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In the lands of Nafir, there was nobody who’s beauty matched that of King Francis. Rumors as to why this was always flew around faster than a pixie’s flitting wings, theories and conspiracies exchanged like currency.
“I heard he has elvish blood.”
“Well, I heard he was blessed by the fairy queen herself when he was born.”
“You’re both wrong. He sold his soul to the bog witch for eternal beauty and life.”
When he went out, Francis always dodged these questions with grace and charisma, able to switch the conversation topic so smoothly that the other person would always forget they even asked the question until long after the king was gone.
His court often gossiped about him, he could be a bit overdramatic when reacting to small problems, but they were resolved eventually. While he sometimes threw fits when he did not get his way, Francis was good at negotiating between others once he cooled down.
With such a charismatic ruler, it was no wonder that he was well loved. When the news came that he fell ill in the dead of winter, the entire kingdom was wrought with despair. Doctors from everywhere, even the elves at the edges of the borders, came to try to cure the beloved ruler as quickly as possible. Treatments of all sorts were tried, from mixtures of normal garden herbs to tree bark to ground up insects (Francis was thankful he had enough strength left to vehemently deny this treatment).
Despite everyone’s best efforts, Francis’ condition worsened, until he could only shuffle around in the rare event he was able to get out of bed. The people were starting to lose hope, until whispers started to pass around, repeated more and more until it was nearly a roar: deep in the heart of the forest, an ancient dryad lived. On his tree grew fruit that could cure any ailment, but the dryad was extremely protective over it and required a high price for it. If insufficient payment was given, it resulted in death. Desperate for a cure, a group of guards set out with carts of gold and jewels for this forest. It was estimated to be a two day trip to the heart of the forest where this dryad supposedly lived. After almost a week passed, it was determined that their gifts must not have been enough.
As they were packing up double the amount of carts with everything valuable they could collect from the palace (much to Francis’ chagrin), the group came riding up, intact with every coin and gem trailing behind them.
“What have you taken so long for? The king does not have much time left!” the captain snapped as the leader of the group rode up.
“The— The dryad used magic to make us get lost in the forest on our way back,” the leader stammered, murmurs of agreement coming from the rest of the guards. “He says he will not take any gold or jewels, he wishes for the king himself to meet him and negotiate a price to save his life.”
“The king cannot possibly make such a journey!”
“He will not survive if he does not try!”
The captain heaved a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his sharp nose. “Very well. I will speak to him.”
“I’ll do it.”
The captain looked at his king wide-eyed. “Your majesty, pardon me for speaking out, but surely it would be too dangerous!”
“I cannot live like this any longer,” Francis lamented, hacking out a rattling cough that made the captain shudder before continuing, “Being in bed all day is grand only when I am well enough to enjoy it. Prepare the carriage, I will meet this dryad.”
The captain hesitated, looking upon the pallid face of his king. Francis’ hazy eyes had dark, deep bags under them, his cheeks were sunken, making his cheekbones stuck out even sharper than usual, and his once soft and golden locks of hair were matted and strands stuck to his sweat-soaked forehead and neck. The many plush bedsheets did nothing to hide how thin and frail Francis had become. The captain swallowed nervously, but gave a deep bow anyways.
“I…will prepare everything,” he reluctantly agreed, turning sharply to leave.
The palace was in a flurry to make sure the carriage was made as comfortable as possible for the transport of the ill king. A mage was even hired to keep the inside of the carriage warm or cool enough for the king. The guards from the first group were assigned to travel with them, to lead them straight through the forest to the dryad without wasting any time.
The two day journey was clearly rough on Francis. No matter how much they tried to keep the carriage ride smooth, Francis was tossed about in his makeshift bed in the cramped carriage every time the carriage went over the smallest of bumps. By the second day, he couldn’t even lift his hand to cough into it. The entire group was thankful when they reached the forest, even though it meant they had to go slower now to avoid tripping over stray roots or running into fallen logs.
After only a few minutes into the forest, the temperature dropped significantly as the din of the forest stopped, and the mage’s head snapped up. The mage opened the window of the carriage.
“Be wary, I can feel the dryad’s magic on us,” he called out, though his words sounded hazy and distant. The darkness was nearly choking as it descended upon them, and despite the mage’s best efforts to keep an orb of light around them to keep the path lit, the darkness wrapped around them like ink and choked it out. Francis couldn’t even see his hand in front of him, he couldn’t even feel the plush pillows underneath his weakened body anymore. It felt like he was floating, and the darkness even felt like it choked the thin breath out of him.
“Keep…only…sion!”
He couldn’t tell where the words were coming from. He couldn’t even recognize the voice. As if pulled by a hook in his chest, Francis’ body was tossed and he rolled over the ground for several seconds before coming to a stop on his back. He blinked several times, squinting at the harsh sunlight that shone through the leaves. It took him several moments to register the figure looming over him, peering at him with glowing green eyes alight with curiosity.
“W…Who…” Francis mumbled out, barely able to keep his eyes open. He was exhausted after…whatever that was. He wished he could take a nap.
The figure tsked and shook his head, deep brown curls swaying with the movement. “You really are in bad shape, huh?” he asked. Francis let his eyes drift shut. Somehow, that voice brought a new sense of calm to him.
“Help,” he rasped out. The figure gave a small hum. The calm brought on a moment before turned into panic as Francis heard the stranger walking off. No, he couldn’t die here. He tried to muster up the strength to lift himself up, but only managed to push himself up an inch with a shaking arm before he fell back onto the soft grass.
“Hey, hey. Relax, take it easy. You’ll be okay.”
Francis doubted that. He was going to die, no doubt about it. He was going to leave a kingdom in turmoil, with no legitimate heir for his throne. He couldn’t even speak and ask for this stranger’s name, to know who he was sharing his last moments with. Perhaps he was already dead, and this was an angel talking to him. That would explain why he was so calming and handsome.
He barely noticed himself being lifted up by strong, broad arms.
“Jeez, you weigh almost nothing. Did you really wait until the last minute?”
Did he have a choice? It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried everything, from everyone. Everyone aside from the dryad, that was. He was laid on something soft, and he felt several thin vines wrap delicately around his arms and chest. He felt a calm that echoed down into his soul. He couldn’t keep track of time. It felt like he was floating once more, in between a dream and being awake. He barely registered the warmth around the vines that seeped into his bones.
“You’re still awake? You can sleep ya know.”
Sleep? That sounded nice. It had been so long since he had a decent rest. No, he had to stay awake didn’t he? If he fell asleep, he would die. Oh, but he felt so tired, and it had surely been months since he felt this comfortable. Strong, gentle fingers stroked through his hair, nudging him the rest of the way into a deep sleep.
The first thing Francis noted when he woke up was how disgusting he felt. He was acutely aware of how sticky he was with sweat, and how horrid he smelled. However, his eyes flew open at the realization. He could smell, he could breathe. The sky above him was dark, tinged blue with the last vestiges of the sunset.
“Ah! You’re awake!” a voice came. Francis frowned. That voice sounded so familiar, but where was it coming from? He lifted himself up just in time to see a man stride out of the bark of the tree in front of him as if it was nothing more than water. Francis felt his heart catch in his throat. So this was the fierce, ruthless dryad. Who…was completely naked and beaming at him with delight. Francis had to take a moment to regain his bearings as he sat up and took in the stranger. Tanned skin with strong curves of muscle underneath, and glowing green eyes that looked at him curiously. A mop of brown curls sat upon his head, with twigs and broad leaves twisted into a crown to rest upon them. For being an ancient dryad, he looked incredibly youthful.
“You…You are the ancient dryad with fruit that can cure all, correct?” Francis asked. “Did you save my life?”
“Huh? Ah, yeah, my name is Antonio,” the dryad laughed. “You were close! But it wasn’t my fruit that helped you. The fruit doesn’t do anything, just me.” He reached up and plucked an orange off of the low boughs. He peeled it with surprising deftness and held it out to Francis. “See? Jus’ a regular orange. Here, have it.”
Francis realized at once how hungry he was, and took the peeled orange to eat, too hungry to care about being dignified in front of Antonio. Considering how lacking Antonio was of clothing, Francis didn’t think he cared much either.
Antonio sat next to him while he ate, and waited until he finished to speak again. “So…you are this King Francis I heard about from those guards last week?” he asked.
Francis took a deep breath and let it out before giving a solemn nod. “Yes, and I thank you greatly for helping me. Anything you would like as payment, I will give it to you. Please do not kill me or any of my men, I will give you anything you consider sufficient.”
“Kill?” Antonio repeated, then laughed. “No, no. I don’t do that anymore.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, yeah. I didn’t like getting bothered so much for the smallest of ailments. But then it got pretty lonely, ya know?” Antonio’s green eyes seemed to almost glow brighter as he perked up and grinned at Francis. “Hey, it’s not lonely in the city right?”
“Of course not, there’s citizens of all sorts of—”
“Then marry me and let me come with you! That will be the payment for me saving your life.”
Francis stared at him, stunned. What could he say? While it would certainly be something else to be able to claim an ancient, very handsome dryad that could heal anything as his husband, would it be right? “Why?”
“Why not? I’ve always been curious about what it’s like to live with humans all the time.”
Francis hesitated, thinking it over for several seconds. He glanced him up and down one more time. He seemed sincere enough, and he had his guard—
He stopped at the realization. “My escorts. What did you do with them?”
“Who? Oh, the people with you! They’re alright, I kept them in limbo while I helped you so that they didn’t try to interfere.”
“You what?!” Francis cried, flinching back.
“They’re okay! They’re okay! Look!” Antonio’s hands and eyes glowed for a moment before confused, panicked shouts were heard in the distance. The dryad settled again and looked at him with an expectant grin. “So?”
Francis couldn’t help but admire how cute he was, even though he was an ancient and powerful nature spirit that held his life in his hands. Yet he didn’t feel any fear. Quite the opposite, in fact. Antonio’s presence and voice was incredibly comforting.
“I would be honored to call you my husband, Antonio.”