AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Your Highness.” The three offer deep bows and curtseys, as the rest of crowd bobs in recognition too. Destan is the only who seems to have relaxed at Ruskin’s arrival, offering a short bow that’s more a nod.
“I asked you a question, Galaphina Swallowtail. Don’t keep me waiting for an answer.”
Ruskin doesn’t shout, but every word burns with a quiet fury. That power rolls off him again in great, heady waves. The fae must feel it too. Maybe even more so than me, given the way Vanis’ hands are shaking behind his back.
I understand the reaction. Ruskin is terrifying, and maybe it’s just my relief at no longer being at Galaphina’s mercy, but I think he’s also kind of magnificent. So much power in such a striking frame, so much anger in his perfect face. In that moment, my wild imagination compares him to an avenging angel—which must be my exhaustion, because I know Ruskin to be closer to a devil. Either way, he’s certainly something to behold.
“My Lord.” Galaphina does a good job of pretending to look unconcerned. “We were simply teasing each other. Nothing out of the ordinary.” I notice she dances around his question, unable to give an honest answer without damning herself.
“But Galaphina, you’ve risked hurting my feelings with such talk.” His voice sounds on the verge of a growl, sarcastic but ready to turn serious in an instant.
“I know strong leaders rarely trouble themselves with idle words, my Lord.” It doesn’t escape me how carefully she phrases it, her words implying submission, but with a dangerous subversion of meaning lying just beneath the surface.
Ruskin shows her several sharp teeth. “And that?”
The shrubbery around me splits open with a wave of his hand, setting me free. I try to take a step forward, but my legs are burning—from the dancing and the injuries—and I slip to the ground, landing on my knees amidst the wonderfully soft grass, the coolness of it offering the tiniest respite for my aching, bleeding flesh. Ruskin takes in the state of me, but his face remains stony and unchanged. There’s a flicker of movement by his fingers, and I notice those long claws have slid back into place.
“Merely some fun, Your Highness,” Galaphina says with a shrug. “She needed to be taught a lesson. She said some of the most awful things to me.”
“All true, no doubt,” Ruskin says. “But I suppose I could be forgiving of this misbehavior. We all make mistakes, after all.”
Galaphina’s eyes are bright with triumph. Apparently, she’s going to get away with it. I find myself almost unable to care. I’m just glad the torture has ended, watching the scene with a dazed detachment.
“That would be very discerning of you, Your Highness.”
“Oh, I am discerning, Galaphina,” Ruskin says, and he click his fingers. I flinch as the ground beneath Galaphina’s feet writhes and roots punch through the surface, wrapping themselves around her ankles. She squeaks, immediately trying to pull her legs free, but the roots are thick and knotted, and hold her firmly in place.
“Which is why I will forgive your two friends for playing along with your game,” Ruskin says.
My attention is as sharp as the thorns now, watching Ruskin’s every move. He looks at Vanis and Hortense as they nearly prostrate themselves in another bow and curtsey, muttering effusive “thank-yous.”
“But you know I cannot brook insolence, or someone who is so careless with my things.”
I realize, with a kind of sick relief, that he means me when he says “things.” In any other situation, I’d be outraged to be considered his property, but in this moment, when my life has just been snatched back from the brink, I’m almost glad. Better to be Ruskin’s protected possession than a toy Galaphina wants to tear apart and then throw away. It’s a vile set of options either way—but I’m reminded that they could be even worse as I notice how Ruskin’s attention is now fully focused on Galaphina.
The roots continue to grow, twisting their way up Galaphina’s body, creeping towards her throat. I can see them tightening as they go, squeezing her limbs, crushing her torso slowly, agonizingly. Her eyes bug with terror as she finally realizes that she’s about to meet her end. In that moment she throws her gaze towards Ruskin.
“Eat filth, you dirty Unseelie?—”
She doesn’t get to finish her final words, because the roots wrap around her throat, wringing the air from her. They creak with force, and I get a chance to wonder how long it takes someone to suffocate before there is a terrible crack. Her neck has broken.
Galaphina’s head lolls horribly and I turn my own away, not wanting to see any more.
The garden is silent, the musicians’ bows sit still in their hands—even the birds don’t sing—and Ruskin scans his gathered subjects, then gives a nod like he’s satisfied with something. When his eyes land on me, however, they pause for a moment. Once again I feel he’s taking in the state of me, and I still see the fires of fury burning within the yellow-green irises.
“Enjoy the rest of your party,” he says to his subjects, then turns on his heel.
The music starts up again, and the huddled fae spread back out across the garden as quickly as chickens picking for feed. As the clinking of glasses and chatter of gossip resumes, I can only stare at them, appalled. Galaphina’s body is still in full view, although as Ruskin leaves, the roots snake back into the earth, leaving her limp form to slump against the ground. Vanis goes to pick her up and the party flows on around him, the silent tears on Hortense’s cheeks the only thing to indicate that anyone is moved by what’s just occurred.
Perhaps this is, indeed, just another day in the Seelie Court, but as Vanis lifts Galaphina to carry her away, he has time to throw me one last look of pure loathing. I shudder at the force of it—at the awfulness of it all—but I don’t have any tears left. Old ones, mixed with blood, are still drying on my cheeks from the torture inside the hawthorn.
It’s not a surprise that I flinch as a hand reaches down beside me. Then I look up to see the fae Galaphina called Destan, face impassive, but not cold, watching me.
“Come on,” he says, and I let him lead my battered body away from the grotesquely cheerful sounds of the party.
For once I’m too shaken and too in pain to ask questions, my usual avid curiosity deadened by the reminder that this place is as volatile and cruel as it is beautiful. Life blooms everywhere here, fast and glorious, but apparently, it can also be snuffed out just as quickly. I have enough wherewithal to notice that Destan seems to be guiding me back to my room, and that the steering hand on my arm takes care to be gentle. When we turn down the corridor I falter. Ruskin is there, facing down Halima.
She’s nearly the same height as him, and not exactly fragile, but nevertheless I cringe at the sight of him glowering down at her, the consequences of his anger still imprinted on my mind in the form of bone-crushing roots.
