all. Beautiful. Perfect. Everyone adored her.
It is unfortunate that I didn’t.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m not heartless. Órlaith is everything a man could ever want, and she would be a powerful Queen of the Fae. Her smile could disarm armies. Her voice makes birds stop singing out of pure shame. But I don’t feel it. Not love. Not the pull. Not the fire I’m supposed to feel when she looks at me with those shimmering golden eyes.
Instead, I feel… itchy. Restless. Like the ground beneath my feet is trying to drag me somewhere I’m not supposed to go. Somewhere dark and wild, far from my duties as the prince.
And then there are the dreams. Every night, the same thing: a voice calling my name. Cathán. I can’t see her, but I can feel her. Everywhere. All around me. Through my very soul. She whispers like smoke curling around my throat, like she’s weaving me into some web I can’t break free from. I tell myself it’s nothing—just my mind wandering where it shouldn’t. But when I wake, the Great Mother—the very spirit of the Earth—feels… different. Hurting. As if I’m not the only one being pulled apart at the seams.
Tonight, the pull was stronger. Strong enough to drag me out of my own engagement feast. Strong enough to make me leave Órlaith. She’d probably been sitting there, her golden hair gleaming under the lantern light, pretending not to notice I’d gone. She’s so very good at pretending.
“Cathán.”
Speak of the golden goddess, and she shall appear.
I turned. There she was, standing at the edge of the clearing, looking like something out of a bard’s overplayed song. Her gown shimmered in the moonlight, all white and gold, like the very heavens clothed her. I felt the familiar pang of guilt as I faced her.
“You left our celebration,” she said, her voice soft. She always sounded soft. It made me want to scream.
“I needed air,” I said, with an aggravated murmur. “That is all.”
Her lips curved into a patient smile. She stepped closer, her hands clasped before her as though she were about to pray for my soul. “You worry too much, my prince. This union—it’s for the good of our people, but it doesn’t have to feel like a burden.”
“It doesn’t,” I lied.
Her smile faltered, but she smoothed it over so quickly I almost missed it. Almost. She reached out, placing her delicate hand on my chest. Her touch was warm, grounding in a way that should have soothed me. It didn’t. In fact, I felt somewhat repulsed.
“We could be happy, you and I,” she said.
I swallowed the bitter laugh threatening to escape. Órlaith was sunshine, but I was soil. The kind that never sees the light, that’s drenched in blood and rot to keep everything above alive. She didn’t understand that. She couldn’t.
Before I could respond, a chill swept through the clearing. The scent of jasmine coiled around me, heady and intoxicating. My pulse quickened.
She was here. But how?
“What is that?” Órlaith whispered, her voice laced with unease as she glanced around the clearing.
“Go back to the feast,” I said, the sharpness in my tone startling even me.
Her brows knit together. “What? Why? Tell me–”
“Now, Órlaith.”
