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“The pixies tell me you have been to the Glass Mountains.”
Fucking fae. Casamir would not have the pleasure of tearing them to pieces because I would tear them limb from limb.
“You will take me there,” he said. “And once I have obtained a golden apple from the Mountains, you will come to my kingdom and aid me in conquering the Prince of Thorns. Do you understand?”
I glared, and then he produced my ax from behind his back. and my eyes widened. Another bargain made with the pixies, no doubt.
“If you try anything, I will not hesitate to bury this blade in your head. It’s what you deserve, after all, for fucking a fae prince. Up!”
I rose to my feet on shaking legs, and the mortal prince put his hand on my forearm.
“The pixies say there is a pond you depart from, and from there you call a wolf.”
I tried not to react to what the pixies had told the mortal, knowing he had to have made a desperate bargain. What had the prince given up for this aid? More than buttons, I imagined.
“I shall know if you lead me astray,” said the prince as he pushed me ahead. “Walk.”
I led the way as I considered my next move. It was as if the pixies knew I was considering my escape, because the vines tightened on my wrists and around my mouth, but they could not stop my thoughts, which wished for Casamir, for Anguish, for my elven prince to wake and realize I was gone.
All the while, Prince Flynn kept busy, rattling away about his time in the dungeons of Casamir’s palace.
“And did you know he came to me for love advice?” he was saying. “And each time he took something from me. First my hair, and then the feather in my hat, as if the hair could not grow back, as if I could not obtain another feather. The fae, they are foolish!”
His words made me cringe. Even if he managed to obtain a golden apple from the Glass Mountains, I knew he would come to regret those words, though I wondered why Casamir had asked for his hair and the feather in his hat. I knew the Prince of Thorns, and he did not ask for anything without reason.
“For a harlot, you are a picky thing.”
I jerked in his hold at his horrible words, and he wrenched me against him, placing the sharp blade of my ax against my neck.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he said. “Remember what I said?”
“Fuck you,” I tried to say, but the vines tightened to the point that my jaw ached.
The mortal prince laughed and then pushed me forward.
“Do as you’re told, and the pixies might let you survive this.”
The walk to the selkie’s pond seemed to take forever, but when we arrived, I turned to face the prince.
“Well? What now?” he asked.
I stayed silent. It was not as if I could speak with the vines wrapped so tight around my mouth. He seemed to realize this and chuckled.
“Oh, of course,” he said and lifted the ax. “Allow me to help.”
When I started to move away, his hand braced my head.
“Careful,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t want to cut you.”
He touched the blade of the ax to the vine and pressed. They snapped, and I felt the distinct burn of a cut on my skin.
I hissed and the prince chuckled.
“I told you not to move.”
I considered kneeing him in the groin, but he still had the ax aimed at my chest, and without my hands free to grab it, I worried it would end up buried inside me.
“Now what, harlot?” he asked.
