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Vinca

Vinca lay disconsolately, her legs tangled in the sheets, staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling of the King’s bedchamber. A tear quickly cooled as it tracked a slow course from the corner of her eye, dampening her hairline. She’d tried to erect walls in her mind that would prevent her from longing for Millville, but memories were everywhere, in the briny smell of the sea, the swish of her horse’s tail, the books they used to discuss– even those oatcakes. She regarded the platter of untouched biscuits lying beside slices of cheese on a side table, and the pages of her recollection fluttered. They looked the same as some Millville had once smuggled to her in his handkerchief. A reminder that, even during her childhood, he’d had her back, sneaking food to her when Mother had banished Vinca to her room for being too outspoken.

Sexual congress, which had been a beautiful, breathtaking experience with her beloved Millville, had become a sweaty, slippery, gut-wrenching chore with the elf king. Although he did not present as old or wrinkled, he had none of the vitality and energy she’d enjoyed with her young lover. But worse still, he did not make her feel precious or beautiful. Where Millville’s lovemaking had been exploratory and exciting, a game of give and take that awoke and enlivened her body, Bartok’s was perfunctory and selfish. He seemed to regard it as Vinca’s job to entertain and coax him towards pleasure but, being inexperienced, she struggled to create a seductive facade.

She flung the bedding aside, and swung her long legs towards the thick fur rugs on the stone floor. Time to go, she decided. She pulled on garments the King had pulled off the night before. Vinca approached the latticed window to brush her long magenta hair, making a three-strand plait which hung over one shoulder. Suddenly her fingers froze. In the pretty knot-garden below her, she spied Millville walking with an elegant stranger, seemingly deep in conversation. Vinca’s heart stuttered in shock, yet she craned her neck for a better view.

The young woman, who she later learned from Bryony was Princess Talisska, wore a gown of dove grey, with combs of shell adorning her flowing gold hair. As she watched their progress, Millville said something that made Talasska throw back her head and laugh: Not a dainty ‘Court’ simper, but full and hearty enjoyment of the joke they shared, and Millville was laughing too.

Vinca’s heart squeezed and a bitter taste rose in her throat. She was struck by the realization of how much joy and hope had been ripped from her grasp by her mother’s plotting: All in the name of winning a high-born husband, which Millville would have been. It could be argued that there was no-one more high-born than the King of the faeries, but he would never be her husband. The best Vinca, or any royal mistress, could hope for, was to become the mother of His Majesty’s favourite son.

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Her preferred option was that Bartok would tire of her before she fell pregnant, so she could be discarded and resume her old life. She had nurtured the faint hope that Millville would wait for her, mark time until the King’s dalliance waned, but it seemed he’d already moved on. And why not? The stranger by his side was definitely gentry and undeniably beautiful; she would make an advantageous match that would have his Uncle Tooke puffing his chest like a proud peacock. Hot tears swelled out of Vinca’s eyes, which she dashed away with trembling hands.

Getting home without being seen was now more desirable than previously. Willing her heart to become encased in ice, Vinca finished dressing and flung out of the royal bedchamber. She scowled at any courtier and servant she passed, ensuring she spoke to no-one on her walk home. Once there, she went straight to the stables to demand that her horse be saddled. Only when she swung onto its back, and squeezed the beast into action with her knees, could she feel her battling emotions begin to settle.

Vinca let the horse have its head, and together they cantered across fields and through a copse of slender-trunked trees. Without making a conscious decision of where to go, she realised she and her mare were drawing near to their special place, hers and Millville’s. So be it, she comforted herself, it will be my haven now.

It wouldn’t break her heart to visit the sheltered, grassy space that had once been witness to their love, where they took gentle sips of that forbidden, heady potion that was now out of reach. No — in self-preservation, her heart was shrivelled like a peach pit, she’d keep it frozen to numbness, and that would help her cope.

As she looked around the familiar space, a gradual acceptance of her shattered dreams soaked into her consciousness, but it tore at her. Letting those broken dreams go made Vinca aware of how she’d treasured those small sparks of hope, which had worked as a touchstone, helping her navigate her existence. She and her mother had never been close, and now was not the time to burden Bryony with her troubles.

How did Millville handle this, his grief at being forced apart? Vinca rubbed her temples and lowered herself to perch on a nearby stump. She’d heard from Bryony he seemed broken, but now she doubted the true depths of his devastation to learn she was the King’s latest plaything. Wasn’t it possible that she had been nothing more to him than a distraction, someone to toy with before he left for Aquatora?

She thought she knew him well, but could he have fooled her so completely? Was she a bad judge of authenticity? She scoffed at herself and sniffed back tears. It was easy to imagine a conversation with Millville’s Uncle Tooke, with the elder statesman encouraging his nephew to make a play for one of Neptune’s daughters. Well bravo Millville, it looks as if you’ve claimed the prize, Vinca bit back hot tears.

Her fury, which she aimed at the folk of the sea, threatened to put cracks in the block of ice she’d built round her heart. Vinca’s throat was too thick to scream and too tight to cry, so she trod cautiously to the shore’s edge and began skimming stones. She’d never been very skilled at the pastime of making flat stones skip and bounce on the water’s surface, but found it vented her anger, even when she threw badly and they disappeared with a plop, and expanding ripples. In the distance, she thought she saw the heads of seals, who were watching her curiously.

Vinca began to shiver. When she regarded the hem of her gown, it had darkened from soaking up the briny water; She had best move to higher ground. The house elves would scold her for spoiling her slippers and being careless with her clothes. Home offered no comfort and she was in no hurry to return, so she untethered the horse and let it choose the long way back.

Millville

Lord Millville couldn’t entertain Talisska all day, he had too much to organise and check, so he introduced her to other gentry, several lords and ladies-in-waiting, before resuming his duties. He could admit her wit and intelligence had provided a welcome distraction, for usually his heart was made heavy by Vinca’s inaccessibility. He could not imagine she was happy with her current situation as a spoiled king’s dalliance.

Princess Talisska was young, vivacious and undoubtedly ambitious, she had subtly picked Millville’s brain all morning about those in positions of power at Court. He was forced to side with King Bartok in having suspicions regarding Neptune’s intentions; Talisska could be a bejewelled spy, or sent to capture the heart of a prince.

Millville turned his attention to the list of performers for the evening — musicians, dancers and acrobats who had been auditioned by Councillor Mapeed. Millville was pleased to note that Vinca’s sister Bryony would be given an opportunity to play the harp as part of the entertainment for the dignitaries and their entourage who were visiting from the Court of the Mountains. He wondered if Vinca would be there, then shook his head at his own foolishness: Of course she would, seated at the King’s feet like a lapdog. Millville took several deep breaths to try and harden his heart; Exposing his true emotions could prove deadly for them both.

A cursory knock at his door preceded Councillor Mapeed, who stepped into Millville’s office. Her dark eyes darted like a magpie, taking in the stacks of scrolls and leather-bound books which occupied the shelves lining the walls.

“Lord Millville, the Council is gathering in the Oak Hall, and your presence is required.”

Before Millville could ask questions or protest, Mapeed was gone. He reluctantly gathered fresh scrolls, quills and ink, and followed her brisk footsteps.

Whilst the Court’s outward attitude to visitors from other kingdoms was welcoming, its knee-jerk reaction in private was suspicion. Faeries cannot lie, but all are highly skilled at saying only part of what they mean, and veiling the truth. Adding the cloak of diplomacy simply offered scope for Machiavellian scheming on a grander scale. Millville readied himself to take notes that would be less about protocol, and more about rumours, numbers of men at arms, undercover spies, and bodyguards.

“Lord Millville, come sit by me,” King Bartok commanded, in his slightly reedy drawl.

The more established members of the Council studied Millville with scornful expressions, but none would challenge their king, so a place for the young lord was cleared next to his Highness.

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“Would you expect Princess Talisska to show an interest in the visiting heir?” Bartok made no preamble, which Millville admired.

“How young is ze?” Millville was equally direct.

“A mere sapling!” the King chuckled.

“Ze’s still at school, not academy age,” one of the councillors supplied.

“Then probably no, Majesty.” Then Millville conjectured, “But she may show an interest in one of your sons.”

The King smiled and nodded, accepting the conclusion he had reached at their first meeting, when Millville and Lord Grisling returned from Aquatora.

“Princess Talisska wishes to expand her horizons, to learn the customs and diplomacy required to become a great ruler.” Millville expanded. “I believe she plans to benefit from education at the academy as much as making connections and following examples she witnesses during her time at Court.”

“Interesting,” the King smiled, casting significant looks at several nobles seated around the carved oak table. “What do we anticipate from our visitors from the mountains?”

A hawk-like man stood and officiously shuffled papers, before announcing that his sources reported trouble brewing in the mountain region and conjecturing that the court rulers would request soldiers from Bartok’s army as a show of strength.

The King absorbed this news without a reaction showing on his face. He asked if there was anything more to consider. An adviser with a beetle’s carapace spoke, voicing rumours about a dragon who’d recently attacked several of the wild fae in the woodlands.

“Any concerns pertaining to the imminent state visit?” First Minister Naygrove cut that discussion short, noticing the King’s evident boredom. Despite murmurs and throat clearing, none were forthcoming.

“Until tonight,” King Bartok spoke his intention to leave imperiously and rose to his feet. This signalled the Council should all stand respectfully, until he left the chamber; his ministers remained in the Oak Hall to continue their discussions.

“Is everything in hand for the banquet?” Lord Grisling checked in with Millville.

“Of course,” he replied, aware that it would all come together so long as his feet barely touched the ground for the next two hours.

“There is much at stake,” Grisling warned, shaking his tawny head.

He cast his protégé a glance, intended to convey the gravity of the task with which he’d been charged. It was unnecessary, Millville knew he’d been given a make or break responsibility. He hoped he’d accounted for everything, but only time would tell.

[To be Continued …]

© Jacinta Palmer 2025, written by a human and not AI

Grateful thanks to Eidahs - Erotic Romance Writer for her editorial input

Previous chapters 1 2 3 4 5

Lord Millville rolled the scroll and tied the parchment with ribbon woven from spider silk, then he stored his notes of the diplomatic visit to Aquatora within the oak credenza in Lord Grisling’s office. Next he turned his attention to the agenda for the visiting dignitaries from the Court of the Mountains. He’d been entrusted with the task of making their visit memorable and, in preparation, was conferring with the cooks and auditioning entertainers from beyond the reaches of court to draw up a worthy menu and programme of entertainment.

His Uncle Tooke had been delighted by the speed of his rise within the Council, which Millville called a hollow victory because it had lost him the girl that he loved. He wandered to the small casement window and expelled a sigh. The panes of crystal looked out on the curated gardens and topiary bushes, but he didn’t register the view. Instead, he saw Vinca’s intelligent amber cat’s eyes and her pale lips parted in delight as his fingers brushed a path up her thigh, drawing out pleasure with light pressure and practised ease. These memories always sparked a heated flash of desire and yearning which he struggled to suppress. No matter the incandescence of their previous connection, or how much he wanted her -- Vinca was beyond his reach. Fate had conspired against them, and she had become a plaything for the King, for as long as she held his interest.

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It was a cruel blow, which Millville felt as viscerally as if love had reached into his chest and pulled out his heart. Being unable to see Vinca or talk to her was purgatory, but worse still, his precious memories of their time together, those stolen moments when they had lain entwined in their secret meeting place, had become tainted. Each time his mind evoked an image of Vinca’s opalescent, naked skin and sweet curves, it was swiftly overwritten with a vivid picture of her delicate body clutched in the King’s embrace. Millville tried to console himself that, like many of the King’s playthings, she would be tossed aside as soon as King Bartok became bored, but he despised himself for wishing for her fall from grace to suit his own ends. The torment was constant, his imaginings disgusted and horrified him, he could not stand to think of those ring-encrusted hands anywhere near his beloved girl.

When there was a knock at the door, Millville turned his head to respond, “Come in,” he said.

“Princess Talasska wishes an audience, my lord.”

A blue-skinned courtier stepped aside, allowing the heir apparent to Aquatora’s throne to sweep into the room. The princess was dressed in an elegant outfit of sea foam green, its bodice encrusted with pearls and the full skirt embroidered with a motif of conch shells and starfish. Her expression was open and direct; she was pleased to see him and excited by her new surroundings.

Lord Millville executed his most gallant bow and welcomed her with genuine enthusiasm.

“Princess, you look well. I trust your journey was pleasant?”

“Most instructional,” she answered agreeably and lowered herself into a carved oak chair. “As you know, I’m excited to be broadening my education with travel.”

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Talasska arranged her skirts modestly then raised her focus to study the tapestries which hung on the walls. The one nearest was a depiction of battles won and alliances formed under the rule of King Bartok’s mother, Queen Rubelle. She would learn their full history when she began to attend lessons with the sons and daughters of the gentry, a cultural exchange in which Millville’s influence been instrumental.

What have I unleashed on the court? Millville asked himself, because it was plain Talasska was like a sponge, absorbing information all the time.

“And how have you been?” she enquired, her bright eyes skimming over the lists and notes that littered his desk,relating to the state visit.

“Busy,” he shielded, corralling the paperwork, before pushing it into a leather wallet. She watched him with a piercing intensity he couldn’t evade. “Bored,” he admitted.

She caught his word and laughed. “I can imagine, Millville. You are no fact-finder, you desire action, like me.”

They shared a conspiratorial look before he sank into his chair and blew out a breath. “I’m not sure how much action you will get here, your highness,” he warned, “although we have a diplomatic visit in a few days,so you can forge connections”

“Indeed?” She inclined her head for more details, but they were interrupted when the blue-skinned courtier returned bearing a tray with dainty cups and a pot of acorn and nettle tea.

When the page left, and Millville had poured each of them a steaming cup,they resumed their conversation.

“The Court of the Mountains have proposed this state visit because they wish to present their eldest to the King to pledge continuing fealty. A small celebration is planned which I must orchestrate.”

Princess Talasska clapped her small hands in delight. “Will there be music, and dancing?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ve arrived at just the right time,” She twinkled, taking a dainty sip of the pale yellow tea.

[To be continued …]

© Jacinta Palmer 2025, written by a human and not AI

Grateful thanks to for her editorial input

Chapter 4 — Millville

At Bryony’s explanation, Millville felt himself crushed, like a boulder was dropped from a great height to land on his heart. His thoughts would not be corralled, and dark clouds crowded the edges of his vision.

Bryony was oblivious to his hellish torment, because she continued, in a soft voice.

“The King does our family a great honour. My sister is fortunate to have caught his attention.”

Her words blackened life as Millville knew it, a stain spreading like a pot of spilled ink. Vinca had not waited for his return, in his absence she had become the King’s lover. Could it be that she no longer cared for him? Had her heart swerved away from their tender union?

He would not consider that she had not felt affection for him, he’d seen loving emotions shining in her eyes, tasted the promise of forever in her kisses. But she might have been swayed by the air of power and magic exuded by the King, or tempted by a life of excess and privilege. Such were the trappings of being a royal consort — Bryony had implied as much, and their family was genteel, but not rich.

In the face of this desolate reality, Millville felt himself wither and diminish, all joy and happiness leached out of him, leaving behind a trembling shell. This was not only an agonizing discovery, that Vinca’s feelings may have been fleeting, but it was also life-threatening. If he continued to press his attentions on Vinca, seeking her friendship — or the bigger gamble — wooing her, their freedom was at risk. He knew, if the King got the merest whisper that Millville and Vinca had ever been lovers, then either imprisonment, or his life would be on the line.

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“And you, Bryony?” His voice sounded strained, and he hoped she did not notice.

“I am a lady-in-waiting,” she replied, her expression placid. “How was Aquatora?”

“Being underwater was oppressive,” Millville grimaced, “but our King considers the visit a success.”

“Congratulations,” she offered a small curtsey. “I must not tarry. This is Court y’know, people will talk.”

With that warning hanging in the air, Bryony peeked outside the curtain, found the corridor uninhabited, and made her exit.

Chapter 5 — Vinca

Vinca had been bathed and dressed, now she sat listlessly on a chair, letting a house brownie dress her hair into a complicated arrangement of plaits piled artfully atop her head. She was not studying her reflection, rather her gaze went beyond the mirror. She allowed her mind to indulge in a reverie where she was galloping on her horse, with sea spray dampening her loose hair. She could pine for the carefree days before she’d caught the attention of the King; those precious few weeks spending stolen moments with Millville, when they indulged in all the pleasures and thrills of their secret love. But pining changed nothing.

She’d heard her love was home from his diplomatic mission to Aquatora, and feted by the Royal Council for its success, if his sudden title of Lord Millville was anything to judge by. He had not sent word, nor tried to come and visit her. However, she’d heard from Bryony that he’d been crestfallen when he’d learned of her status as the King’s consort.

Vinca expelled a mournful sigh, startling the house brownie who was now painting her eyelids with powder gathered from the wings of butterflies. The stark contrast between how joyous she’d felt in Millville’s arms and her despondency at being the King’s latest plaything almost brought a tear to her eye. How did one refuse the attention of the King of all the faeries?

A small comfort was that her family could benefit from the liaison. Gayenne now took classes at the Academy with children of the Court gentry, learning dancing and fencing and how to cast runes, and the King sent food to her mother’s kitchens, solicitously caring for Vinca’s well-being. She’d also received personal gifts — gowns and jewels to enhance how she presented herself. He had even instructed worker hobs to repair the manor house: Their roof no longer leaked when it rained and the windows could keep out drafts. Her mother was delighted with these arrangements, which suited everybody but Vinca.

She came back to herself when she realised that the sprite had finished her hair and make-up, and was hovering nearby for Vinca’s verdict. She admired her reflection in the mirror, and could admit to looking beautiful, if a little sad. But she must set that aside, as Millville had done. When she stood, her stunning peacock-blue dress flared around her legs, raised at the front to show off her feet. The gown’s silken fabric was embroidered with butterflies near the hem, and more on the bodice.

Butterflies were carefree, Vinca thought ruefully, free to flutter from flower to flower, without familial obligations, duty or loyalty influencing their decisions. They focused solely on getting the most out of their short, colourful lives. How she envied a butterfly just then.

The brownie fastened her shoes and draped a finely-woven shawl made from spiders’ silk around her shoulders. Now Vinca was ready to travel to the palace to spend time with the King. She tucked her bag of runes in the pocket of her skirts, needing something to occupy her mind, in case His Majesty was busy with Court affairs.

Outside Mistle Hall, she encountered Bryony, descending the stone steps. Her sister was also dressed finely, as befitted her new role as lady-in-waiting. They agreed to walk together, and set off in the fresh air. Bryony was carrying some sheet music, and Vinca quizzed her about it.

“Do you intend to play for the Court?”

“Yes, the King wants music to entertain the visiting dignitaries from the Court of the Mountains. The Ambassador of Festivities heard tell that I play the harp, and she will give me the chance to perform, if my standard is high enough.”

“So you’re auditioning today?”

“Tomorrow.” Bryony looked excited. “I plan to practice today. Councillor Mapeed will show me a room where I won’t be disturbed.”

Vinca raised her magenta eyebrows warily. “Take care sister, she may have an agenda of her own.”

Bryony clasped Vinca’s hand briefly, and gave a conspiratorial squeeze; Court life was full of intrigue and assignations. Their walk continued in what seemed like companionable silence until the entrance to the faerie palace came into view, then Bryony spoke tentatively.

“Sister, I wonder, is there something between you and Mil — Lord Millville?”

When Vinca chose not to answer, only biting her lip and looking away, Bryony took hold of her bird-claw hands to draw their progress to a halt.

“I knew it,” she pronounced with bright eyes, a puppy on the trail of a new scent. “When? How long?” But her face clouded just as swiftly. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing.”

“It was terribly brief, Bryony,” Vinca breathed through her nose, struggling to hold back the tears already pricking, unwilling to wreck the make-up the sprite had applied. “But so sweet.

“Just before Millville was sent to Aquatora, we became lovers,” she continued, only the faintest tremble in her voice. “I had hoped we might marry when he returned. His uncle is highly ambitious for him, and perhaps I’m not high-born enough, but Millville is no pushover, and his heart seemed so true.” Her eyes shimmered.

“But Mother started scheming to marry us to noblemen,” Bryony interrupted, a ploy to let her sister gather her emotions.

“And the King spied me at that first ball: An unplucked bloom, another notch on his bedpost.” Vinca shook her head, face etched deep with misery.

“I have neither seen nor spoken to Millville since he returned, although my heart aches for him. But you’re right; the King would be furious, incandescent with jealousy if he knew my heart belonged to another …”

“You he might forgive,” Bryony wagged a finger as she counselled, “But there would be dire consequences for Lord Millville.”

Vinca sniffed and nodded her agreement, and they resumed walking.

[To be continued …]

© Jacinta Palmer 2026, written by a human and not AI

This story was originally featured on Medium, and is undergoing revisions. With grateful thanks to my tireless editor -

I aim to share a new chapter weekly, on Fridays, I hope you’ll come back for more

CW: Some chapters contain mature content

Chapter 4: Millville

The Aquatora state visit concluded the next day, without either side gaining satisfaction from the negotiations. The mermen on Neptune’s council remained aggressive and—to Millville’s mind—bull-headed, but Lord Grisling stood firm in his refusal to (literally) give ground regarding the sea folk’s desire to claim the two largest rivers that dissected the Coastal kingdom. Both Millville and Grisling sensed this was not the last they would hear of Neptune reaching out for more power.

However, the King of Aquatora’s request for Princess Talasska to be schooled, in her final years, at the faery Academy within the Coastal Court, was a boon they felt at liberty to grant. It was agreed that she should become King Bartok’s guest for the duration of her land-based !education.

Millville was happy that the princess got to realise her ambition. This did not restrain his surprise when she came to bid him goodbye, and graciously thanked him for his help.

“I assure you, Majesty, that I held no sway with the final decision.” His gold-flecked, green eyes almost flashed with sincerity.

“Nevertheless, you assisted in other ways,” she countered. “Your accounts of life at Court helped me to convince my King that the opportunity would broaden my horizons.” She smiled brightly. “It is set. I will join you in a month.”

She turned, leaving Millville to watch her fine garments swirl around her in the watery environment. He hoped having a beautiful, titled mermaid who considered herself in his debt wouldn’t rouse Vinca’s jealousy.

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He forgot that small wrinkle, and spent the entire return journey in a fog of happy memories, peppered with wild imaginings of a joyful reunion with his faerie love. Countless times his body was stirred to rock-hard anticipation by dreams in which he crushed Vinca in his embrace, and trailed kisses down her smooth skin before nipping the tender buds of her breasts. He could conjure up a million ways he would use his body to cancel out the emptiness he’d endured without her.

Passion flooded his veins, like molten lava, and he could barely wait to hear her cry out his name as they were reunited. He would strip off her cloak so they could tumble on the soft earth in their secret meeting place and he’d brand his body on hers, as her one true love: As if they could be fused into one entity and never cleaved apart.

Millville made himself a bargain; as soon as his diplomatic duty was complete, accompanying Lord Grisling and making a report to the King’s council, he would let nothing stop him being at Vinca’s side. They would saddle up and ride out to the coast, without delay. With the salty wind whipping through her damson locks, she would gaze at him with adoration, and entreat him to shower her with every drop of his love.

It was a great surprise then, once Millville and Grisling travelled under the enchanted hill, to find Vinca’s sister Bryony amongst the courtiers. He nearly rubbed his eyes, to see her sitting, occupied with delicate embroidery, alongside various ladies-in-waiting. Her up-swept lilac hair and elegant dress contrived to make her appear more mature than when he’d left. Confused and slightly puzzled, he planned to seek an explanation after his audience with the Royal Council.

The Council rooms were austerely furnished, yet splendid. A hanging tapestry depicted the sequence of faery monarchs who had held the throne before Bartok. Queens were more rare in the line of succession, but not unheard of. King Bartok’s mother, Queen Rubelle, had enjoyed a long and peaceful reign before her son proved his worth, and she had ceremoniously surrendered the reins of power.

On entering the room, Lord Grisling and Millville bowed low in the presence of the King. They took seats at the huge oak table, which dominated the space. Its edges and legs were ornately carved to depict acorns and leaves, while dormice, and many of the smallest woodland creatures, appeared to nestle in forked branches or peer out from the foliage, and while likenesses of hedgehogs and rabbits curled or burrowed amongst its root-like feet.

King Bartok’s air was regal, his slender body was almost overshadowed by the dimensions of his heavy oak chair which was adorned with two ornate crowns of horns, like a noble stag. He appeared animated when they recounted Neptune’s plans to flex his proverbial muscles by taking ownership of the kingdom’s two rivers. Bartok’s coal-dark eyes revealed his calculating nature, as he speculated on what Aquatora might have to gain.

His praise for Lord Grisling deflecting his rival’s aspirations to increase power seemed genuine. The King’s response to this new information was to assign his General to increase the vigilance of army spies, and to task the Lord Chamberlain with appointing a sub-committee dedicated to second-guessing and diverting King Neptune’s endgame.

But the King’s enthusiasm withered on the vine when he learned that Neptune wished to send his daughter and heir to join his Court while she attended the Academy, alongside his sons.

“Is she pretty?” he enquired: Turning from Lord Grisling, his gaze sought Millville’s surprised face. “A young man’s opinion,” he specified.

“She’s very beautiful, Sire,” Millville responded, “and blessed with a quick wit and a desire to learn.”

Bartok threw back his head and laughed. “Well played Neptune! He hopes she’ll snare the heart of a prince.” He winked at Millville and slapped a leather-clad thigh with mirth.

“But — I believe King Neptune has a suitor already in mind for Princess Talasska, Sire,” Millville ventured to update the King.

His endeavour made Grisling uncomfortable, and the elder statesman cleared his throat in warning, but Millville remained unperturbed.

“She told me her father plans for her to marry a creature from the oceanic domain.”

“Very well, young man. Mayhap her face is her fortune. I’ll wager her heart is as cold as the depths of the ocean. We should be watchful all the same. Tell me your name.”

The King’s dark eyes seemed to penetrate; Millville experienced a prickle of unease at the nape of his neck.

“Millville, Sire,” he answered.

“Lord Millville, henceforth,” King Bartok declared. “I reward those who serve me well.”

Millville was shocked at his sudden elevation of status, it almost stole his voice, but he managed to genuflect and stutter his thanks to the King.

The heavy door of the council room creaked open, and a small imp was admitted, dressed in the livery of a page. After bowing low, the imp was beckoned to draw nearer to the throne.

“If it pleases Your Majesty, Vinca is here,” his piping voice rang out.

At the mention of his beloved’s name, Millville’s heart leaped, to thud against his ribs like a caged animal. How had she heard he was home? Did she come to Court in the hopes of seeing him? His mind was awhirl with questions, and increasingly nonsensical solutions. Booming loudest of all was, why would the King need to be notified of Vinca’s arrival?

“Send her to my chambers.” King Bartok instructed the imp, with a twinkle in his eye. “See that Vinca is provided with food and drink, anything that she desires.”

The page bowed, keeping his head low until he had backed out of the room. Millville’s mind continued to bombard him with questions, yet his gut was filling with dread.

“Do you have anything further to report from Aquatora, Lord Grisling?” The King’s reedy voice had become a tad impatient.

The ambassador sensed his ruler’s attention slipping elsewhere, and demurred. The Council meeting was adjourned. Grisling commenced the task of gathering up his scrolls of parchment, and expected his underling to follow suit. But Millville could barely think. He felt dumbstruck and cut adrift. A chill of dread sliced through him as he rose unsteadily from his chair to bow as the King and his attendants left the council rooms.

Once in the corridor, Ambassador Grisling turned to congratulate his young companion on being elevated to lordly status. But to his astonishment, Lord Millville promptly abandoned him with the scrolls and hurried away.

Anxious lines formed on Millville’s brow as he retraced his earlier journey, not stopping until he reached the doorway to the morning room. It was still crowded with court ladies passing their time in genteel pursuits. He called Bryony’s name softly.

Vinca’s sister stood, setting down her embroidery frame, and moved towards him. When she drew closer, she offered a tentative smile and a deep curtsy. He was too agitated to observe the correct protocol. Instead he took Bryony by the wrist and hurried her along the hallway. He utilised a curtained alcove to ensure their conversation was unobserved, and their words remained private.

“Bryony, please tell me. Why is Vinca visiting King Bartok?”

It was a demonstration of the depth of his alarm, that Millville omitted to greet her, offer pleasantries or tiptoe around the issue. But he could barely think beyond the horror clawing up his throat and the iron band that tightened painfully around his heart.

“Vinca?” Bryony knitted her brows together, then a blush of pink dusted her high cheekbones. “Of course, you would not know.”

She lowered her gaze to the inlaid floor. When she lifted it, to survey the face she had known since childhood, she appeared chagrined , but she gave her answer softly.

“Vinca is the King’s mistress. She is called to his side whenever he desires company.”

To be continued

© Jacinta Palmer 2026, written by a human and not AI

The previous chapter:

Vinca

After Millville left on his diplomatic mission, Vinca felt alone, in a way she had never previously experienced. She went about her daily routines: Lessons, practical magic, and daily interactions with her sisters, but she was starving for his company. He was never out of her thoughts.

Each time she ate, she wondered if Millville was hungry, or how strange the food was in Aquatora. Wherever she walked or rode, she considered how far from her he might be. As she removed her clothes before climbing into bed, she admired her soft flesh, remembering the places and ways he had touched her, and sent wishes into the universe that Millville was comfortable and safe. She tried to manifest that he would return to her soon, to stroke her skin and rain kisses over her face as he had before.

But she was unhappy and too afraid of shaping her worries into thoughts. No matter that she denied them, they spread insidiously, like mould: Would she ever hold him in her arms again?

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It was at this time that Vinca’s mother decided to present her two eldest daughters at Court. They were comely and refined, each girl sufficiently high-born to hold the role of lady-in-waiting, or to catch the attention of a prospective husband. Neither option held a speck of appeal to Vinca, whose heart had already been freely given elsewhere, but she couldn’t speak of that. She was trapped by convention. As the daughter in a noble faery family, there were responsibilities she couldn’t avoid. So she stayed silent, but pained, as she and Bryony were measured and assessed by a spider-bodied seamstress, before new, elegant gowns were sewn and slippers made, ready for the girls to attend their first ball.

The sisters looked quite alike, Bryony having birdlike, claw feet, while Vinca had inherited the claw-feature in her hands. Standing side by side, wearing the same style of dress, but made in different deeply-hued fabrics, they appeared as stunning, elegant bookends. After they’d travelled under the hill and were presented to the king, they drew admiration and appraising glances from many male courtiers at the ball.

Music was playing, a tune to which all manner of faery creatures were spinning and stepping in time. The sisters moved to the edge of the room to try and take in the glut of finery and largesse: The jewels and jealousy, the laughter and lies that surrounded them like cloying smoke. Watching their elders and betters cavort and caper with giddy delight, how could they hope to remain unaffected? When a rich widower approached to entreat Bryony to dance, Vinca was left alone, sipping cautiously at a goblet of rosehip wine.

“Would you care to take a turn on the dance floor?” a reedy voice broke into her thoughts.

Vinca looked up and was more than startled to see it was the King who stood before her. His hands were encrusted with many jewelled rings, but the crown he’d selected for an evening of dancing was simple, a wreath of golden oak leaves that rested lightly on his head.

She tried not to tremble as she curtsied low, fully aware she could not refuse. Terror almost overwhelmed her. Was everyone watching? She dared not contemplate the repercussions of treading on the curled toes of His Majesty’s shoes. Her heart beat wildly when he took her clawed hand in his bejewelled one, gallantly leading her to the dance floor.

With their King in the melee, the musicians redoubled their efforts to pluck and strum the notes of a popular ballad, while Vinca pulled up her lips in what she hoped was a smile, stepping towards the king to perform the steps of a circle dance.

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Ever After, Never Together: Chapter 3

Millville

He stared morosely into the leaping flames of the fire. As a child, he’d been able to see pictures in the bright, dancing oranges and yellows of firelight. But now the power had deserted him. He yearned to conjure an image of Vinca, his beloved, because he missed her so badly. The burning logs were a disappointment, offering nothing more than warmth, although the constant movement proved mesmeric.

He allowed his mind to drift and experienced a little joy from reliving snatches of treasured memories: Vinca’s claret hair as it tumbled around her bare shoulders, the slide of her slender legs entangled with his, and the unfettered heat, and soft cries, of her passion when she moved under him. It was both torture and salve to recall how she sighed and moaned as he drove her to pleasure, and the incandescent sensations they had enjoyed whenever he spread his cloak beneath them to make love.

The fire popped, and bright sparks leaped towards the night sky, shattering Millville’s dearest reminiscences. He tried to ignore his empty belly and his aching body. Sleeping on hard ground after a day’s brisk riding was tough, even for a young man such as he was. His eyes moved to the form of Grisling, his mentor. The gruff elf was the ambassador for the Coastal Court. As Millville wriggled and tugged at his blanket, he had pause to wonder how stiffly his elder would move when he awoke the next morning.

He used the long, silent hours on guard duty to ponder whether their recent visit to Aquatora would be considered a success at Court. They had been received with grandeur and restrained hospitality, but they had not struck a deal.

It had surprised him, but he’d found his time under the ocean oppressive. To survive, every air-breathing visitor must swallow a concoction of ground aquatic plants, which initiated the formation of an opaque sac to cover their nose and mouth. This sac acted as a filter, processing the surrounding water into breathable air. So long as the visitor ate the ground seaweed concoction each day, the sac remained intact. Nevertheless, Millville had found being surrounded by water weighed on his spirits.

Millville was an air faery, and he missed the lightness of his element. He quickly learned that his body required sunlight to feel whole and rejuvenate; spending time under the weight of seawater drained him. But he was there for a purpose, to be privy to the talks Grisling held with King Neptune. Unfortunately, their negotiations had swiftly manoeuvred both sides into a position of stalemate. The Coastal King had no intention of giving Neptune the boon he sought, and Neptune was unwilling to pledge his fealty without it.

Despite the lack of clear progress, the folk of the under-sea hosted a banquet; feasting and dancing was arranged to honour their land-loving guests. With his youth and good looks, Millville proved popular. A raft of mermaids were eager to dance with him, crowding around and hanging on his every word. They quizzed him about the ways of land, in particular, seeking details of the jewels and fashions worn by the ladies of the Coastal Court.

As he shared his knowledge, Millville came to realise, nothing of that nature impressed him as much as Vinca’s sweet face and her uncomplicated way of behaving.

The crowd of mermaids and selkies drinking and dancing parted as Princess Talasska, Neptune’s eldest daughter, approached. The princess had found several opportunities during his visit to take Millville aside. She usually wished to discuss life at the Coastal Court and the schooling he’d had at the academy. It was not her way to flutter her eyelashes or fish for compliments, as the lesser mermaids might. Princess Talasska was bright and her ambition twinned with intelligence.

“I desire to leave Aquatora and visit other courts. If I am to be a successful ruler I need to learn the ways and cultures of many magical folk,” she had told him once she had his confidence. “It will prepare me to be a queen.”

Tonight there was urgency in her bearing, she lifted her chin with determination. “My father intends that I should marry a creature from the ocean’s domain, making a merger of power. If that is my destiny, I’m determined to experience the wider world, to educate myself first.”

The upper part of the costume Talasska wore was made entirely of pearls set into a mesh. They seemed to glow faintly against her skin, enhancing her ethereal beauty. But most of all, Millville was struck by the fierce light in her eyes.

Her words made him realise, his determination to follow his dreams needed ferocity that was equal to Talasska’s. To claim Vinca for his wife, he would need to fight to pick that path. His Uncle Tooke was already pulling strings and making plans that affected his career and connections. He could only imagine how pronouncing his love for Vinca would be received. Her family was not as high-born, and Uncle Tooke did nothing to disguise his aspirations for Millville to climb higher. He likely intended to arrange an advantageous pairing for his nephew.

“Pardon the interruption, but Lord Grisling is looking for you.”

The courtier who delivered this message to Millville had convex liquid eyes, and gills that flared like trumpets either side of his neck. Task complete, he turned away from them, executing a neat bow.

“Please excuse me, Princess,” Millville respectfully made a leg to Talasska, before going in search of his mentor.

“My dear Millville,” Grisling greeted him.

The ambassador wore a grey embroidered doublet that fitted a little too snugly. “I entreat you, do not incur King Neptune’s wrath by talking in dark corners with his eldest daughter.”

Lord Grisling’s expression was grave; as sour as always. Yet, Millville was shocked at this interpretation of his actions, and rendered speechless.

“Events such as these are hotbeds for gossip, and we are watched closely.”

As the ambassador spoke, he turned to survey the dancers that crowded the polished stone floor, some danced on two legs, others shimmied with tails.

“Take a turn with one of the ladies-in-waiting,” he instructed before moving away to strike-up conversation with a group of influential mermen, dressed in coral-encrusted robes.

That slight on Millville’s integrity stung, but he did his duty, ensuring he danced and talked with a variety of younger mermaid courtiers and did not encounter the princess again. By the time the banquet drew to its close, it was debatable which was throbbing more, his feet or his head.

To be continued

© Jacinta Palmer 2026, written by a human and not AI

This story was originally featured on Medium, and is undergoing revisions. With grateful thanks to my tireless editor - Eidahs

I aim to share a new chapter weekly, on Fridays, I hope you’ll come back for more

Vinca

Unpinning her hair in front of the mirror, Vinca examined her face for tell-tale signs. But her milk-white cheeks bore no hint of a flush. She stared harder, maybe there was a slight twinkle in her eyes, but surely nothing her mother or sisters would notice. She touched one of her bird claws hands against her plump lower lip, allowing herself the indulgence of remembering Millville’s warm mouth pressed against hers.

He’d been gentle at the outset, but Vinca had responded eagerly to his kiss. His fervour had increased and he’d clasped her to him, with one hand cupping the back of her head to bring her closer. Her excitement had spiralled, like smoke up a chimney. They had moaned, their breaths mingling as their tongues slid against each other. It felt peculiar, but thrilling and she wanted to lose herself in the heady elation of his wild caresses.

One moment they had been walking, the dappled gold of sunlight flickering against her skin as their progress took them through the trees, the next Millville had grasped her hand and pulled her close. He looked at her in a way that sparked something within, an understanding of a question he had not spoken, yet she’d leaned towards him to demonstrate her answer was ‘yes’.

Just a handful of stolen kisses, that’s all it had taken. Now her outlook on the world was changed, every thought and idea seemed overshadowed and re-shaped by her passion for Millville and the confounding discovery that he burned for her. With her emotions awoken, Vinca felt flushed and dizzy.

When she’d walked away from Millville, branded with his love, she’d been sure anyone who saw her would guess what had transpired.

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A bell sounded downstairs, and Vinca startled. Food was being set out for her family to dine; the unruly clatter of her sisters’ feet on the stairs reinforced the message. She double-checked her clothes for tell-tale moss stains or clinging leaves. Once satisfied that her appearance was that of a normal faery teenager, despite feeling quite the opposite, Vinca joined her mother and sisters at the table.

“How were lessons?” her mother asked.

Vinca’s youngest sister, Gayenne, launched into a discussion of what she’d learned about the lunar cycle.

Vinca ate only a few bites of food. She felt oddly stripped of hunger, putting that down to the swarm of butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach. Her older sister was similarly quiet, asking only for water to be passed down the table. Vinca scrutinised Bryony’s face, hoping her clandestine romance was not suspected.

Bryony felt herself watched, and turned her face to quirk one lilac eyebrow. Silently asking, “What?”

Vinca minutely shook her head. Bryony got the message, dropping her gaze to her plate to continue eating. Vinca hoped this exchange did not mean her older sibling’s suspicions were alerted. Gayenne, having exhausted lunar cycles, was now quizzing their mother about the planned celebrations for the next full moon.

“May I leave the table?” Vinca blurted, bringing that conversation to a halt.

“Of course child,” her mother dabbed at thin lips with a napkin, “but you’ve barely touched your food.”

“I’ve had all I need,” Vinca replied, already pushing away from the table.

She felt Bryony’s curious eyes watching as she climbed the stairs.

Back in her bedchamber, two house brownies were at work. One tidied her hair brushes and hung up her dresses while the other sat cross-legged on the floor, darning holes in her stockings.

“I’d like to be alone,” Vinca announced.

The elves responded instantly, slightly reproachful at being unable to complete their tasks.

Vinca pulled a chair close to the window, rested her forehead against the glass, then let her eyes settle, unfocused on the middle distance. A maelstrom of thoughts swirled in her consciousness, emotions and moral questions, stirred up by recent events, crowded to be given consideration.

She had known Millville for many years. They had grown up together and still shared some lessons, although he was more frequently undertaking military training nowadays. He had always been courteous and considerate, and in the past had taken on the mantle of her protector when Bryony got spiteful, or his brothers played too roughly.

They shared a love of horses and frequently rode out together, through the surrounding woodland, sometimes galloping wild races that took them as far as the coast. Once at the sea’s edge, the pair would let the horses have their heads. Running through the salt-water shallows is good for horses’ muscles, but also exhilarating for the young faeries riding them.

On horseback, Vinca liked to unfasten her hair, letting her long beetroot locks trail behind her like a flag. The seaspray often shaped Millville’s red-gold hair into damp curls against his temples. On recent rides, Vinca had sensed they were balancing on the edge of something indefinable as their connection expanded and grew. Still, Millville’s kiss had taken her by surprise.

Millville was from a non-magical, courtly family: Raised with the certainty that he was destined for great things. The magic Vinca and her mother could conjure tended to make other fae folk suspicious, this kept her family on the edges of court society.

Vinca’s breath had fogged up the glass, but she noticed movement in her peripheral vision. Someone was waiting on the grass outside her home. She moved her head to a clear part of the pane: It was Millville, beckoning for her to join him. She pulled boots from under her bed, grabbed her cloak from a hook, and tiptoed downstairs, carefully avoiding those treads which squeaked. Once safely outside the door, she pulled on her boots, but fumbled to tie their laces, before she could hurry to Millville’s side.

“My horse is by the stables, can you join me for a ride?” His voice was deep, his expression eager.

Vinca barely needed to nod, before he grabbed her hand to run.
He had already instructed the toad who worked in the stables to saddle her grey mare, and in no time Vinca was on its back, and they were cantering away. Excitement tightened her throat. She thrilled to be free, watching trees and hedgerows speed past. Her horse’s mane tickled her birdclaw hands and the warmth of its flanks seeped through the long gown she wore.

“Where are we going?” she called.

Millville only laughed. “Does it matter?”

She supposed it didn’t. He wanted to be alone with her, and she desired the same. Yet, when they reached a glade of trees on the edge of a meadow, she became tentative and shy. They dismounted, tethering their horses in a cloying silence. But when Vinca turned to him, the fire behind his eyes scorched away her nerves. In its place, she experienced a heady brand of power from knowing she evoked his admiration and desire. Plus, this was a meeting of minds and hearts, the attraction had become a tide too strong for her to swim against.

This time, their frantic kisses led to touches, hands and mouths eagerly exploring each other’s skin, hungry to familiarise themselves with their bodies. They quickly shed their clothes so they could slide together. Millville’s caresses were gentle but assured, licking like hot flames over her sensitive skin. She hummed with anticipation and leaned into him. Despite her naivety, it seemed her body knew the steps to this dance if she let Millville take the lead. As their passion built, her caution diminished. Vinca surrendered to her needs, the incandescent craving for connection: Seeking deeper, more intimate contact, until finally they clung together, fused as one. At that moment, she thought her heart would burst.

When their bodies had stopped moving and their breathing was more steady, Millville lovingly surveyed her face, brushing a tear from her lashes with concern.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you?” he tilted Vinca’s chin to gaze into her eyes.

“No,” she shook her head, “not after the first …” She trailed off, worried it was unladylike to discuss such intimate things. “It was thrilling. Was it good for you?”

Uncertainty dragged at her, threatening to leech the pleasure from what had transpired. Questions clamoured: Had she responded as she should, was he satisfied?

“It was everything! I’ve dreamed of claiming you for so long,” Millville sighed deeply.

Vinca sagged with relief. She would have preferred to stay silent, savour the little aftershocks with her head buried safely against his neck, but he still held her chin, forcing her to make eye contact. She regarded the sunburst of gold that ringed his pupils and the slight smile that bent his lips upwards.

“You never said,” she whispered.

“I didn’t dare.” His thumb stroked the back of her wrist. “Plus, you know my Uncle’s views about family and honour. He would scorn the idea of a love match.” He pressed a kiss to her bruised lips. “But I have received my first commission, and I couldn’t leave without showing you how I felt.”

Leaving? Fear clutched Vinca, dread trailed icy fingers down her spine.

“Must you go away? Will you have to fight?”

“Yes, and no,” Millville gently wound a lock of her burgundy hair around his fingers. “It’s a diplomatic exercise to strengthen our alliance with Aquatora.”

Vinca shuddered. She had a long-standing distrust of the Aquatoreans, folk from under the sea, but she didn’t share this with Millville. His response was to draw her cloak over them and hold her slender body closer. Whispering sweet nothings, he nuzzled her neck and cupped her breasts. His thumbs trailed over her nipples, awaking more tingles and sensations within. His touches sparked to her core, driving mundane worries to the back of her mind.

But on the day Millville had to leave, they met in what had become their secret spot. Vinca handed him a talisman. She’d crafted it from a disc of polished stone and a bead of coral. Both were threaded onto a leather thong. She’d consulted her family grimoire and enchanted the talisman with a protection charm and a spell to bring him safely home.

Despite this, she clung to him, tears wetting her cheeks as they kissed and bid each other goodbye.

“Take care, hurry home, don’t be a hero,” she begged him, her mind filled with a dread she dared not voice.

To be continued

© Jacinta Palmer 2026, written by a human and not AI

This story was originally featured on Medium, and is undergoing revisions. With grateful thanks to my tireless editor - Eidahs

I aim to share a new chapter weekly, on Fridays, I hope you’ll come back for more