Fates curse this pig-headed, surly male!
I almost break my resolve and reach out to the Savage Prince through the mind connection just to be done with this, but the consequences if he manages to push back into my mind himself are far too great to risk it. I’m sure he’s incapable of doing it on purpose, but the Fates tug insistently at me every time he’s near me, and if they were to help him to stumble into my mind, it would be far too easy with me opening it up to him.
I step closer to the bars, but Tauron doesn't move. There’s no more than a single hand span between us with only the iron caging me in. “I haven’t done anything to this kingdom, not its people nor the land. I need to speak to Prince Soren. It’s urgent.”
I almost choke on his name, the sound of it covered in barbs as it slips from between my teeth. After centuries of holding his name inside my chest like an ache, to be forced to prod at that wound like this hurts me more than I would ever like to admit.
Tauron’s gaze roams over my face and down my neck, the icy depths of his eyes colder than the highest reaches of Fates Mark are rumored to be. “I will give younothing, witch. Nothing but an iron blade across your throat. I count down the days until Soren is free of you, and the rest of us along with him.”
He turns from me on his heel, his back straight and the breadth of his shoulders blocking out the light from the torches.
One last try, and then my conscience is clean, no matter the outcome.
I take one last deep breath before I blurt it out. “The curse has come to Yregar. Princess Airlie is in danger. If you don't bring Prince Soren down here to speak to me, the baby's life will be forfeit.”
He freezes in place, the taut lines of his shoulders turning to stone, and I find myself wishing that it was his brother here and not him. Tyton hates me as much as they all do, there's no question of that. He isn’t a witch sympathizer. But there's a balance in him that is lacking in Tauron, and I don't have to wait for this prince to turn back to me to know that my explanation has only enraged him further.
“Sitdownand shutup, or I will make you, witch,” he says, drawing out each syllable carefully so there’s no doubting the seriousness of his threat.
I haven't seen this male—or any of them, for that matter—swing a sword, but the confidence that he holds himself with says he’s more than competent.
Should I risk my life and my fate to fight with this male over a female who loathes me? Should I risk it all for her unborn child, completely innocent of any of this mess?
I step back until I find the chair against my legs and drop onto it, pressing a hand over my chest as I try to breathe through the suffocation, the curse pressing into my skin so hard that I feel faint. Whether it’s my own power calling to it or the curse feeling my contempt for it, it wraps around me until I feel as though I’m dying alongside the baby.
I sit in silence until the guard shift changes at its usual time, Tyton walking down the stairs and relieving his brother without much passing between them. Tauron doesn't look my way once, doesn't mention what I said about Airlie or the baby. He simply leaves the dungeon as though I never spoke to him in the first place.
I could bring it up with Tyton, could push it further, and the healer in me desperately wants to, but the high fae don't want my help. They don't want mebreathing,so I settle into my seat and wait for the tragedy to unfold in the castle above. The ice around my heart melts a little more, the sorrow burning hot enough to break through the chill that took hold of my bones.
I try to distract myself from the pressure, my gaze landing on my guard and taking stock. Tyton’s appearance is the same as always, dressed in the casual attire of the Unseelie high fae, though he's wearing a softer blue color today, one that makes his eyes stand out even further. He still has his weapons, and there’s a sharpness to him as he looks around the room and more tension in his shoulders than there normally is, but there's no doubt that whatever chip his brother bears on his shoulder, Tyton escaped it unscathed.
A short time later the door opens once more and footsteps thud down the staircase. I sit up a little straighter, because I can pick out the pattern of those footfalls, strong, confident, not concerned with falling, but at a speed that says he has no interest in being down here. My chest tightens in anticipation and my body comes alive at his arrival. My eyes slip shut as I take a deep breath, forcing the flutters of my stomach to quiet down. When will this reaction dampen? I can’t live like this forever, not with a male who questions and belittles every part of me.
Prince Soren appears at the bottom of the staircase and strides over to my cell, staring in at me. Tyton ducks his head a little in greeting but doesn't seem concerned by his cousin's sudden arrival. The two of them don't bother to exchange pleasantries, and Soren steps up to the iron bars without preamble.
“I’ll admit you’re better than I thought you’d be. All of that sitting and watching came in handy to figure out when you would attempt your first blow, but whatever magic you’ve been pouring into the earth, it's not working.”
I stare at him, my hand itching to rise and clasp the soft skin of my throat, the only place this male has ever touched me. My skin there tingles as though he pressed an iron glove there instead of his hand, and I feel the Fates dance in my scars, joyous at simply being in his presence.
I hate it all.
“The curse is here. It's come for the baby.”
He stares at me for a moment before he slowly shakes his head, one corner of his mouth tucked up into a smirk. “You guessed that Airlie would be the weakest link, the easiest way to burrow into my good graces, but you’re wrong.”
My eyes stay fixed on his, never wavering because I need him to believe me if I want to give that child the chance at life. “Only an idiot would think she’s the weakest link in this household, and I'm not trying to burrow into anything. Your opinion of me is the least of my concerns. The curse is filling the castle, how can none of you feel it? She needs a healer and protection, immediately. Call for one, you must knowsomeonewho can assist her!”
Tyton glances between the two of us before settling on Soren. “Is the baby coming?”
Soren shakes his head, his eyes still hard as he stares at me unflinchingly. “Airlie hasn't felt a single pain. If anything, she looks stronger now than she has in weeks because she's been resting more. No doubt the witch wants us to let her out so she can examine her, use her magic to start the labor early, and then pass it off as the curse. I've already forbidden Airlie from coming down here anymore. Over my dead body will you set eyes on her again.”
The weight of the curse presses on my chest, as ugly and grotesque as any act of war I’ve ever seen. To go after the most vulnerable of the high fae in such a cruel way might be a clever tactic to cripple a race notoriously stronger and far more resilient than the witches have ever been, but it's disgraceful. I can’t think or form an answer to argue my case against this immovable male, not while this pressure threatens to break me open.
Soren glares at me, and when I don't have an answer for him, he turns back to his cousin. “Watch her carefully. She's not to move from that seat for anything until the kitchens bring her scraps. I swore to Roan that I would keep Airlie safe, and I will not let some false claims endanger his wife and unborn child.”
Tyton nods and settles back into his stance, his eyes more sharp as his gaze bounces around the cell. There’s nothing for him to find, no nefarious traps that I’ve been constructing for them.
Soren nods at him. “I’m escorting Sari through the fae door in the morning. Tauron will ride out with me and Corym will assist in the guard shifts here. When I return, I’ll deal with the witch.”
