Morgana had saved me, cared for me. Had taken me in. I looked up to her, trusted her. Owed her everything—woulddoanything for her.
The pain vanished, and nothing remained other than a crushing, inescapable urge to obey.
Chapter 3
Zara
Hushed whispers drifted through the scratched wooden door, and a cruel smile curved my lips. The expression felt wrong, foreign, but I shoved the discomfort aside. I had found them. The rebels—or at least some of them. They were holding a meeting in Bevermere, and they had made it too easy for me to find where they were gathering.
The rebels hated Morgana, and wanted her dethroned. The majority of them were essentially human, although that species has been nearly extinct now for over a century. The rebels were mostly low-powered Fae, those who hadn't been chosen as children and forced into a life of labor, prostitution, or to serve as sources. The latter often went hand-in-hand with prostitution, though depending on age, there were laws in place to protect the young from that aspect of it...at least for a time.
They'd been quiet for years, likely regrouping, and have now resurfaced. This time, however, other fae, powerful ones, had joined their cause, and Morgana wanted them dealt with.
My hand hovered over the bronze handle, hesitation creeping in as laughter sounded from inside. I flinched, cursing under my breath. There were children inside that room.
That thing in my chest thrashed and tightened beneath my ribs, as if she sensed my hesitation. But the doubt wasn’t new. Neither was the guilt. Morgana’s command echoed through me, my blood pulsing, demanding obedience.
It never used to feel this forced, but as I've gotten older, I started to question whether I truly wanted to obey her, or if she had simply made me believe I did. She had taken my magic—my soul—so young that I don’t remember her ever asking. I just remember wanting to please her, make her happy. I never knew the cost of what it would do to me until now. Until I was made to do things like this.
Morgana didn’t care that there were children here, but I did.
Morgana had told me she needed to take my magic, use it to save our kingdom. Defeat her enemies. When she wasn’t able to wield my magic the way she’d planned, I remember feeling guilty, as though I had failed her somehow. She had been furious, but she quickly learned that she could use my powersthroughme. That she could wieldme. But all I've ever seen her use it for is against her own people.
I tried to resist once, but I learned the hard way that resisting only led to blacking out and when I woke, I found that I had obeyed anyway, just more violently.
At least conscious, I could find ways to lessen the damage, and find loopholes.
But there was no loophole today.
My skin continued to itch, and I sighed, finally grasping the smooth metal handle.
The door swung open, and I met the gaze of a young boy. Fear and recognition shone brightly on his face, and his lips began to part. A silent plea glistened in his dark eyes.
They would haunt me—just like the others.
Before he could scream, before anyone else could react, I raised my arms. Shadows surged from me like snakes, spearing into the room, and I struck.
*
My gaze traced the sculpted planes of the male's bloody chest before fixing on his molten silver eyes. His attention was locked on the dying man at his feet, blood pooling beneath the still twitching corpse.
Atticus Ranthorn was now the new duke of Amberwood.
A deliberate smile stretched across his lips, as he turned, his dark wavy hair falling away from his face as he made his way toward the dais.
Atticus dropped to one knee, his right arm crossing his chest in a gesture of respect, as he knelt in front of Morgana and my father.
His molten silver eyes, however, moved past the thrones and crashed into mine.
My brow rose at his boldness.
I have heard rumors about this man, stories about his ruthlessness. He had made a name for himself within my father's ranks, and that was why he had been invited here today to prove himself, his power, his worth.
Atticus had a dark aura about him, twisted, similar to my own. His unique ability to manipulate metal made it nearly impossible for anyone without any significant magic to deflect. And the last duke was nothing compared to this man.
His particular skills made him indispensable to them, toher.
Atticus could bend metal, mend it, even pull on the iron in our blood. That skill alone was what gave him the most value, his ability to kill so easily.
