The Dark Fairy King
Chapter 73: The Queen of Hearts and the Emerald

Chapter 73: The Queen of Hearts and the Emerald

The ceremony carried on.

But I no longer saw the stage.

I saw him—not the man handing out wands, but the tyrant who very possibly rewrote my world with his magic.

I clenched my wand tighter in anger, heart pounding.

The Love Fairies around me whispered, stealing glances and looking away when I met their eyes. Heck, Doverel wouldn’t meet my gaze, as if I were diseased.

Was she scared of me? Just because I stood up to Arisa?

Seriously?

Love Fairies.

Spineless in my time. Still are now.

Pathetic.

And I remembered—

Back when the Love Fairy Kingdom remembered me.

Back when I was the first of my kind.

The Love Fairy born from magic itself.

Not raised. Not trained.

Born.

Magic crackled and gave me form—thought, desire, will.

And I used that gift.

Reached into the hearts of others and helped them find each other.

Soon, others followed—empaths, healers, listeners.

We were few, but we were real.

And I protected them.

Because I was the first.

Because I loved them.

They called me the Architect of Magic.

The Queen of Hearts.

Not because I wore a crown.

But because I carried them all.

Love Magic is not decoration.

It’s adhesive.

Malleable.

Capable of slipping into light and shadow, emotion and thought.

I learned how to mix it—

with elemental forces, defensive runes, even forbidden enchantments.

Different spells for different hearts.

That’s what love is.

Messy.

Complicated.

Beautiful.

Something no simple definition could cover.

I mentored them myself.

I gave them a home. A sanctuary.

Because that’s what love truly is.

Friction. Friendship. Grief and joy.

And always—free will.

Was I wrong to believe in that?

No.

I was born of magic.

I would know better.

I was the first.

Then came Baltimore.

The second Love Fairy.

He had a different view.

Dominant.

Calculated.

Cold.

He didn’t want connection.

He wanted obedience.

Yes—love can sometimes express itself through loyalty.

But only if it’s freely given.

I said his methods bordered on compulsion.

I was ignored.

He began restricting Love Magic to wands—formulaic enchantments, designed for crafting romance.

Efficient. Controlled.

He called it survival.

I called it limitation.

We fought. Of course we did.

That’s family.

That was real.

He once bled in the sky during a Dark Fairy invasion.

And despite our differences—I healed him.

Because I wanted us to survive. All of us.

Even him.

The battle with the Dark Fairies took its toll on me and I needed days to rest.

I built powerful protection spells and healed countless Love Fairies during the battle.

But then he created something powerful from desire itself.

Something green, sharp and sparkly. An Emerald.

A cursed artifact that could rewrite reality.

He said it was necessary.

When I was still resting, drained from the battle—

He made his move.

Arrested me for treason against the majority. For saying what no one else dared say.

Yes, the majority who he turned against me.

It took time, but I learned how.

I saw him from my window.

Standing under the full moon, holding the Emerald.

"I wish everything I say becomes law."

And just like that—it was.

But not over me. Because the spell didn’t touch me.

Couldn’t.

I was the first.

Magic’s own breath.

His compulsion couldn’t bend me.

But the others?

They bent like paper in rain.

Their eyes dulled. Their magic thinned.

They poured their souls into that emerald like it was holy.

All for the so-called "greater good."

I confronted him.

Again. Again. Again.

He didn’t listen.

Taught others to make shallow enchantments—

Quick. Empty. Meaningless.

I warned them:

Love without consent is puppetry. His spells steal choice.

They called me a traitor.

No hearing.

No trial.

Just a cell.

Even the guards who once saluted me laughed.

"Queen of Hearts... and Ruin."

Like I was the madwoman.

Yes, he locked me away once.

But he didn’t take everything.

I mean he only could do so because I was so weak.

And that’s where the real story begins.

"Scarlette!" he had shouted, standing above my cell.

"You will bend to me or be erased."

"Try me," I replied.

Soft. Dangerous. Final.

He turned.

And never came back.

And no one ever did.

So much for gratitude for saving and protecting him and all the others.

And then it hit me.

That night—the night he shouted—it was a full moon.

He could have done it.

Used the Emerald to erase me.

And maybe he did.

Maybe that’s why no one remembered.

Not even my name.

But I still had something.

My mind.

My magic.

And I knew exactly what Baltimore treasured most:

The Emerald.

It could rewrite reality—

But only under the full moon.

And that kind of power?

That’s not stable.

That’s a time bomb.

So I changed it.

Reality should not be so malleable for the whims of a bigot.

In the silence of my dungeon—

Stone walls. Sealed doors. Cold floor. No light—

I reached deep.

Red mist pooled from the corners of my cell, threading through cracks in the stone, seeking him.

In my mind, I saw the lattice of his enchantment—woven with blood, sacrifice, and lies.

I gripped it.

Tore it apart.

And rewrote it.

It nearly killed me.

I bled magic like a broken vessel.

The air reeked of ash and roses.

My pulse slowed to silence.

But I am the architect of magic.

And I left a failsafe.

The Emerald would no longer answer him.

Not unless he had two other things:

A Light Guardian—from a world with no magic.

A Scroll—written in soul-ink, hidden in the folds of memory, holding the incantation only the Light Guardian could read and speak.

Not just any human.

Someone kind.

Untouched.

Pure.

Someone to protect the light.

Someone he could never bend.

And he didn’t know.

Not yet.

The full moon shattered like porcelain in my mind.

And in the shards—I saw him.

A man from another world.

Crossing a street.

Helping an old woman across the road.

The Light Guardian.

It worked.

I hope we will meet one day. Humans have fragile lives—yet somehow, I trust fate.

My body collapsed.

My strength vanished.

My remaining magic, bled gone.

But the spell held.

Let Baltimore raise his arms.

Let him chant.

The Emerald won’t answer.

And at the next full moon—

He screamed.

That’s how I knew it didn’t work.

Not without the Guardian.

Not without the Scroll.

Let him keep his false kingdom of obedient love.

It will never be real.

Blind devotion to a mad king?

No.

The world may bend—

But I never will.

He wanted more?

Over. His. Dead. Body.

They sealed my cell.

Told me it was containment.

But I knew the truth.

It was a prison for my voice.

A tomb for my truth.

A forgotten memory.

How could they be so cold? So ruthless?

Was I really worth blotting out from history?

Don’t they see that I am one of their kind too?

I can tell myself it didn’t hurt.

But that kind of betrayal never fades.

Like a thousand shards of glass through the heart.

My heart.

And yet, I’m still here.