gloves
Flor's fan taps against my elbow like a metronome set to the rhythm of my failures.
"Again"
she commands, her voice the same cool monotone she's used for five grueling lessons.
"From the beginning."
I exhale through my nose but reset my stance, shoulders back, chin lifted just so. The candle light through the refined lantern paints golden stripes across the marble floor as I glide through the sequence - two steps forward, pivot, hand extended with precisely calculated grace.
"Wrong."
The fan strikes my shoulder blade.
"Do it over."
My teeth grind together.
"Can you at least tell me what I'm doing wrong?"
Flor circles me like a vulture assessing wounded prey.
"The answer's yours to uncover. From the beginning."
I go again and again, each time being stopped to start from the beginning.
On what feels like the eighth repetition, she remains silent. I finish the movement with a flourish.
"Was it okay?"
"Charming."
she says, snapping her feather fan open with a sound like cracking ice.
"Until you spoke. A court lady never questions her poise, she embodies it."
The fan points to the starting position.
"Again."
The knock at the door comes as salvation. Flor doesn't blink at the interruption.
"Enter."
Teon slips in with his usual sunny demeanor, trailed by a human boy. The newcomer's eyes widen slightly at finding himself in a private etiquette lesson, but Teon pays no mind.
"How goes the torture?" he asks cheerfully.
Flor and I exchange identical looks of exhausted mutual disdain. I'd take twenty more lessons on courtly double-speak over this endless drilling of my posture.
"The princess requires your presence." Teon adds.
Without ceremony, Flor begins undoing the laces of her gown. I spin toward the door, my cheeks burning, as fabric whispers to the floor behind me. Teon doesn't seem to pay attention, and neither does the other boy, as they talk to each other. I know nudity isn't taboo for Folk, but I'm always surprised.
When I dare turn back, Flor stands resplendent in emerald silks, dabbing perfume at her wrists with the casual elegance I've been failing to emulate all evening. She then pauses at the threshold, fan raised.
"Surely you didn't assume my absence was an invitation to linger in my chambers."
Teon's laughter rings through the room as he herds us out. I scoop up my belongings - the embroidered handkerchief Flor made me practice curtsying with, the now-lukewarm lunch I'd been forbidden to eat until mastering the sequence.
"Let today's lesson linger. We'll continue from there next time."
Flor says as the door closes behind her. I nod.
The human boy leans toward Teon as she walks away.
"Was that...?"
"Florivethel of the Spring Court." Teon confirms.
"Best etiquette mistress in five realms. Also the most terrifying. Don't ever get her mad."
He smiles at me—an earnest, slightly crooked smile that would probably work better on someone less jaded.
“Lilia, I didn’t introduce you to this young man. I believe you have something in common.”
The boy beside him has soft brown curls that fall into his eyes, and freckles scattered like constellations across his nose and cheeks. He’s cute in a kind, clean sort of way. His jacket is mortal-cut, but enchanted; the buttons shimmer faintly like mother-of-pearl.
“Like… being human?”
I ask flatly.
Teon bursts into laughter and slings an arm around the boy’s shoulders.
“Yes, exactly! And you’re around the same age.”
“Are you nineteen as well?”
I smile at him.
“I’m actually twenty-four”
he admits, voice dropping just a bit, like it's shameful.
I slowly turn my head toward Teon and glare. He grins, unbothered.
“I could’ve been very close! I don't know how to tell human age!”
he protests, as if age were a loose estimate rather than a hard line.
“Anyway, Michael is our best musician in the Circle at the moment.”
The boy flushes slightly, ducking his head.
“That’s very kind of you.”
"Is it?"
I say, tilting my head.
“Teon not long ago told me I had the potential to be the ‘most dazzling mortal diplomat in Faerie’ and then the other day he assigned me to polish windows as character building. Flor was there luckily.”
Teon gives a scandalized gasp.
“That was an honor. Those windows were to be cleaned anyway, and some handwork could be useful for you.”
“Just shut up already.” I sigh.
“Manners!” Teon says imitating Flor's accent.
Michael stifles a laugh, trying not to take sides. He looks like the kind of boy who plays tragic love songs on a battered acoustic guitar and believes in fated romance.
“What do you play?”
I ask, mostly to be polite.
“Violin” he says.
“And piano. And some harp.”
Of course he plays the harp. He probably writes poetry about the stars.
“Well”
I say, shifting the weight of the basket from one hand to the other.
“Nice to meet you, Michael. My advice? Don’t believe anything Teon says to you. He may not be able to lie but he has a way with words manipulation.”
His smile falters a little. “Noted.”
Teon beams. “Isn’t she charming?"
Michael looks between us, uncertain.
“Are you two... close?”
Teon smirks. “Like a thorn and the side it’s in.”
I give Michael a razor-edged smile.
“That's one proof already.”
He smiles at me.
"This is fun but now I have to go, the princess asked for me too."
Teon says, already turning.
“Michael, take Lilia to the exit.”
And then he’s gone, leaving a puff of incense and mild chaos in his wake.
The silence that follows is stiff.
“You don’t have to come with me” I say. “I know the way.”
“It’s no problem” Michael replies.
“It’s always nice to meet other humans who are part of the court.”
“I’m actually not part of it yet.” I point out.
“Yet you seem natural” he tells me.
I bark a short laugh.
“I don’t think Flor would agree. She says it would be easier to teach orcs to sing than to teach me how to carry myself.”
He grins. “I’d pay to see that duet.”
“Would you?”
I glance at him, amused despite myself.
“Teon told me you grew up here”
he says, tone curious but not prying.
“Yeah. My parents found me when I was about five. I don’t remember anything before that, so it’s like I was born here.”
We pass through the massive double doors that lead out of Princess Elowyn’s quarters. He holds one open for me with a little half-bow that feels more gentleman than courtier, and I step through.
“And what about you?”
I ask as he lets the door close behind us.
“I grew up in the human world”
his voice echoes faintly in the marble corridor.
“But I always knew I’d come here eventually.”
He has that look—of someone who dreamed of Faerie as a child, who believed the stories were invitations instead of warnings.
“My father made instruments” he continues,
“and my mother was a singer. Rose Turner, she was also part of the Circle of Larks.”
The name rings familiar. There are a handful of humans whose names linger in the court like perfume, like legends, and sometimes like ghosts.
“Were you forced to come here?”
I ask without thinking. It slips out too quickly, too naturally.
He looks at me, surprised, but not offended.
“No. I was the one who proposed himself.”
Something inside me flickers. I remember Teon’s voice when I first balked at joining the Circle—“It’s the others who propose themselves to the princess. She’s never asked for anyone personally.”
“And why?”
I ask before I can stop myself again. Then, immediately,
“Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”
“No, it’s okay.”
Michael smiles faintly, and there’s something steadier in his eyes now.
“I wanted to feel closer to her. My mother. I never really knew her. She died when I was a baby. But the court still talks about her sometimes. Like she was music itself.”
The silence between us stretches as we navigate the winding palace corridors, toward the open arches that lead to the outer walkway. Light spills in from the mossy stone columns, and the vines above us sway gently in the enchanted breeze.
"And also.. I wanted to see if the stories were true."
"What stories?"
"The ones my father told me."
His voice softens with memory.
"About music that could make flowers bloom, about songs that could charm the stars themselves."
He glances at me, suddenly self-conscious.
"It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud."
"No"
I say, surprising myself.
"It doesn’t."
Because I remember, too. The first time I heard the musicians of Circle of Larks perform, how the notes had curled through the air like living things, how the very walls had shivered in response.
Michael smiles, relieved.
"And you? Why are you here?"
"I didn’t have much of a choice."
I admit.
We reach the outer corridors, where the breeze carries the scent of pine from the gardens below. Michael hesitates at the archway leading to the courtyard.
"Do you—"
He starts, then stops, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Would you want to hear me play sometime? If you’re not too busy being terrorized by Flor, that is."
The hopeful look in his eyes is... nice. It never hurts to have a new friend.
"Sure"
I smile.
"But only if you promise it’s not a tragic ballad."
Michael’s laugh is bright.
“Those aren't in my repertoire yet.”
"Deal then."
Once I get home, Kiki almost drags me out of the carriage, her grip on my wrist iron-strong as she practically yanks me through the front door.
“Mom, I can walk!”
I protest, stumbling over the threshold. My boots scuff the polished marble as I catch my balance, huffing under my breath.
“Honey, the new samples for your dress have arrived!”
she announces, like it's breaking news.
Her emerald eyes sweep over me like a blade, catching on the wrinkle in my collar, the faint smudge near the hem of my tunic. A single perfect eyebrow arches in judgment.
“Why are you coming back so late?”
The lie spills out on instinct, smooth as glass. “I was in the library.”
Her fingers release me, but not before a final, warning squeeze.
“Pick something before midnight, or I’ll choose for you, Lili. We don’t have time to keep playing indecision.”
I nod mutely, guilt pricking beneath my ribs. She’s not wrong. I've changed my mind five times already, pushed back the measurements even more. The ball is coming whether I’m ready or not.
Inside, the house is a flurry of movement. Soft music drifts from an enchanted harp in the corner, and someone has sprinkled rose petals in our path. It’s all too much, but that’s Kiki. Everything is always just slightly over the top.
In the living room, it looks like a rainbow exploded. Fabrics are strewn across every surface: gauzy silks, crushed velvets, embroidered linens, and lace so delicate it could tear on breath alone. A bolt of deep forest green curls off the back of the divan like a velvet serpent.
Tawerfell, our house’s resident dressmaker, turns toward me, the very picture of dramatic disapproval. He adjusts the three pairs of glasses perched on his nose with a flick of his wrist and a theatrical sniff.
“About time”
he says crisply, then points toward the raised wooden stand near the far wall.
“Up you go. Let’s see what we’re working with today.”
I clamber onto the platform without protest. It’s easier to just get it over with. As he wraps the tape around my waist, I catch sight of Kiki sorting through the fabrics with the sharp eye of someone who’s planned too many galas and still hasn’t tired of it. She’s already setting some aside with precise, decisive movements.
“The theme of this Spring Ball is Flowers Under the Moonlight”
she says, brushing a bit of lint off a lavender silk.
“What about a deep blue fabric?”
I shake my head, tilting slightly as Tawerfell measures the slope of my shoulders.
“Dark blue doesn’t suit me.”
Kiki approaches, a length of glittering gold fabric in hand. She drapes it over my shoulder, her brow furrowing as she tilts her head.
“Maybe this for the sleeves. No… maybe the lining.”
“I was actually thinking silver”
I say, watching her eyes narrow slightly—not with annoyance, but calculation.
Tawerfell steps in, measuring the space from collarbone to chest.
“Is it possible to make the neckline a little deep?” I ask.
He pauses. His measuring tape hovers mid-air. He glances at Kiki.
She gives a small nod.
“How deep?”
he asks flatly, already bracing for something scandalous.
“Not much” I say quickly. “Just enough.”
He adjusts the tape, scribbles a few notes in his book, then steps back and waves a hand in dismissal. I hop off the platform and drift toward the table of fabrics, fingers brushing over textures like cloud and starlight.
“This one?”
Kiki offers, holding out a near-white silver. It glints like frost, subtle and cool.
“Mmm. No.”
I shake my head, scanning the rest. There’s a brighter one more luminous, more alive.
“What about that one?”
She pulls it free and hands it to me. The moment I place my hand against it, it practically gleams against my skin. Bright silver, like moonlight on water. It makes the veins in my wrist look like pale ink.
“Yes” I say firmly. “This one.”
“You’re sure?”
Kiki asks, already sensing I might waver again.
“I’m sure. And I’d like some gems added, too.”
Tawerfell looks up from his notes, pen poised. “More?”
“Yes” I say again. “I want it to match black.”
There's a beat of silence as both Kiki and Tawerfell take that in. It’s not exactly a gentle palette. Silver and black, cool and sharp like night and shadow. Definitely not what most girls would pick for a spring ball.
"Black and silver?"
she repeats, as if I've suggested wearing a suit of armor to the ball.
Tawerfell's glasses slide down his nose as he peers at me.
"Daring choice"
he murmurs, though his tone suggests he's already envisioning the scandalized gasps.
I run my fingers along the bolt of black velvet beside me—so dark it drinks in the light, like the space between stars.
“Yes. But I don't want to wear only black. I just want my dress to match it.”
Tawerfell jots it down, murmuring to himself in Elfhame dialect, already muttering measurements and material blends. Kiki picks up a small swatch of the black fabric I’d gestured to—rich and soft, with a hint of shimmer like powdered obsidian.
“Gem placement?” she asks.
“In the bodice. Maybe even a few on the skirt, if it catches the light.”
I don’t say it aloud, but I want to look unreal. Beautiful, but untouchable.
Kiki exchanges a glance with Tawerfell, then nods.
“Silver and black it is then.”
I walk through the outside corridors of the palace, the cool stone underfoot echoing with each step. I haven’t seen Jude in days. Between my early lessons with Flor and my mother dragging me into every tedious detail of the Spring Ball preparations, I haven’t had time to visit her. She still has my gloves from Locke’s party, but I assume she’s been just as swamped.
I spot her at the end of a clearing, standing behind the low swell of a hill. She’s speaking with Nicasia. I hesitate. Nicasia never looks pleased to see me—and from the angle of her shoulders and the tension in her jaw, today’s no different.
I’m just about to turn back when Jude notices me. She says something to Nicasia—who doesn't bother hiding her scowl—and then walks toward me, brushing invisible dust from her sleeves like it gives her an excuse to leave.
“I still have a friend? I wasn’t sure,” I say dryly as she approaches.
She exhales through her nose. “You haven’t exactly been around either.”
I could argue that I’m always the one making the trip to this side of the building. That I’m the one who seeks her out, not the other way around. But I don’t feel like turning this into a scorecard, so I let it slide.
“Did you finally clear things up?” I ask, nodding toward the direction Nicasia went.
“If I may say so,” she answers, deliberately vague.
“Well, you were talking in public. That’s something.” I raise a brow.
She glances around. The clearing is still and empty, save for the soft rustle of wind in the ivy. “As you can see, there’s no one around. So it doesn’t make a big difference.”
“But she didn’t say anything when she saw me,” I point out.
“That’s because she knows you’re my friend. And that you know it.”
I tilt my head. “So... you talked about it?”
“Yes.” Jude begins walking toward the hill, and I fall into step beside her.
“I had to tell her because...” She pauses, eyes scanning the treetops like the words might be hiding there. Then, more quietly: “Because she said you and I are too close.”
I stop. A beat of silence, then I let out a laugh—loud, reckless, echoing off the stones.
“She’s jealous of us?”
Jude grabs my arm and gives me a small shake. “Don’t scream,” she hisses, looking around again. “She didn’t say it outright. But yes. She thought there was something... going on between us.”
I cover my mouth, trying to muffle another laugh. “And what gave her that idea? Our coordinated glares? The part where we barely touch?”
She gives me a look. “You had my lipstick on when you got to the party. Then we were seen drinking together. And I still had your gloves.”
Ah. When she says it like that, it does sound... well. Suspicious.
I grin. “Honestly, I would’ve said yes just to irritate her.”
“You wouldn’t have liked the consequences,” Jude says with that same dry, matter-of-fact tone that tells me she absolutely knows what Nicasia’s rage looks like.
“Speaking of my gloves,” I say, remembering, “do you think you could return them sometime soon?”
Jude gives me a look that’s almost pitying. “Lili, I don’t have your gloves.”
I blink. “What do you mean, you don’t have my gloves? I gave them to you.”
“Yes. And then you disappeared to the bathroom, so I left them hanging on the doorknob for you to grab.”
My eye twitches. “Jude. Do you think leaving something dangling from a doorknob is an effective method of returning it?”
She raises a shoulder in a shrug that is the very definition of nonchalance. “It seemed efficient at the time.”
“To abandon my belongings at a party full of kleptomaniac Folk? Here I am. Gloveless.”
Jude smiles.
“Not all Folk are kleptomaniacs. And maybe they just fell off somewhere around the house. Try asking Locke.”
The idea makes my stomach twist. I really don’t want to talk to Locke, especially not after the last time we spoke... when he leaned in too close, eyes full of mischief, and tried to kiss me. I had to practically shove him off. I haven’t looked at him the same way since.
“Couldn’t you ask him?”
I ask, trying to sound casual.
“I have to go soon.”
She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t press.
“Okay” she says with a little shrug.
“I’ll see you at lunch.”
Morac doesn’t seem particularly invested in today’s lesson. He slurs through the intricacies of court laws during wartime, flipping through pages of parchment with the enthusiasm of a dying moth. His words blur into each other like spilled ink, and even when my classmates raise their hands, he barely acknowledges them.
One girl in the front row finally asks something about dueling protocol between Courts, and Morac just waves a hand vaguely, muttering, “It depends who bleeds first.”
Really helpful.
“That’s it. Go.”
he finally grunts, gesturing us away like flies from a fruit bowl.
I don’t argue. No one does. The entire room exhales at once, half in laughter, half in disbelief. We gather our things in a flurry of parchment and whispers, and spill out into the palace grounds like a wave finally breaking.
I should be surprised, but I’m just relieved. It’s not even close to lunch yet, and for once, I have time. Real time. Not the kind carved out between dress fittings and etiquette drills.
I start walking slowly at first, just enjoying the breeze and the hush that lingers when everyone’s scattered in different directions. The courtyard stones are warm beneath my boots, the scent of something sweet like blooming nightshade or enchanted myrtle, drifting from the gardens.
I head toward the place where I know Jude take classes. She’s probably still having lesson. Either way, I don’t mind waiting.
Perched on the low stone wall, my legs swing idly as I watch the flickering lantern light dance across Jude's class below. The night air carries snippets of Madalyn's lecture, that is explaining something while gesturing. It's dark there so I can't make out the sitting figures clearly there in front of him.
I take a bunch of grapes out of the basket, taking some and eating them while waiting, its skin bursting sweet and tart against my tongue, while watching the group.
The crunch of footsteps on lawn and dry leaves draws my attention. Three figures emerge from the western shadows - human boys by their silhouettes, carrying what looks like instrument cases and supply bags. Servants, perhaps.
As they arrive in front of me one of them looks up my way, and I think I recognize him.
"Michael?"
I call, not sure if I have confused the person.
The figure stops. "Yes?"
Moonlight catches his face as he looks up, confirming my guess. His freckles seem to glow in the pale light, his brown curls tousled from whatever evening activities kept him out until now. The other two boys pause, their postures tensing as they glance between us.
I lean forward slightly.
"Hi! What are you doing around here?"
Michael shifts his weight, exchanging a look with his companions.
"Ehm, just passing by."
His fingers tighten around the object he's holding.
"I see. Is that your musical instrument?"
I ask lightly, nodding toward the case in his hands.
"Yeah... why?"
His tone is stiff, guarded. Strange.
I shrug.
"Only curiosity. You asked me to listen to you play but if that's suddenly a problem and I'm bothering you, by any means carry on."
He blinks, then takes a few steps closer, squinting up at me.
"Wait—are you—?"
"Lilia." I supply.
"Yes, Lilia." he repeats
"You must forgive me, I didn't see your face well in the dim light."
I see what happened here. I understand the struggle honestly.
I laugh. "Don’t worry, it happens to me all the time."
He turns to the others.
"You two go ahead. I’ll catch up."
They murmur assent and continue on their way.
"What are you doing here alone?"
he asks once they leave.
"I scare musicians in the shadows" I tell him
"it's one of my favorite hobbies."
He laughs as he walks closer until he's under the wall, placing his instrument, which I now see is some sort of guitar, on top of it, and then climb up.
"So" he says, adjusting his seat
"do you make a habit of scaring people in the dark?"
"Only when they don't remember my name." I tease.
He grins.
"Sorry, I suck at remembering names. But now I'm sure I won't forget it."
The night stretches quietly around us, the distant sounds of Jude’s class still carrying on below.
“Do you always carry that around with you?”
I ask, nodding toward the instrument.
He shrugs.
“Actually no. Only when I feel inspired, want to practice somewhere or when I’m supposed to be doing something else and I need to have an excuse.”
“Wow, rebellious.” I say,
“So were you actually going to play something, or were you just trying to impress someone with your mysterious musician aesthetic?”
Michael chuckles.
“Would it work if I said both?”
“Maybe” I reply, “if you actually play well.”
He lifts the guitar from his lap, brushing his fingers over the strings in a quick check of tuning. “Now you’ve wounded my pride. I have no choice but to prove you wrong.”
He starts to play—something soft, not showy, a little melancholy but warm, like a memory you forgot you missed. The melody curls up into the night air, and for a moment I forget where I am.
Just the sound of strings.
“Okay” I admit after a moment.
“That wasn’t terrible.”
He lifts a brow.
“High praise from a girl who claims to haunt musicians.”
I smirk.
“I said I scare them, not haunt them. Though now that you mention it, it doesn't sound bad. Maybe I’ll start doing it.”
Michael's lute rests across his lap as he glances toward the dispersing class below.
"Are you here waiting for someone?"
I pluck another grape from the bunch.
"Yes, I'm waiting for my friend to finish class."
I offer him some. "Want one?"
He accepts with a quiet "Thanks" popping one into his mouth.
"I thought you had lessons too."
"I did. Morac dismissed us early"
I say, rolling my eyes.
"He could barely keep his eyes open."
Michael chuckles.
"Lucky. My schoolteachers never let us off easy."
The mention piques my curiosity. He grew up in the human world, so he must know a lot about it. Jude and Taryn have told me a lot, especially since their sister Vivi often goes to the human world and sometimes she would convince them to go with her. But I've never been there, so all I know is from their stories.
"What was school like there?"
"I've never taken a class here, but I think it's very different." he muses.
"More structured. You pick subjects you like: math, literature, sciences..."
His voice trails off when he sees my expression.
"You've really never been?"
I shake my head. "But I want to go someday."
Below us, the lanterns bob as students scatter. Michael suddenly straightens.
"No Flor today?"
"No, why?"
"Some of us from the Circle meet to play"
he says, standing abruptly.
"You should come."
I frown a little
"I don't have great musical skills"
"Just to listen then." he adds.
Jude and Taryn approach, their lantern casting long shadows. Michael hops down with surprising grace.
"Then I'll see you" he says, and disappears into the hallway.
Taryn's eyes follow him. "Who was that?"
"I think he's a court musician" I say vaguely.
"Well, we all heard him when he started playing earlier" she remarks pointedly.
So they must have all seen us...
Jude climbs the steps (unlike Michael's wall-scaling) and fixes me with a look.
"Since when do you chat up court musicians?"
"He approached me" I deflect. "Any news on my gloves?"
Jude's expression darkens. "Yeah" she says, "he didn't see them."
"But we know who has them" Taryn adds.
“And who is it?”
"Cardan" Jude says, "he has them."