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REI
“Reimund, Reimund, let down your hair so that I may climb thy rainbow stairs.”
My heart squeezed, Ziran’s shadow fading as Gotham’s voice boomed below. How I mistook the two was anyone’s guess. I supposed I was so enthralled by completing my now useless potion that it temporarily drove me insane.
As quick as lightning, I tossed my braid out of the window and braced myself on the bed, scooting my pot of black hair dye underneath with my heel.
My mind was still reeling from my chance encounter with an alpha—my fated mate, of all alphas—a mysterious rogue who had promised me freedom and left behind a part of his soul. It sounded more ridiculous than a fairytale, which made it all the more intoxicating.
I knew Ziran was lying, partially at least. My freedom mattered little to him in the grand scheme of things. Even if we were fated mates, he did not strike me as a man willing to risk his life for me. But more so than a man I knew my whole life, I knew Ziran was more trustworthy. I’d lived with a narcissistic liar since the day I was born. I could tell by glancing into his eyes when Gotham was spinning tales.
And Ziran’s gaze was steady, heavy, and brilliantly clear. The only time it clouded over was when he spoke of freeing me as his primary goal, not the aftermath of whatever he was truly after.
I clung to that hope, even if it was a lie. Gotham taught me one valuable lesson in all my years trapped within the tower and the surrounding fields: nothing in life is gained for free. I’d give Ziran anything if it meant gaining everything I wanted. I’d surrender willingly to anything he asked if he returned with proof of a plan.
As long as he returns for me, I thought with a tight smile as Gotham made it to my window, a large, heavy black sack on his back as usual. I’ll die if Ziran commands me to if I can just die outside this tower’s walls.
“Welcome, Master,” I murmured under my breath as we began working on our nightly tasks.
The wizard pulled down the hood of his silver cloak with a manic grin. Gotham was pleasant when he entered my bedroom, a rarity. He sat his sack down, pulled out an empty one from inside, and tossed it to the ground near my feet. He nodded to the empty bag, and I began dutifully dumping my hair into it.
While I busied myself with my task, Gotham filled my water bucket, pouring broth into my bowl from a pouch clipped to his hip. He sat it on my table next to my bed, chunks of meat plopping into the stew shortly thereafter. I was thankful for the meat, as fighting Ziran had sucked the life out of my limbs.
“What a mess you have made, Reimund,” Gotham sneered, sending a shiver of revulsion racing down my spine.
Bending over and picking up my favorite book of fairytales, he laughed cruelly, thumbing through it with a nasty scowl.
Gotham was short, stooped, balding, and usually wore a sour expression. His clothing underneath his cloak was dull and worn out like the stringy hair still clinging to his scalp. The wizard was so wispy he put my thin body to shame. I was pleased by that, at least. It made his nightly torture sessions of scaling my hair more bearable.
The wizard looked every bit like a villain ripped from the pages of my tales he was thumbing through. But now that I had someone else to compare him to, Gotham looked pathetic compared to my supposed Prince Charming.
Before meeting my alpha, Gotham seemed so terrifying. And he still was. But compared to Ziran, he felt like a shitstain I couldn’t wipe away rather than some sinister mastermind.
If not for his abundant magical ability, I’d punch him in the face and make my escape. I rubbed my wrists absently, remembering Ziran’s strong hands on my body. It sparked something sharp inside my soul, my pheromones leaking out. I remembered how, even in anger, the pretend fae prince handled me as gently as he could.
I could tell since Gotham never held back when he fought. Ziran had, and it made me sigh.
Even scorn feels like mercy when you live with a madman for so long, I thought as I lifted a spoonful of soup to my mouth.
“Are you filling your head with fairytales again? I have a story for you since I’m in a good mood today. Once upon a time…”
I tuned Gotham out as I continued cutting my hair and filling his bag with bundles of my locks, now emptied of everything I’d need to survive another day. I knew the story he was going to tell. It was a story that felt as old as time by now.
“... a nameless hag left her decrepit husband’s side and entered the capital city of Tilri.”
I gritted my teeth, chopping furiously, unable to tune out the familiar story.
“Born in the countryside, she knew little of proper etiquette and was probably illiterate, so she stumbled onto my private property. She gazed upon a grand building and, beyond its open iron gates, saw a field of ornamental shrubs adorning her path. Buried within was a root she shouldn’t have,” Gotham drawled, cackling to himself as if he’d just told the funniest story in the world.
My eyes flicked to my windowsill. I was bored of hearing my origin story for the umpteenth time and wondered where Ziran had disappeared.
“Its cascading needle-thin leaves and bright red wilting blossoms attracted her untrained eye. Pregnant and starving, she entered my estate without permission in the hopes of stealing some seeds to decorate her horrifically ugly home. Or maybe to eat. I can’t remember what the simpleton wanted,” Gotham said, clearing his throat, hacking phlegm.
“Anyway, little did she know she had stolen a rare root and poisoned her child, pregnant with the boy. I promised to shield her from the crown if she gave me her firstborn seed in return, amazed to learn it had survived.”
I no longer flinched at being called an it. The ancient wizard finished his rant, grinning toothily, happy I had filled my quota for the night. Then Gotham leaned forward with a sickly sweet grin, pointing his bony finger in my face.
“Thanks to me, you live. In return, you act as a garden, a living cultivator for the prism magic I live on. Continue to feed on the source of my power. Eat your fill and grow strong, little omega. Now, it’s time to take your medicine. And since I’m in an exceptionally good mood, I’ll even leave you some oil to massage away the blisters on your scalp. Bye-bye, pain,” Gotham said, cackling.
