The castle is surrounded by yet another tall stone wall and there’s a small village nestled between the two large stone walls filled with part-bloods and lower fae, all of whom stare at me as I walk behind the horses. The iron chains rattle with every step, which makes the silence of the crowd more obvious. Sneers curl the lips of most, their eyes either wide with horror or narrowed with revulsion as their gazes trace the robes I wear.
The closer we get to the castle, the bolder the crowd becomes. Soldiers wearing the colors of the Savage Prince murmur to each other and the villagers. I hear their words and understand them, the old slang of the Southern Lands a little clunky to my ears, but I decipher it well enough.
A witch brought here to burn.
They all assume I’ll be disposed of on the funeral pyres, the way all my kind have been in such times. None of them are aware of the connection that I have with their prince.
I suppose it's for the best.
As I look around, I notice that although they are a mix of dozens of different Unseelie races—elves and goblins and banshees and even some humans all the way from the Deadlands in the north amongst them—there are no witches.
Not even the smallest hint of witch blood.
It's as though every last one of our kind has been wiped out. A mass extinction, a line in the sand between the high fae and the witches, immortal enemies. I'm sure there were once part-bloods with witch heritage here, but there’s no sign of them now. Whether they joined Kharl or were victims of the prejudice this war has bred into the fae folk of the kingdom, they’re gone. The icy casing around my heart grows a little thicker at the thought of it, another layer on the shell of numbness that I’ve come to call home thanks to the atrocities of the Fate Wars.
Part of me knows the persecution of witches regardless of their stance in the war is wrong and evil, but I returned here for my fate, not to protest or join another war.
There's a second stone wall around the castle, one much smaller than the stone wall that protects the village as well, but this one is far prettier and clearly for separating the high fae from their subjects rather than for protection. Sigils in the old language are carved into the stone, decreeing the land and the castle as covenants of the Celestial Family, a royal bloodline dating back to the forming of this kingdom. Everything about the space is beautiful, regal, and a reflection of the prince the Fates have sold me off to.
My chest tightening at the sight of the castle is the same reaction as the one I’d had when I first laid eyes on him too.
He might be every bit the gorgeous high fae, but a cold heart beats in his chest, one that has no room for warmth in it toward me.
When we reach the castle courtyard, dozens of high fae courtiers are waiting for us, and gasps ring out as they spot me. Roan, the prince who left earlier to ride ahead of us, stands dressed in formal attire with a soldier at his elbow, watching the princes dismount.
The surly one, Tauron, unsnaps my chains from his saddle. The Savage Prince handed them back to him the moment we made it through the fae door, the old magic still strong enough to transport us all, despite my doubts. Disappointment had rolled off my Fates-cursed mate in waves—it’s clear he was expecting the old magic to cause me some damage, the act of stepping through the ancient oak structure a test of mental strength and fortitude.
Little does he know…you can’t break what’s already broken.
“I thought you were planning on giving me time to prepare the castle before you arrived,” Roan says to the Savage Prince. He flicks a hand in my direction.
“I was hoping the fae door would solve our problems, but I suppose the Fates really have cursed me.”
Tyton, the prince with magic in his blood, goes to the Savage Prince and murmurs to him, though I'm not sure why he’s being so quiet as all the high fae have such good hearing, his low tone won't stop the crowd from listening in. “We should get her to the dungeon before any hysteria starts. I know the household is trusted, but I don't want anyaccidentshappening.”
The cold-hearted prince shrugs and hands the reins of his horse to one of the stable boys, who steps forward obediently and takes them. “You and Tauron can take her down there. I have more important things to deal with than a filthy fucking witch.”
With that, he leaves, Roan striding along with him without so much as a backwards glance in my direction.
The ice around my heart holds, the numbness filling my limbs, and I stare at the high fae as a hollow shell of my former self. They're all the epitome of perfection, the same carving in slightly differing stones, the ice of their Unseelie blue eyes as cold as the steel their prince had pressed against my throat. Every last one of them is the perfect shade of moonlight as their bloodlines never deviate.
I feel nothing as they stare back at me.
Tauron shoos Tyton away, directing him to freshen up, and grabs one of the guards to escort me to the dungeon instead. They all seem to worry about the magic user, fussing over him like a healer over a fresh wound. The murmurs of madness he heard from the Ravenswyrd Forest have shaken them all.
My own heart aches with the loss of the trees, the only feeling I still experience, and I push it away now and wrap apathy around myself like a shield.
The song is quieter now but still there, coaxing me to return to the forest. My old home has mourned me, the same way that the loss of it has been an open wound in my chest from the moment my feet stepped onto the ship to the Northern Lands. Knowing the trees feel the same way is a comfort as much as a hardship. Someday, when I get out of this dungeon they’re taking me to, I’ll return and do what I can to ease the trees’ suffering.
Even as I have that thought, a part of me whispers,Will I ever escape this place?
This is what the Fates had waiting for me—a fae prince destined to be my husband who cannot stand the sight of me. He's the heir to the throne of the Southern Lands; what's to stop him from marrying me and leaving me in the dungeon to die? All he needs to take the throne is a signed contract. He doesn't actually need a wife sitting beside him.
Tauron wraps the iron chains around his fist twice and tugs them firmly, dragging me into the castle. I keep up with him to let the chain slacken and take the pressure off my burned wrists, easing the pain there. I'm careful not to look around too much as we work our way toward the dungeon, dozens of eyes following me. No matter which way we turn, the hallways stay unobstructed, but that’s the fae way. Large and quiet halls of grandeur and opulence while hundreds of workers toil away to keep up the perfection. Let there not be a single speck of dust to be found so that no one knows people actually live within these white, shining walls.
The formality and empty shell of the place makes my skin itch.
The practices of the high fae always have. Give me a mud hut in the middle of a forest any day of the week. Hell, give me a war tent in the middle of a burning battleground as the Ureen creep up on us. I’d rather that over the fake finery and subtle games of politics that come with high-fae courts, the way they charm you to your face only to cut your throat with a bejeweled dagger the moment you turn your back. I’d always preferred the company of the part-bloods and lower fae over the high fae of the Seelie Court, with only a very few exceptions.
