On my eighteenth birthday, I was to be blessed by a fairy. Such was the tradition, as it had been for as long as the family records existed. Every third generation, on the eve of the eldest son’s eighteenth birthday, a fairy would appear and grant the boy a wondrous magical gift. No one knew why, but it was said that my great ancestors had helped the fairies in some way, and that as a reward the king of the fairies had decreed that every third son of the family should be given a gift by a powerful fairy.

I never met my great-grandfather, but I was told that he had the ability to control the weather, and that he had used that ability to great success, purchasing a small serfdom with his inheritance, and using his magic to make the crops rich and abundant, and my family very wealthy.

This had been many years ago, of course, and we were not so rich now. For my part, I was raised modestly, but always reminded of the day when I would receive my fairy blessing, and use it to restore the family’s wealth. I can’t say I was terribly excited about the prospect, but I was, shall we say, resigned. After all I had been told so all my life, I could hardly imagine a future that was anything different. Sometimes I would lie awake at night, wondering what gift the fairies would bestow upon me. Perhaps I too, would be able to control nature, or perhaps I would be a great warrior, or be able to turn lead into gold. These prospects excited me, and in the months leading up to my eighteenth birthday, I confess I began to get a little eager for the day. That all changed when I learned the news.

“Things aren’t like they used to be, Marcus, son.” My mother had said, twisting the fabric of her apron between her hands as she did when she was anxious or upset, “All the money and power are in the capital with the king. There’s nothing for you here, and you have such prospects.”

“Your mother is right son,” my father had agreed headily, “With what you will be able to do, you’ll do a great service to the king.”

“But you don’t know what I’ll be able to do, father.” I pleaded, “This is ridiculous. What if the king doesn’t wish to employ me?”

“Then you’ll skip right back along here and we’ll decide what to do from there.” My father said, seeing nothing wrong with the prospect of carting me around like a pile of sheepskins that wouldn’t sell at market.

“Marcus, the man we’ve hired says that he does this all the time.” My mother cut in, “He says there are many boys with magical powers who live in the country and who become very wealthy after he takes them to the palace and introduces them to the king. And he’s offered to do so with you for a very reasonable price.”

“So you’re selling me,” I said crossly, knowing that I was behaving immaturely, and not caring.

“Marcus, don’ t be childish.” My father chided, “You’ll be eighteen soon and then …”

“Yes, and then you can cash in on my birthright and sell me to the highest bidder.” I finished for him. “Brilliant.”

I ran off before we could continue the conversation.

I didn’t want to leave Rell. I was in love with the rolling fields, the forests, dappled with sunlight, and the slow lumbering cattle and sheep. The serfs who tended the animals and lived in the village were like family to me. I had spent my childhood wandering the streets of the village and helping the various serfs with their handiwork. The small, dirty village, and the cold, crumbling castle at the end of the road were my home, and I had thought that they always would be. Now it seemed that everything in my life was about to change, and I wasn’t ready for it.

The day before my eighteenth birthday, I woke early and dressed in a daze. The glimpse I caught of myself in the faded mirror was the same as it always had been–a tall young man, slender but athletic, with a strong masculine face and long brown hair, tied hastily back at the nape of my neck. I was attractive enough, I knew, and would be able to acquire a well-bred wife eventually.

The thought hung heavily on me as I made my way down to the village bakery, as I did every Tuesday, to help Mrs. Miller with the baking of the bread. There was one other thing which kept me up at night, something I had never admitted to my parents, or even really to myself. I knew that I was expected to marry, and produce an heir to whom the gift would be passed down to. I hoped to marry a rich socialite with whom I would have very little interaction, which would suit me just fine. But the thought that I might never be able to produce an heir, even with a willing wife, was what bothered me.

Well, that and the real reason I always went to help with the bread baking on Tuesday mornings, who happened to be a woodsman named Adam.

I couldn’t help it. It was as if some strange force other than my own had been propelling me to ask Mrs. Miller if she needed help on Tuesday mornings, after I discovered that Tuesdays were when Adam delivered the lumber to the mill. I was always skittish, glancing around, waiting for Adam’s arrival, and I was able to use the excess energy to knead a lot of bread, which was why Mrs. Miller welcomed my help.

That Tuesday, the day before my eighteenth birthday, when my life changed forever, Adam was early with the lumber. I was already hard at work on the bread, but I allowed myself a quick glace as he beamed his brilliant smile at Mrs. Miller, and she told him, as usual, to stack the wood at the back of the room by the fireplace. I then surreptitiously watched Adam’s broad back as he loaded the wood into the room, looking down again at my work every time he turned around. He wore no shirt, as any he did would be ruined within a day by the hard wood and sap of the logs, and his broad, muscular chest was covered in scratches and scars, and smeared with the crusted sap of the fresh trees.

I felt a familiar tightening in the pit of my stomach and hated myself for it. But it didn’t matter anyway, I knew. I would be gone by tomorrow and, if my father had his way, would never see Adam again. So I allowed myself to look for a little longer than usual. He met my eyes for a moment, smiled that easy grin at me, collected his money from Mrs. Baker and then was gone. I slumped and my efforts at kneading the bread slowed. I just couldn’t seem to motivate myself.

“Last day, eh?” said Mrs. Miller, a jolly portly woman with a hard, red face. When I just nodded dejectedly, she prodded me with her shoulder and continued, “You should be more excited! Who knows what’s in store for you? Got a whole, grand life ahead of you, filled with adventure and magic.”

“I assure you Madam, that it will most likely be much less grand that it sounds.” I said, getting to work again on the bread, “I’d rather stay here and work as a miller for the rest of my life.”

“Well you wouldn’t think that if you were a miller, and at my age.” Said Mrs. Miller wisely, “You can always become a miller once you’ve finished doing great things in the world.”

She glowered at my unexceptional work so far, and then scooted me from the mill, saying that I was far too distracted to do a decent job today, and that I deserved to have my last day free anyway.

My last day free turned out to be torture. I ended up spending the whole day lurking about the castle and avoiding my parents. My father finally caught up with me about an hour before dinner time and informed me that my “escort”, a wizard named Dante, had sent word by magic that he was running late, and would be arriving sometime tomorrow. I didn’t care, as I informed my father, and he berated me, as I had expected, telling me to be grateful and respectful, the man was doing me a huge favour after all. I escaped to my room, where I paced until dinner.

After dinner I started to get excited. It was summer, and sundown came late. I was told that the fairy could arrive at any time that night and that I should stay awake and wait for him. The excitement I felt was a mixture of dread and anticipation. I wanted magical powers, just not the responsibilities that came with them. Also, the prospect of meeting a fairy was intriguing. I wondered if it would be tiny, like the ones in stories that the maids told, or more like the elegant elves that my old tutor had spoken of. Most of all, I wondered what my gift would be. I hoped I had been chosen by a good fairy. I couldn’t imagine any fairy taking enough interest in me to want to bestow me with powers. Maybe they had drawn lots to see who had gotten stuck with the job.

Around midnight I retired to my bedroom. I assured my parents that I wouldn’t fall asleep, but merely wanted to be alone. My own fidgeting was enough to drive me mad; I couldn’t possibly endure theirs too any longer.

I am told by my parents that a few hours later, a tall, cloaked figure appeared by the mantelpiece, asked for me, and, when directed to my bedroom, walked silently off, leaving a trail of shimmery midnight-blue powder in the air behind it.

I was sitting on my bed, biting my nails (a bad habit), when the door creaked. I jumped up violently and stood, shaking with anticipation and fear as the figure entered and removed his hood.

He was beautiful. I couldn’t help but think it. Any man or woman would have thought so. His face was intense, sharp, but somehow slightly effeminate, contrasted by very masculine deep blue eyes. His hair was long and black, pulled back from his face in an unfamiliar style, and his skin was pale and dusky. He wore all black.

“Hello Marcus.” He said in a low, resonant voice.

“Hello.” I squeaked as a response.

He smiled. At least, the corners of his mouth turned up, and his eyes narrowed slightly, crinkling at the corners.

“I am Draeden.” He said, “I believe you are expecting me.”

I couldn’t say anything. He frightened me and excited me all at the same time, and my voice was lost. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to be expecting me to talk.

“There was quite the dispute in the Fairy Realm about who was going to receive the privilege of giving you your gift.” He said, stepping closer to me as he spoke. “Luckily, I won out.”

He was quite close to me now, seemed to be examining my face. “And …” I managed to muster, “What is that gift?”

“That will soon become apparent.” He said and stepped back from me, spreading his arms. “For you see, I am the Fairy of Seduction.”

At once there was a stirring in the air, and two vast feathery wings spread out from his shoulders, a deep shimmering blue. His eyes were bright, the same blue glittering in their depths. He was intensely, painfully beautiful. But I was thinking instead of what he had said.

“Seduction …?” I whispered, dread spreading through my body, “You mean …?”

“I do.” He answered. Then, folding his wings at his back, he walked towards me again.