Wings of the Uncrowned

By Varna Rajeshkannan

The bog at Edward’s fingernails matched Morrigan’s feathers.

He stood in Elmsworth Court gardens, wrist-deep in a rose bush, as if thorns could root him

here. His tunic clung with morning dew and duty — and the quiet hunger of a man straining

to belong.

The king’s court whirled: dukes in velvet, servants darting like mice between pillars. Above,

banners flared — reminders of bloodlines Edward didn’t share.

He looked up just in time to see Morrigan slice the air. His breath halted.

She didn’t know he was a servant. She didn’t care.

“Birds don’t care about status, only the steadiness of your hands.” Edward muttered,

fingering his uncle’s glove.

Alaric, the king’s Master Falconer, had scoffed: “Steady hands pay no wages without the

right name.”

Still, Edward watched — from barrels, walls, hedges. He memorized the coo on release, the

fluid lure, the snap of the wrist as Morrigan dropped like fury.

Edward had never touched her.

Until he did.

The aviary lay in dawn fog.

Edward moved between sparrowhawks, kestrels, and the queen: Morrigan. She lifted her

head, eyes burning with recognition — he’d fed her for weeks.

The gauntlet slid over his hand like fate — Alaric’s, worn smooth, now shaking on Edward’s

wrist.

“Come on, girl,” he whispered. She climbed lightly to his arm.

Then he hurled the glove. She took off.

The world fell silent but for her wings. Morrigan curled and dived, bound only to him. For one

beat, Edward was noble.

Then came the voice. “What are you doing?” Alaric strode forward, terror striking Edward

with each step. He twisted Edward’s arm until the gauntlet bit skin.

Edward tore free. “She doesn’t care — she wants a falconer, not a title!”

Alaric’s fury cracked to something older. He rolled up a sleeve, showing scars. “You think I

didn’t bleed for this?”

Edward didn’t answer.

Not even when Alaric muttered, “You’ll understand one day.”

He never did.

Three nights later, Alaric was dead.

To Harold, it was like a tower crumbling — the man he had shadowed, obeyed, and loathed

suddenly gone. Jealousy coiled tighter; the absence left both a hollow and an opening.

Harold’s eyes turned toward Edward, hunger for power gleaming.

The appointment came quietly.

No fanfare — just a name scrawled before Alaric’s death claimed him.

Edward was a royal falconer.

He wore the title like a borrowed coat — stiff, cold, too large.

The nobles jeered. “Falconer by name,” they said, “groundskeeper by blood.”

He trained birds, repaired gear, but was never allowed to fly before nobles. That was beyond

his station.

So he fled.

Deep into the forest, farther than hounds dared, lay a glade of moss and gold. There,

Edward rode Morrigan.

He called; she left.

He whistled; she returned.

Here, they were only two beasts bound by need.

Across the court, Avelyn sketched in her meadow.

Each flower was a word she couldn’t speak, a rule she couldn’t break. Her father called her

political. Her brother, delicate. She’d nearly thrown her inkpot at him last week.

Today, her hand stilled.

A shadow cut the sky — wings sharp as blades.

A falcon. Not royal.

She followed into the forest, skirts snagging on thorns.

Then she saw him: shirt undone, hair wild, arm outstretched, Morrigan obeying.

She ducked behind a tree, transfixed.

He flew as if born to it. But he wasn’t.

Minutes passed before Edward turned.

“I—I didn’t know anyone—” he stammered.

“You shouldn’t be flying that bird,” she tried sternly, and failed.

His face went white. “Please—don’t tell them.”

She cut him off. “You know what it’s like to be caged too, don’t you?”

He paused. Looked at her.

Their stations were worlds apart.

Their prisons were not.

Prince Harold entered Avelyn’s room, face set, malice curled in his lips.

He spotted a falconer’s glove beneath her desk, lifted it, breathing leather.

“This is not yours,” he said.

Her quill froze. “Return it.”

His smile was cold. “I’ll keep it. Privilege suits some better than others.”

Two mornings later, he watched from the meadow’s edge: Edward with Morrigan, Avelyn

smiling. Their fingers brushed on the gauntlet.

“Enough,” Harold spat, soldiers fanning, steel flashing. “By crown authority, Edward of

Elmsworth, you are under arrest for trespass, disobedience, and... impropriety.”

Ice knotted in Edward’s gut as hands seized him.

“Harold, stop!” Avelyn cried, but Harold’s eyes gleamed with triumph.

The Great Hall was colder than winter. Torches hissed as the King thundered:

“You, a servant, betrayed this house, invaded royal sport, and dared lay hands on a bird of

mine. You are stripped of office and banished.”

The court murmured.

Avelyn rose, chin high, hands steady. “Father, this man served you better than many with

crests. He taught me the art you claim to love. I will not marry any prince who cannot fly a

falcon half as well.”

Gasps rippled. The King’s glare cut through nobles, ladies, guards alike.

That night, councilors pressed the King.

A Master Falconer was not easily replaced, and Edward’s skill was rarer still. Avelyn’s

popularity mattered.

By morning, a verdict was ready.

“Edward of Elmsworth,” the King declared, “you are guilty of exceeding your station. But your

service is impeccable. For this, you are made knight of my household. You will serve under

the Princess, in a Royal Falconry Conservatory training nobles and commoners alike —

under strict supervision.”

There was no warmth in his tone.

Yet the shift was undeniable. Commoners would stand in the mews.

And Edward would bow to no man but the crown.

The meadow blazed gold.

Morrigan wheeled high, shadow skimming the grass.

Edward wore polished armor, gauntlet still the same worn leather. Avelyn’s gown was cut for

the field, hair tied back, hood beneath her arm.

At his call, Morrigan stooped. Edward smiled as he passed her to Avelyn. Their fingers

brushed.

“The sky doesn’t care who we are,” she murmured. “Only that we fly true.”

They stood as Morrigan rose again, cry echoing beyond the meadow. For the first time, there

was no fear. Only the open sky.

By Varna Rajeshkannan