We were gathered around the table for dinner when it happened. Mother had just set out the final dish and found her seat next to our father, a smile on her face and adoration in her eyes as she looked around at us all. “Take hands now, my loves,” her words always came out so soft and calming. Me and my brother took each other hand and then our mother and fathers. With our heads bowed, father began the prayer.

“We give thanks to the higher ones for providing this life for us. We thank you for our food, our shelter, and our love, passed down to each child in our line and to continue this blessed life. For the Fae,” We all repeat the last line and finally dig in.

I used to question the prayer, especially at the end. One cannot give love, could they? I had asked mother once and she immediately hushed me, saying that it wasn’t good to speak ill of the gifts of the fae, which of course, confused me further. Eventually, I stopped asking. It never affected me or even my brother, but it would gnaw at the back of my mind whenever father spoke the words.

After dinner, we gathered by the fire. Father and mother side by side on the couch, me on the floor by their feet, and my brother on the chair next to us. Family time together, quiet and calm, but not this night.

A strange feeling washed over me, and I could tell everyone else felt it too. I looked back at my parents who were looking at each other with concern. As fast as it came, the feeling disappeared. No one spoke of it, father only sent us to bed to get rest for tomorrow.

I was to meet my unseen betrothed.