My heart clenches violently in my chest, a lump forming in my throat as I bend down to dash the words away before I growtoo attached to them and lose myself to memories of days long gone.
A knock on the door stops my descent into panic, my stance shifting immediately into a defensive form as I stare across the room. My shield has obscured my task from any who might have been watching me, but I flick my hand at the fire to put it out before dusting the ashes away from myself. I push through my shield a little for more information, but aside from the two guards already standing by my door, there’s a lone female waiting impatiently there.
As I cross the room, she knocks again, a quick pattern that speaks volumes of her opinion of being left waiting. I’m tempted to turn around and ignore her, but I came to this Fates-cursed castle for a reason. I’ve chosen to call for aid, and this is the task lying before me now; petty games are beneath me… mostly.
With a pulse of magic into the lock, the door opens with a sharp creak, and the female has to step back hastily to avoid being hit by the solid oak panels. I step under the arch of the frame and find a breathtakingly beautiful high-fae woman staring at me with a carefully blank expression, dressed entirely in the off-blue color that loudly proclaims her allegiance to the regent. She’s Unseelie through-and-through, but there’s something alluring about her, a beauty that outshines even the other high-fae royals of the court. She holds herself with an ease I’m struggling to find for myself in this cursed castle.
Though I take a moment to assess her, her gaze never moves from my face, as though there's nothing about me that interests her. She was probably present in the grand hall, watching on as Soren, Gage and I were escorted in, but there’s something about her stare that digs beneath my skin. I have no explanation for it, the Fates are silent underneath my scar, but I can’t deny it.
When I raise an eyebrow at her silence, she finally speaks, her tone sedate to the point of parody, though I don’t know whoshe’s mocking. “Princess Sari would like to invite you to join her for dinner this evening, in her chambers with a few of her dear friends. She’s been looking forward to spending more time with her cousin’s Fates-blessed mate and is eager to welcome you to Yris.” Her voice is as carefully controlled as her face, not a speck of derision or disgust in it, but the guards behind her share a smug look.
I raise an eyebrow back at her. “Is this an invitation… or a demand?”
Her face doesn’t change, but there’s a heavy pause before she answers, “There are many within Yris desperate to find themselves dining at Princess Sari’s table. It wouldn’t even occur to them to question her invitation.”
I nod back slowly. “I’m sure none of them are witches, or anything other than high fae, nor are they in such a precarious position as I am.”
She nods her head slowly before tilting it and gesturing at the guards without turning to face the males. “Princess Sari would never force her beloved cousin’s Fates-blessed mate to join us, but no doubt her father would hear of her disappointment.”
A warning or a threat, I don’t know, but I nod regardless. “I look forward to joining you all.”
She nods and steps fully into my room, letting the door swing shut behind her. My shoulders roll back in preparation for an attack, but she looks around, as though assessing how I’ve spent my time so far. She doesn’t spare the fireplace a second glance, and when she’s satisfied with whatever her task was, she turns to me with a cold look on her face.
“Much has changed in the court since you saw the Snowsongs’ little heir safely into the world. A handful of high fae in Yris have already fallen pregnant, but concerns still linger for the lives of their unborn children. Tell me, witch, did you lift the curse only for those loyal to Soren, or will the rest of the high faebe spared the horror of burying more infants torn from our arms by your kind?”
I cock my head at her, my magic spilling out toward her instinctively, but she's not talking about her own child, that much is clear. Now that she’s out of the guards’ sight, she’s no longer hiding her disgust at being in my presence, a vicious loathing roiling beneath her skin that shines clearly through her eyes.
“Curious that you have bloodwitches housed within the castle, walking freely amongst the high fae, and yet you come to question me. Any fae who can wield magic could answer this question for you.”
Her lip curls upwards and her eyes flash with rage as she bites out her answer, holding her temper by a thread. “Bloodwitches with ties to Kharl Balzog, the very male responsible for the curse. Just answer me—can all high fae birth live children, or just the Snowsong bitch?”
My temper thoroughly, I raise an eyebrow as her pretense slips away and leaves behind a desperation that clings to her words. “Are you going to introduce yourself to me? Coming here seeking my knowledge without offering me a simple act of respect is deeply misguided. I don’t care what bloodline you bear or how much influence you wield, I owe you nothing.”
She steps forward, her face a furious mask, and my stance widens instinctively. My wrists flick upwards to part my sleeves at my elbows and, though her eyes flick down toward the action, she doesn’t understand the purpose and dismisses it easily. We stare each other down, rage coming off her in waves. The tension builds until I’m certain there’ll be bloodshed, only for another sharp knock on the door to cut through the seething silence in the room.
Neither of us look away, and I assume she’s going to ignore the interruption but, when one of the guards calls out acommand to get moving, her breath catches in her chest. My eyes narrow at her, but the blank mask slips easily back over her face even as she shakes herself, as though in her fury she forgot they were out there.
Shifting on her feet, she straightens her back and murmurs to me in a controlled tone, “I'll see you to Princess Sari’s chambers.”
She turns on her heel, her ferocity gone as the door opens and she nods to each of the guards waiting there. She strides out of the room, not pausing to see if I’m following, but it’s clear she doesn’t need to. When I stay still and watch her leave, one of the guards steps toward me, clearly ready to drag me should I refuse to go.
The never-ending hallway of white marble and bright fae lights digs further under my skin now that I don’t have the bloodwitches to distract me. It's too clean, coldly pristine and vacuous; I’d have gone insane living in this place myself. Maybe this castle is the reason the regent has become such a twisted male.
The female walks confidently ahead, ignoring the guards and I as we follow her through the maze of marble, and I focus on memorizing the turns we take so I have some hope of navigating this castle should it come to that.
When she turns sharply at the end of yet another expansive hallway and we find a fae door, I scoff and mutter under my breath, “For fae with no idea how magic works, you're awfully shameless about draining the kingdom’s dwindling reserves.”
The female doesn't acknowledge I've spoken, despite the irate tremble running through every syllable. Instead, she grasps a handful of my cloak and steps through the fae door without hesitation. Despite my distance to the threshold, the magic envelops me and casts me through alongside her.
I've never seen a fae door work so effectively, and my feet stumble when we step out the other side, clumsy in my shock. The journey is surprisingly less taxing than the others have been, as though there’s a river of magic flowing between these fae doors and drifting down. The other fae doors feel more like being cast into the ocean during a raging storm, nixies clutching desperately at your ankles as they try to drag you under.
The female doesn’t wait for me to collect myself, turning on her heel yet again and striding away, forcing me into a brisk pace to keep up. There are no windows in this hallway, and the walls are carved stone rather than marble. The air feels different here, not so thin, and it’s clear we're somewhere deeper within the heart of the castle. The hallway opens into a cavernous room, three times the size of Yregar’s Grand Hall, with dozens of stalls set up and vendors calling out prices. The area is writhing with fae folk, and as a bead of cold sweat runs down my spine, I take in the horror.
High-fae lords and ladies move around the market followed obediently by their part-blood and lower-fae servants, their eyes downcast. Rows and rows of supplies, food, and trinkets… it’s like nothing I’ve seen so far in the Southern Lands. Nearby, a dressmaker measures a regal looking female, the stall overflowing with reams of fabric in every color, though the regent’s blue is prominently featured. A jeweler's cart has dozens of females standing before it, fawning over new trinkets but, no matter how long I stare, not a single coin changes hands. None of the vendors ask for payment, they simply bag up whatever the high-fae request and bow their heads.
My magic tucks tightly into my chest as though rejecting the scene, but I force it out just to be sure of what I’m sensing. The moment it touches one of the merchants, it recoils, snapping back toward me with sickening despair. Dead butstill functioning, the vendors are nothing more than animated corpses.
The female keeps her hand on my cloak as she tugs me forward, her own eyes staying steady ahead as though none of the horrifying show before us registers with her. I struggle to bite back the bile creeping up my throat, and I’m glad we skirt the edge of the market. If I were forced to walk through it, I’d surely lose control of my magic and decimate this horrifying room to bring those fae folk some peace.
