In the Northern Lands, I met fae folk from dozens of kingdoms, including some I had heard of only in old lore and had assumed were long gone. All the high fae clung to their beauty and displays of grandeur. The Sol King may have changed the Seelie Court and some of its laws thanks to the war, but he couldn’t change the hearts of the high fae.
They covet trinkets and riches; they crave the adulation of those around them and the power of ruling the lower fae. They spend endless centuries squabbling over bloodlines and birthrights, drinking fairy wine and gossiping over extravagant banquets. Dancing and laughing, all while plotting to further themselves for the sake of others’ approval. I’d assumed it was a trait of the Seelie Court, the war ending and the status quo settling back into its old ways once more, but the opulent and cold hallways we pass through are an echo of those I left behind.
With the soldier following close behind, Tauron leads me to a staircase that plunges straight into the ground, the darkness of the opening a stark contrast to the white marble and light in the rest of the castle. The moment we take our first step down, the air becomes oppressive, growing thicker, hotter, and more damp as we descend into the earth itself. The Seelie high fae always knew the surest ways to torture their enemies, and that skill must span across their kind.
After a steady descent, when my feet finally touch the bottom of the stairway, my magic calls out for the air above us. The pressure against my skin fractures my numbness, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on my forehead as I force my breathing to even out, deepen, slow…anything to stop panic from taking hold of my mind.
It feels as though we’ve been buried alive.
It’s made worse because the land around us has been drained, and I’m experiencing all the desperate pulling and longing it feels at the presence of a witch.
Finally, you’re here, save us, pour into us, sacrifice and give us what we need,it seems to whisper, and I grow unsteady as the pleas assault my senses.
Tauron tugs at my chains. He's less rough than the Savage Prince was, his pull more of a reminder to keep moving than an attempt to harm me, and when he finally leads me to a cell, I step into it without a word of complaint. He waits until the iron bars of the door have slid into place, locking firmly with a loudthunk, before he unchains my wrists through the bars.
I'm surprised he does. I was prepared not to have full access to my hands ever again. I’ll admit it’s a relief, one less trial I’ll have to endure. The heavy earth crushing the air around me is more than enough to keep my mind occupied. It’s distracting enough that I can’t ignore the whisper in my mind, a scar from horrors I faced in the Northern Lands, telling me I deserve this and that’s why I’m allowing them to treat me so cruelly without protest.
Tauron turns to the guard. “Get a bucket of water and whatever kitchen scraps you can find. We need to keep her alive, but don't waste provisions on her. Don’t question her or interact in any way…in fact, don’t speak while you’re on watch down here. She carries no weapons, but I can’t even begin to guess what magic this witch has.”
I conceal a smirk. Their searches of me were thorough, the competent work of the most capable soldiers, but I would never travel without weapons. Magic is a good protection, but it isn’t limitless. Seelie steel blades might be a luxury to some, but they’re a necessity to me.
I’m better at hiding them than most, a trick I picked up from a friend now left behind.
The soldier dips his head and hurries out of the dungeon, his feet just a little too quick. He hates it down here as much as I do—they both do, but Prince Tauron is far better at hiding it. There’s the smallest line around his mouth and tension across his shoulders, and his tone has reached a new depth of iciness.
He stares at me through the bars, wrapping the iron chain slowly around one gloved fist as his cold, hard eyes take in the sight of me. Walking behind the horses for two days has taken a toll on me, and I long for the bucket of water he demanded, my throat dry and itching. The high fae assume that I’ll feel shame for drinking out of it, but they don’t know the life I’ve lived.
I'm sure that's what they're hoping for—to shame me in every way possible—but I was raised in the forest as a wild little witchling then trained as a healer in the Fate Wars, called to take up a sword as the world ended around me.
I've experienced far worse things than a dungeon in the bowels of the earth.
“Whatever you’re hoping to get out of my prince, you are not going to succeed. He’ll do what he must do to become king, and then we’ll kill you, just like we'll kill every last witch in the Southern Lands. Whatever we have to do to break the curse will be done. Enjoy your stay.” He turns on his heel and walks out, leaving me to the feeling of being buried alive.
* * *
The air around me is hot and wet and feels even more so as the hours creep on. The only light in the dungeon comes from the burning torches, and the flames seem to increase the temperature as they burn. The burns on my wrists and throat throb, a demand for my attention that I ignore.
The guard Tauron sent for provisions eventually came back and shoved a bucket of water and a tray of slops through a small hatch in the door, hissing curses under his breath at me for forcing him to be here. Reaching through the gaps in the iron bars, he loosened my gag just long enough for me to drink, the fabric still sitting over my chin and held in place by iron pins. I cupped my hands in the water and drank my fill of the clean, cold liquid, enjoying it as much as I could before I forced myself to sit back and take stock of the situation.
I'm stuck in this hellish cell until the Savage Prince deems it appropriate to let me out. I have my doubts that he’ll ever do so, and I might truly be here forever.
During my time in the Sol Army, I was trained to withstand such torture techniques. Even though we were battling the Ureen, sightless and mindless monsters that killed indiscriminately without having the capacity to take prisoners, we trained as though we were facing the most intelligent of enemies.
The Sol King was selective about who he trained and where he placed them. I started off as a healer with the basic training that all within the Sol Army were required to complete. As time went on and the casualties continued to rise, my training intensified, and I took on more responsibility than just my healing duties. My previous life in the forest made me useful beyond my life-saving knowledge; it helped me to keep my mind clear even in the most trying of circumstances. With every new wave of attacks, I learned more about what it means to be a good soldier and a valuable asset within the ranks. I worked my way up until I was in a position where learning how to withstand torture and survive myriad adverse situations was necessary.
The answer to both is a strong and sound mind.
I'm not sure that I have one of those anymore—surviving the Fate Wars didn’t come without cost, and while I paid a steep price, hundreds of thousands of others died. Sitting here in the dungeon feels like a paltry penance in comparison.
Once I drank enough water to quench my thirst and ate what small amount of the slops I deemed edible, I sat back against the stone wall. And here I still sit.
My eyes slip shut, and I take one deep breath, then another. It's hard to do with the gag in my mouth, but it’s no use removing it now; it would cause panic and suspicion amongst the high fae if they realize that I can touch the iron pins holding it in place at the back of my head.
It might hurt like a Fates-cursed bitch, but being in contact with the metal is possible for a witch as strong as myself. I could heal the burns on my wrists and the charred skin on my throat, but I won’t risk using magic right now. Healing magic is bright and conspicuous, even to those ignorant to the art of casting.
How far will the Fates protect me against my mate?
The man is beautiful and deadly and cruel in all the ways that the Fates wish to break me open. I’ve spent centuries in the company of high fae, both Seelie and Unseelie, from this land and many others, and yet it took only one look into his cold eyes to know that he was chosen specifically to bend me to the will of the Fates. My body reacted to him the second I laid eyes on him, and no matter how long I’d prepared myself to be unmoved by our meeting, a longing for him had opened up in me in an instant.
