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The Fae King's Dream
Author: Jamie Schlosser

 

Damon

Over two thousand years ago in Valora

 

“And so, my precious son, the witches were angry. They’d been caught by the Day Realm soldiers, and their eyes were cut out for the plague they caused.” Mother gently sweeps my hair off my forehead. “The coven killed thousands of people, and it was time to pay. Their punishment was blindness.”

“Then what?” I ask impatiently.

“Then they wanted revenge, but not just on the ones who mutilated them—no, they wanted to hurt us all. They cast a curse on the firstborn children of the royal families, making it so that each prince would be blind until they find their fated mate, and if they so much as kiss someone else, they would be cursed forever.”

Clutching the blanket, I blink against the blackness always blocking my vision. “How will I know it’s her? If I can’t see into her eyes, my soul won’t be able to recognize her.”

“Remember your clues,” her soft voice reminds me. “She’s surrounded with buttons and strings. You’ll find her in someone else’s dreams.”

“Will you tell me the story again?” I sit up straighter against my pillows. “Start at the beginning—with the part about the Day Realm starting a war when they murdered the Night Realm king and queen, and how Father got vengeance for his parents when he hired the coven to make the Day people sick.”

“Your father regrets his dealing with the coven every minute of every day. If he’d known what it would do to you…” Mother sighs sadly. “Why do you always want to hear this story? It’s not a happy bedtime tale.”

“Because I want to make sure I know everything. I’m going to break the curse, Mother. I want to see. I have to see.”

Panic rains down on me when I think about never gaining my sight. I’ve lived all of my eight years without it, and I feel like a big part of me will always be missing until I have it.

“And you will. You just have to be patient.” Tucking the covers around me, Mother places a kiss on my forehead. “But now it’s time for sleep. Goodnight. Sweet nothingness, my dear.”

She can’t say sweet dreams because I don’t have them. Sometimes I like not dreaming. At least I can’t have nightmares. Other times, though, it’s lonely. It makes the darkness seem endless.

I hear her slippers shuffling on the stone as she makes her way to the door. Before she can get there, I ask, “Can I borrow your dreams tonight?”

As she comes back to me, there’s a quiet metallic clink as she removes a pin from her hair.

She slips it into the pocket of my shirt. “Always, my handsome little Dream Walker. You’ll see me soon, then.”

 

 

Damon

Present Day

 

Being a Dream Walker isn’t as cool as it sounds. Sure, I can spy on people. Learn their secrets. Their fears. Their deepest desires.

But I can’t talk to them. I can’t control the outcome of the dream. They don’t even know I’m in their head.

Like this poor bastard.

Wrinkling my nose, I look away from the college guy on the beer-stained couch.

I walked in on him masturbating to bad porn. Of all the scenarios his mind could conjure up, this is the best he could do? He could literally dream about anything, yet here he is, spanking his bologna to a woman who’s screeching so loud my ears are ringing.

Or is the correct saying slapping the salami?

I think it’s salami.

Whatever.

It never ceases to amaze me how mundane dreams can be, especially in the Earth realm. These humans spend their nights being plagued by their exes, worrying about work, and losing their clothes in public places.

So fucking painful to watch.

But I’m doing it anyway because I’m searching for my mate. Sooner or later, I’ll find her in someone else’s dream.

So says the curse.

Kirian’s clues were spot on. Although my cousin’s journey to finding his mate and breaking the curse was very different than mine will be, the fact that he has Quinn now gives me hope. She restored his sight. Completed his soul. Married him and gave him a child. As of five months ago, they became a family of three when their daughter was born.

My time for all that is coming.

Looking for pictures, I circle the room, but I find none. There aren’t even any walls—just a dark void of nothingness. This guy doesn’t have a very vivid imagination.

Some people can come up with extremely detailed settings in their dreams, down to the threads of the sheets they sleep on, the wood grain on their doors, or the speckles on their granite countertops. How hair shines in sunlight. The rough fabric on a bath towel. Blades of grass. Fluffy white clouds.

Born blind, I’ve never had a chance to learn these things through my own eyes. The curse was already woven when I was just the size of a pebble in my mother’s womb. I’ve always had to rely on the perception of others to show me what I’m missing, and to be honest, I’m sick of it.

“Come on,” the dude groans, frustrated as he glares down at his lap. “Just finish already.”

He goes back to whacking it with fury, and I turn away. He doesn’t realize he’s dreaming and that his efforts are futile.

This could go on for a while.

Well.

I think it’s safe to say I’m not going to find the answers I seek here.

Ignoring the grunts to my left, I close my eyes and mentally push myself out of sleep.

When my eyes open, I see nothing but darkness. Endless black. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but it still causes a painful longing in my chest.

I’m not sure if the tug on my heart has more to do with my lack of sight or the absence of my mate. Probably both. I won’t be complete until I find her.

And I will find her.

Until recently, I’d spent most of my two-thousand-ish years focusing my efforts in Valora. I’d been so sure my soul mate would be fae. In my magical world, it’s extremely rare to be fated to a human. Even Kirian’s wife has a little fae ancestry, but he found her in the Earth realm.

My parents, being wiser than I am, moved there over six hundred years ago to help me broaden the search. They often steal insignificant objects from people and send them back to me, since I need someone’s possession if I want to enter their dreams. Sometimes it’s pens, hair ties, or in this case, a blue wrist band that says ‘YOLO’ on it.

Rolling over, I drop the college dude’s bracelet on the nightstand and grab an amulet belonging to my father.

I lie back once more, closing my eyes as I rub my thumb over the metal grooves of the round talisman. Light bursts behind my eyelids, and I smile when my father comes into view.

“You’re asleep,” I say, even though he can’t hear me. “I’m glad. It’s good to see you.”

As always, he doesn’t respond, but I sit next to him anyway.

Unlike the pitiful sap from the previous dream, my father’s great at building a scene. Dream Weaving is one of the only powers in my world that can be learned and developed over time, not inherited.

My father has perfected it.

The bench beneath us is made from intricately carved stone. There’s a dirt path leading to some greenish-blue hills in the distance. The sky is streaked with teal and purple, reminding me of the Dream Realm right after Dusk has faded away. In front of us stands a magnolia tree—an Earth element I’ve come to love and appreciate. Pink petals drift through the cool air, falling to the ground.

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