Claimed by the Fairy King: Fairy Lover Series (Faerie Lovers Series Book 1)

Claimed by the Faerie ThroneFaerie Lovers SeriesL. B. MammothMammoth Publishing Copyright © 2023 L. B. MammothAll rights reservedThe characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.ASIN B0C48TB73H Contents Title PageCopyrightChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineEpilogueAbout The Author Chapter OneAnother rainy day in a village built on rainy days. Near the center of their village, modest cottages with thatched roofs stood out, the thick layers sodden with the day’s rain. Closer to the outer edges, where Alora lived, the cabins were further apart, set upon a hill that looked down at the main homes. This was where the local protectors lived, a job her father had once held. With him gone, they simply had not thought to leave. It was their home, the only one they’d ever known.Alora glanced from her window, face in her hands as her sister pittered around the cabin they called home. Long ago, Moira would have hummed happily, annoyingly, persistently. But now there was only the song of the rag as it moved over each surface, the droplets of water as it fell into the little bucket. Alora missed the days when they would laugh together.Their village was quaint, neither wealthy nor riddled with abject poverty, and yet Alora found herself always dreaming of more. The days were all the same, the men in the village all had the same demeanor. It was too much and yet not enough all at once.When they were young, the village had been wrapped in the arts, but as the summers grew hotter and the crops yielded less, the music that had once brought smiles to their faces had all but disappeared.The faerie lands were supposedly full of music, dancing, life, but here in the human lands, there was more work and mundanity than she really found herself content with. Cleaning, gathering supplies, tending to their garden. Those were the things that filled her day now, and Alora hated to say that she was growing weary of it. She was only twenty-one; too young to be truly tired with life.“Are you not going to help?” her sister snapped from behind her.It brought her back to the present, and she realized just how long she’d been watching the rain fall. Alora turned with an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” she grumbled. “I got distracted.”Moira rolled her eyes. “You’re always distracted. Some faerie is going to snatch you up one day because of it.” It felt like she was being lectured, chastised for not enjoying the most boring things imaginable.Alora sighed, grabbing up the broom from where she’d left it. “Don’t say that,” she mumbled. “Jasna was taken just last week.”Jasna had been out collecting from the faerie trees that grew along the border. They produced pears that were very well loved, and seemed to make everyone a bit happier. If the faeries cared, they never said anything. Though why would they?The King of the Faeries didn’t really do much to the humans, relaxing tithes during harsher seasons, understanding when the more modest human villages were unable to pay. His kingdom was dripping with wealth, and the human lands were under how purview. He no doubt looked down at them with pity. Whatever the reason, it had once been safe to pluck that fruit, and now everyone feared what might happen. Jasna was gone, not a trace to be found.Moira was quiet for a moment, a sigh easing her anger. “I know, I know. I didn’t—” She walked from the room, muttering to herself. Another change. Moira had never been one to shy away from how she felt. In fact, she’d been the loud protector of Alora as they’d grown up. Now that was changing, too.Moira was only two years older, and yet she had always been like the mother in the home. Their own mother died shortly after Alora’s birth—an illness had swept through the surrounding lands—and as they grew, Moira had simply taken over that job. Their father never asked it of her. It used to come naturally. Now it felt like a different kind of mother, one who loved harshly instead of sweetly.Alora finished sweeping their kitchen, setting the broom back into its rack on the wall. The cabin wasn’t bad; their father had done well to keep it in good condition, even with the relentless rain. There was a small leak in the living area, but they would get it fixed in due time. It wasn’t terrible yet.But with Father now gone, an illness claiming him faster than they could treat him for, Moira and Alora were made more aware of just how much he had done to keep them all happy and healthy. Alora had never realized how much she took for granted, how much he’d really done for them.Moira glided back in, fastening her black cloak tight around her shoulders. Her mousy brown hair was brushed back into a messy tail, able to be hidden easily beneath a hat or hood. “We need lye for the wash.” She pulled her hood up quickly, opening the front door and pausing. The trickle of rain had grown to an outright storm, thunder crashing in the distance. “It’s really coming down, isn’t it?”Alora glanced over. “Yeah, maybe wait until tomorrow.”Moira didn’t move for a moment, perhaps considering her sister’s words. “No, I was supposed to go yesterday.”“I have enough clothes to wear another day.”“Alora,” Moira spat. That harness was enough to end any memory of the sister who had once been her closest friend. “We don’t all just get to shirk responsibility. Some of us have things to do.”And she slammed the door as she shot out into the downpour.Alora deflated, leaning against their countertop.