Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.
“A quest? I’m already on a quest!” she exclaims, feeling only slightly like Shrek. Oh gods, she’s looking to restore a swamp. She is Shrek.
“So present gifts instead.”
There is a slew of obscenities she would love to sling at her father right now but given that he’s the Kelpie King, she knew it would be a bad idea. Already everyone is staring expectantly at her, making the heat rise in her cheeks.
She shifts from one foot to the other, adjusting her bag. There is no way she’s going to accept a quest until she knows what the hell is going on and while giving her father gifts after abandoning her makes bile rise in her throat, she doesn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.
This time when she speaks, it’s louder so her tiny voice doesn’t sound so small. “I would present your gifts but I’m currently extremely tiny so…”
The next thing she knows, her father waves his hand and she starts to grow. Kompis lets her go with a squeak as she returns to her normal size. Abigail adjusts her clothes and tries to pull together some semblance of dignity.
With everyone still staring, she sets her backpack down on the ground. This isn’t what she was expecting or planning. She thought she had two damn days to come up with presents for the king, not two seconds.
Then again, now that she knows the king is her flipping dad, she knows exactly what to give him.
“Give me one second.”
Opening the bag wide, she leans all the way down, reaching for two very specific items. When she withdraws, whispers have scattered among the group. One stern look from her father silences them.
“Fine, you want presents. I have presents for you.” Stepping forward, she tosses the items at his feet.
His eyes drift down and a hush falls across the crowd. Everyone is now looking at Charles to see how is going to react. It vaguely occurs to Abigail that she was probably expected to hand him the items with some kind of praise or something for the king. But she’s pissed and while she has to follow faery law, that doesn’t mean she has to like it.
His hand barely moves before the items are rising on their own into his other hand. The first is an old, chipped wand. Though the magic from it has long since faded, its significance never will. It’s an heirloom, a family relic from the first magic user of their family: their ancestor, the original Charles Malcolm Herant.
The second item is a book and Abigail knows her father recognizes it immediately. His hand trails over the worn leather of the family grimoire, cracking open to the first page where the family tree is written in faded ink.
“These are only two gifts,” one of the beefy kelpies snaps. “Are you trying to be so disrespectful?”
“Oh, I have a third gift for you,” Abigail says. From her pocket, she withdraws a necklace. Not the family amulet, no. She’s not giving that up, especially when she doesn’t know what in the hells is going on.
But she doesn’t need to show him the amulet. Because the necklace she tosses to him has more sentimental value.
Charles’s eyes widen as he sees the pendant dangling from her tight fist. He makes no move to take it.
“What’s the matter?” Abigail asks, letting her anger harden her voice. “Don’t you remember the necklace you gave your wife on the day I was born?”
He snatches it out of her hand. There’s silence as he runs his thumb over the center emerald, Abigail’s birthstone, and the Herant Family stone. There is emotion in his gaze but only for a moment before his face twists into a smooth mask of indifference.
“Your gifts have been accepted. You have earned an audience with the Kelpie King.”
“Oh, you are too kind.” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm.
He looks around and speaks to the other kelpies. “You are all dismissed. Leave me and my daughter to our audience.”
Instantly, they start to drift away, leaving Abigail and her father alone. Well, almost alone. The two beefy ones aren’t too far away, eyeing her warily before they take up their posts on either side of the throne. Besides her, she feels a tug on her arm and looks down at Kompis.
“Do you want me to stay or…?” he asks.
She smiles, thinking how incredibly sweet that a gnome has her back. “Considering I have no way to get back to my own realm, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Of course. And if you could put in a good word—”
“I said you are dismissed,” Charles speaks, louder this time, his eyes narrowed at Kompis.
The gnome squeaks and scurries away. Now, it’s just Abigail and her father. She glares daggers at him. It’s not until everyone has scattered that he steps closer, his voice dropping low.
“Abbey, you cannot be here right now. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“What I’VE done? Are you kidding me right now? You’re standing there with a damn crown on your head, making me follow faery laws and you have the nerve to ask me what I’ve done. What have YOU done? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Abbey, I will answer any questions you have, but we can’t do this here. You can’t be here. You shouldn't have brought the relics here. They are watching.”
They? Who the hell are they? And if he’s king, who the hell would he be afraid of?
“I don’t care! I deserve answers. I thought you were dead. I cried for you, I mourned you. And you have the nerve—”
“Abbey! Enough! You need to calm down or I can’t help what will happen to you.”
Anger like never before twists in Abigail’s guts like a knife and she feels the words bubbling in her throat…
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