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It starts when an embroidered gold dusted leaf is stuck to his door. Not even his house door. His bedroom door. What the fuck.
It's an invitation with elegant handwriting. The words shift between Brezhoneg, English, and different versions of Gaelic. A fae enchanted invitation. The letter says the Winter Queen is holding a celebration for the changing of the seasons. He didn't think he'd caught her attention enough to get an invitation. More likely, a minor noble ensured he'd be on the guest list due to the commissions he'd done. He's a noted craftsman.
He foolishly considers not going but a shiver runs down his spine. It would be rude of him to ignore a handcrafted invitation to the Winter Queen's home. How many mortals can say they were invited to the fae realm and promised no harm? Promised to be returned at the right time with the right body and mind? The answer is none that he's met, and he's met many.
He spends the next few days tidying up one of his spare suits. He doesn't want to look too extravagant, wouldn't want to offend anyone, but he doesn't want to look underdressed. It's a nice suit, one made to fit his wings. There are even little cloth sleeves to slip onto his wings. They're not enough to stop him from flying or emoting, only really going to be on the closest part of the wings to his spine. They're made to be comfortable; he wouldn't have kept them if they weren't.
With his attire mostly out of the way, he can do last-minute adjustments later, he focuses on the gift he will be presenting to the Winter Court. The invitation was clear that should he attend, an offering would be needed. Just so the magic of the Court doesn't affect him. Honestly, it's typical fae jargon. He's done it before when particularly picky fae have wanted him to make something in the fae realm. He never bothered for an explanation into why since it didn't seem like his business. He's reckless, not stupid.
-
Things go smoothly. His suit fits nicely, his gift is finished and as pristine as possible. He strides into the nearest fae circle and is greeted by the sight of a tall fairy standing guard. The fairy holds a paw out and Phil quickly hands over the invitation. The fairy reads over the words and then its eyes shimmer, verifying he is the avian the invitation is attached to. The fairy nods and tucks the invitation into Phil's chest pocket. There's a small moment of silence. The fairy raises an eye ridge.
"Oh! The invitation didn't say where I should bring my gift! Apologies mate, here!" He holds the carefully crafted offering out and the fairy nods with an amused snort. It plucks it from his grasp, and he smiles up at the fairy. It motions him on with a wave of its arm and he waves as he speedwalks by.
He nearly trips when he first sees the Winter Queen's dwelling. It's beyond words. He doesn't know how to describe it as anything other than beautiful. With a quick shake of his head, he continues on to the noise of merriment and music. Fae parties normally start a bit earlier than when non-fae arrive. Just to give the fae attending the chance to get all of their energy out.
With a deep breath, he enters the wide-open area where multiple beings dance and chatter away. He spots some dragons lingering near the lit braziers, scales mesmerizing under the firelight. There's even an anteater standing on its hind legs in a little dress. He knows her, he realizes with a jolt. That's the anteater he made a dress for! The dress she's currently wearing! A red flush heats his face and he smiles and walks away from the entranceway.
-
Phil is standing with some of the dragons. They're quite good company, contrary to human belief. Not that he's human.
"Your feathers are very pristine, good sir," Kilaren, a dusty green drake, comments. Phil blushes, his wings puffing. Kilaren laughs heartily and he laughs along with her. Avians and dragons get along well. The only thing separating them is that avians have feathers and dragons have membranes.
"And your scales are positively shimmering, dear lady," he replies, voice smooth as he winks at her. Kilaren's brother, Kildrat, slaps him on the back while guffawing. Phil smiles into his wine glass, taking a sip of the fae wine. It's been un-enchanted so he won't be cursed to only be satiated by fae food. He may be a little tipsy. Fae don't balk when it comes to good alcohol.
"Careful there friend or she'll swoop you up for her nest! Her wife won't be very happy at a new addition without vetting you first!" Kildrat shouts, taking a swig of fae mead. Ahh, the tender courtship rituals of the avians and dragons. His mother never missed a chance to regale him with how she stole his father away from a rival with her colorful feathers and strong grip.
"Well, I wouldn't object to becoming the husband of such a beautiful gem! I could shower you with all the prettiest pieces in my personal collection," he whispers, leaning down to gently kiss Kilaren's hand. She wacks him on the head as soon as he's upright again and they devolve into gut-wrenching laughter. Phil spills his wine a little, a few drops staining his shirt, but he pays little mind to it. Kildrat hands him another glass and he happily takes it.
There's a few seconds of silence. Phil enjoys the quiet reprieve. He's glad he decided to take the fae up on their invitation. (Not that he could refuse it but shhhh.)
"Say, Phillip," Kildrat starts. Phil hums in acknowledgment while taking a sip of wine.
"Why don't you put this on and go mingle with the other guests? Who knows, maybe another avian is here and will fight one of the other drakes off for your hand in marriage?" Kildrat holds up a braided circlet of twine and twigs. There are a few blossoms here and there and it's obvious the plants are still living due to fae magic.
Phil shrugs and happily places the circlet on his head. It's lopsided but he doesn't mind. It's very unlikely another avian is here and he doubts he's handsome enough to tempt a drake away from their lair. He doesn't even bother considering a fae stealing him away. Fae don't go for mortals when it comes to romance.
Kilaren chuckles and pushes him forward in the direction of the dance floor. He laughs and waves as he takes the hint. Dragons! So intent on matchmaking!
He downs the rest of his wine glass and hands it off politely to a passing nymph server who gives him an appraising look. Nymphs can be known to take the occasional mortal for a lover but it's rare. The server passes him by without a word. He figured.
"Excuse me, may I have a dance?" he asks a handsome fae on the edge of the dance floor. The fae smiles without teeth and holds out a dainty hand. He smiles, teeth on full display, and takes their hand in his and leads them further into the dance floor. He knows this dance. The fae is content to let him lead, an amused light in their eyes as they take in his wine-flushed face and twig circlet. He twirls the fae around, dipping them effortlessly and then switching to let them lead. His wings dance with him, moving gracefully as he steps and turns. It's so rare he finds a dance partner knowledgeable enough of wing mannerisms to effortlessly blend into a dance with him.
"I would be careful of who you gain the attention of," the fae whispers in his ear before slipping away. He giggles breathlessly and turns to find another dance partner. He doesn't pay much attention to the fae's warning. It's not like a fae will want him for a lover. He's too prone to a little thing called death for a fae to take him as theirs.
Someone taps at his shoulder, and he turns to look at the owner. It's another fae. Odd.
"May I have a dance with you, fine avian?" the fae asks, and oh is her voice heavenly. He practically melts at just the few words spoken. He nods and lets her pull him into another dance. He's unfamiliar with it so he lets her lead.
"It's unusual to see an avian at one of these celebrations," the fae remarks. Phil nods, letting his wings flutter with the rhythm of the dance.
"Normally we do not get invited to them, and it would be terribly impolite to show up uninvited! Most avians aren't like our reptilian cousins, we do not like to tempt things stronger and wilder than us."
The fae laughs quietly.
"That is true! Avians carry the good sense dragons lack! Such a shame though, you are quite an enchanting species."
Phil smiles indulgently as the fae twists him and guides him back to the dance smoothly.
"Not as enchanting as yours my dear lady. I personally think the fae to be quite an amusing species. Many of my clients are fae who employ me for my crafts. They always insist on overpaying me! Imagine that an avian craftsman being overpaid by the fae! It sounds like the beginning of a joke, doesn't it?"
The fae laughs again and he tucks his wings close before flaring them when she pulls him close.
"I've seen examples of your craft, gentleman avian! If anything, you are undercharging them!" The fae leans against him and he pulls her hand up to lips and presses them gently to her knuckles. The fae turns a little redder and his wine-drunk brain makes the smart decision to pull away with a grin.
"Is that so? Why don't you prove me wrong? Catch me, gem of the night, and I will gladly admit that you were right!" Phil doesn't wait for an answer, already knowing the fae is going to accept his challenge. They love challenges like this.
He glides through the dance floor, guests parting in front of him. He grins, perhaps a little stupidly but oh well. Once he's clear of the dance floor he shoots around a pillar and digs his talons gently into the soft bark. He's not the best climber but he can make do. It will give him a vantage point and it will be fine. If the Winter Queen didn't want some mild damage to her banquet hall she wouldn't have thrown a celebration.
He perches on a branch near the ceiling. He looks out over the room, searching for his fae. She's looking him straight in the eye, still standing where he left her. There's a grin on her face and something in her eyes that make the feral little vulture in his brain perk up. He can feel his pupils narrow to slits as he watches hers do the same.
There's a rowdy caw from the feral vulture in his brain.
He jumps from the branch, throwing his hands out and grabbing onto the string of small lights. He swings from the rope and then he flings himself up onto it. It's a balancing act, but even in his inebriated state, he can handle some basic balancing.
He ducks under a hand and slides down to hang from his knees on the string. His fae is gripping onto the ceiling above him, hand outstretched. There's a feral smile on her face and he replies with his own.
He straightens his legs and flares his wings, letting the air guide him back to the floor.
He cackles as he leads his fae on a hell of a chase. There's dodging, ducking, hiding, running, jukes, last-minute feints, everything!
But alas, all good things must come to an end.
He pants, the fae sitting on his chest and holding his arms above his head. His twig crown is nearly completely knocked off his head but he cares little for it. The fae is giving him a blindingly mischievous smile. She leans closer to his face and his face heats rapidly.
"You owe me that statement, kind sir," the fae whispers into his ear, her breath ticklish against his delicate skin. He giggles on instinct.
"Of course, a deal is a deal. You were right that I was undercharging."
The fae smiles with all of her teeth.
She slides onto the floor next to him, careful of his spread-out wings.
"I enjoyed our little game. May I have your name so I may stop calling you trickster avian?"
Phil huffs and turns onto his side, leaning his elbow against the ground to prop his head.
"You may not have my name, but you may call me Phillip. I may be drunk my lady but even I know to keep aware of your sharp tongues!"
"Well in that case you may call me Trixtin," the fae replies. Phil smiles and shuffles onto his back. He stares at the ceiling.
"I enjoyed your company Trixtin. I will miss it when I return to my home after tonight."
Trixtin laughs and he looks at her, confused.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing Phillip! It's just laughable that you think I'm letting you leave me at the altar!"
Phil sputters, sitting up fast enough to cause stars in his vision.
"Altar?!" he squawks. Trixtin laughs at him and plucks the twig crown off his head.
"Your crown, it showed you were available and interested. I am just obliging your offer. You're mine now Phillip and if it means I have to bear the mortal realm, I will follow you. You cannot leave me that easily."
Phil sputters, his entire body burning with a red flush. He squawks again when Trixtin picks him up effortlessly and starts walking back to the banquet hall.
His mind freezes when Trixtin walks up to the Winter Queen's throne and sets him down. He desperately tries to stand up before the queen decides his punishment must be greater when he's stopped by Trixtin sitting on his lap. He freezes.
"Trixtin?!" he whisper-yells, voice strangled. He's tense and nervous and his talons are digging into the throne's armrests.
"Welcome to my court, husband!" Trixtin tells him.
He gawps at her for a few seconds then the realization hits. He promptly passes out.
-
Kristen gently moves hair out of her new husband's face while he sleeps. She's got him all sequestered away in her nest. He can return to the mortal realm when he wakes. She won't keep him here but like hell is she letting him go.
She doesn't mind that he gave her a fake name. That's how mortals work when they're aware of a fae's species. They give false names. She won't hold it against him. His true name will be hers one day. Just as her true name will be his.
Phillip is hers.
She will have to thank both the Kil' siblings for convincing him to wear the crown and the fae that insisted on him being invited. Without them she wouldn't have found her King. What a joyous thing to come out of a noble trying to snare her avian and two dragons trying to get him a lover.