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Marianne fluttered her wings nervously as she strode past the thronging creatures of the Dark forest. Goblins respectfully stepped out of her path. They did not bow their heads, not like a fairy would have in her own kingdom. Instead she was subject to a hundred curious stares. The citizens of her lover’s kingdom still were unsure what to make of this bright creature their king had made his consort. Their gazes made her uncomfortable. It made her feel like prey.
The sudden thought put an extra dose of steel in her spine. She was a princess and a queen consort. She was not prey. She was the hunter. When she met the eyes of a short, stubby horned creature, she smiled at it. It grinned back, its lips pulling back far enough for her to see all its broken, yellow teeth.
Gross.
Oddly encouraged, Marianne continued her walk to the open area where Bog stood with his mother and a handful of guards. Stuff and Thang like two slippery shadows hovered behind their king.
Marianne’s stomach rioted with nerves. This would be their first planting together. She was not looking forward to the ceremony, which Bog had described to her during one of their long, late night talks.
They had been cuddling in a sparrow’s nest, high in an oak, stargazing while they spoke of the fate of their kingdoms.
“Th’ royal family plants a small clearing.” Bog said. Marianne, laying with her back against his chest, her wings tucked to the side, could feel his rumbling voice vibrating through his chitinous chest plate like a cat’s soothing purr.
They had agreed to attend the festivals and ceremonies of each Kingdom together. Unfortunately, the spring and autumn plantings happened at the same time. Together they agreed to split the difference, spring in the Bright Meadows, autumn in the Dark Woods.
“We use magic to grow th’ plants, t’ give the kingdom hope of a good harvest.” She heard the smile in his voice, “Ye flutter about like a fool, make some mushrooms grow. It’s a silly tradition, but ye know all about those.”
She did. She had told him all about every one of the Bright Meadows’ celebrations and their inherent traditions. Well, almost all of them.
“We do something like that too.” She didn’t mention the dancing which went all day and into the night or the wagon rides, barrel races, Ferris wheels, bobbing for blueberries or grass mazes. She was instead thinking about the opening ceremony.
The previous autumn had been her worst yet.
Her father had raised a ring of perfectly formed redcaps, grew several large pumpkins (which would later be hollowed out into boats for the river race) and one tall perfect stalk of corn.
Her sister had raised flat faced, multi-coloured pansies, blue star Amsonia and bluebell sage, the wildflower scents bursting around her.
Marianne had been trying to grow Boltonia and instead of a cluster of tall stems tipped with round, pink eyelash-petal flowers she grew a dandelion. Not just any dandelion, a monstrously huge dandelion. It had at least twenty golden heads, like a hydra. The elves had to hack the leaves back where they’d grown over the stage. The taproot was so thick and deep it took a whole crew of elves and at five squirrels to hack it down then dig it out.
She’d failed over the years to grow a lot of things. Fruits, berries, bushes, trees and one memorable year, a potato. Last autumn, it took her weeks to get over her embarrassment. What kind of fairy can’t grow flowers?
Marianne swallowed hard. She was about to make a fool of herself in front of her new lover and his whole kingdom, including his mother! Could she survive being the embarrassment of two kingdoms? Griselda waved at her, being the first to notice Marianne’s approach. She elbowed her son, who was standing with his back to Marianne and pointed.
Marianne felt her heart stutter as the tall figure known as the Bog King turned to face her. His long pointed face was menacing until you looked into his bright blue eyes. Marianne only saw the way his face lit when he laid eyes on her. An answering light turned on inside her. Her heart began to sing.
Oh yes, she thought, I’ll make a fool of myself every year for the next millennia. All you have to do is keep looking at me like that. He flew over to meet her where she had stopped to stare at him.
“Are ye alright, Tough Girl?” He asked quietly, aware of the guards nearby, the many eyes on them both.
Bog knew of Marianne’s reservations and was deeply grateful she agreed to take part. His kingdom didn’t have many celebrations and the more his subjects saw Marianne and got to interact with her, the sooner they’d accept her as his co-ruler. He knew magic meant less to his people than fire, ferocity and gumption, which his Tough Girl had in spades. His people would come to love her, as he had, once they got to know her and saw past the soft pale skin and fluttering wings.
Marianne smiled at him.
“I’m just glad we don’t have to line dance.” She joked.
Bog made a face. Dancing seemed to be one of the Bright Meadows kingdom’s favourite pastimes. He didn’t relish the idea of jigging with fluttering idiots. He took one of her long-fingered hands in his, conscious of his sharp claws. Her hands felt cold with nerves. This was hard for her, he knew. It was one reason among many he would do anything for her, including dancing with elves.
“Come on,” He said, leading her over to where the royal group stood, “Th’ sooner we do this th’ sooner we can start the feast.” He grinned wickedly and leaned close, murmuring into her ear. “The sooner I can get you back to my chambers and show you how grateful I am for today.”
Marianne blushed, glancing at Bog’s grin and glowing blue eyes. She was saved from having to reply when Griselda popped up in front of her.
“Hi!”
“Augh-h-hi Griselda,” Marianne tried to turn her startled cry into a greeting. She still wasn’t used to the way her mother-in-law would pop up, as if out of thin air. Griselda pushed a small, bulging sack into Marianne’s free hand, then one into Bog’s.
“Yeah, yeah,” the goblin woman growled, “you two kids get flyin’! I’m not gettin’ any younger and I’m only gettin’ hungrier!”
Thang piped up from somewhere to Marianne’s left.
“Yeah!”
Bog quelled the small goblin with a glare.
“Well,” Marianne said, taking a deep breath. “Here goes.”
She released Bog’s hand and flapped her wings. He followed her up. The creatures of the forest cheered, enjoying the spectacle to come.
He’d shown her the clearing where the ceremony would take place a week ago, flying the route around it with her. He wanted to make sure she was prepared. She’d flown it easily, her laughter ringing through the clearing. He glanced at her face. She wasn’t laughing now.
Bog turned to fly his own path, setting his worry aside. His Tough Girl would be alright.
Marianne’s heart was pounding. She had memorized the names of the plants she was seeding, preparing herself to cross them off her mental list of flora she couldn’t grow. Elephanthead Lousewart. Musk Mallow. Bugleweed. Devil’s Club. Carrion Flower. Marsh Woundwart. Bog Myrtle. She didn’t know what they looked like or what they did, the plants’ purpose as strange and foreign to her as their names. Suddenly she wished she knew what the goblins would use them for. After they finished, she would ask Griselda or Bog.
Her hand dispersed seeds, sprinkling them in her path. Just as the other times she’d tried to grow, she sent each seed down with a little puff of magic and hope.
She couldn’t stop wondering what bugleweed did. Was it a vine? A flower? Did you eat it? Was it medicine?
Her mind so frenetic and buzzing with nervous thoughts, Marianne failed to notice long red stems growing behind her, producing leaves and spears of pink flower clusters. She didn’t see the fat leafed bushes growing low to the ground or the trailing vines which climbed the trees, producing foul smelling berries. Large bushes with spiny flat leaves produced bright red berries in her wake.
She finally noticed when stalks of clustered purple flowers almost knocked her from the air in their hurry to grow. Marianne turned to look behind her. Bog had taken a different path, his trail was respectably lush. Her trail, however… Marianne could see exactly where she had flown, the plants had grown to five times her height or more in some places. It was like a huge green thumb had stroked earth she’d flown over and blessed the plants.
Mystified, she continued to empty seeds, watching as they sprang to life upon touching the soft earth. She flew until she was back to where she had started. Bog caught up to her, capturing both hands in hers, flying with her above the crowd. They flew higher and higher together until he was sure they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Tha’ is amazing.” He enthused. Marianne looked into his eyes, seeing the love and admiration shine out at her.
“I-I didn’t know I could do that.” She admitted. She tugged his hand to follow her down. “Come on, we have to get the feast started, remember?”
When he stayed hovering where he was, staring at her, she grinned wickedly at him. There would be time to talk later.
“The sooner we start the feast, the sooner we can leave it, Wild Thing.” She winked at him. That got him moving.
As they descended together, Marianne finally noticed the commotion. Small forms swarmed over the newly grown plants, hacking the flower heads off, tearing apart the leaves and plucking the berries. She felt a pinch of sadness, though she knew unlike the destruction of the primroses, each part of each plant would be used for something.
“What is bugleweed?” She asked him. He pointed to a tall plant with a thick stalk. Long, thin leaves grew in opposite pairs, marching up the stem in even lengths. Small, white flowers clustered between the stem and the base of each pair of leaves.
“Ye harvest tha’ roots in spring,” He explained, “they make a tasty meal when ye boil ‘em.” They were touching down now. Stuff and Thang appeared before them, the smaller creature practically bouncing with excitement.
“That was great!” Thang assured Marianne. “I hear Griselda say if you were a fallow swoop it would be to fear!”
Marianne felt a nervous pinch in her midsection. Griselda had known she couldn’t grow? Or couldn’t before? Stuff interrupted, bopping Thang lightly on the head.
“No, she said the Mallow soup would be thick this year!” The larger goblin corrected in her gravel-grinding voice. Stuff pointed to a plant with flat purple flowers and rounded leaves which was being chopped up and tossed into cooking pots.
Bog dismissed them and turned to Marianne.
“Ye know,” He began, “I was thinking…” He trailed off, staring at her. After a moment, she squirmed under his gaze.
“Do I have something on my face?” She asked, scrubbing one hand over her nose.
Bog leaned down and gently took her face between his hands. He tilted his head and slid his mouth against hers, mindful of his long nose. Their mouths opened, tongues tangling. Heat spiraled through him, starting at his mouth and filling his whole body until he felt like a column of flame. Only she could make him feel this way.
“Yeah.” His voice was gruff, “Me.”
Marianne laughed. He wanted to ask her if she’d ever tried to grow nightshade bloodroot, hemlock or pokeweed.
Time enough for that later. He thought. He leaned forward and captured her mouth with his own.