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ELVA
My mother is staring at me. Her ice blue eyes, mirrors to my own, are peering into my soul.
I’ve seen over a century of life but still feel like a youngling when I face her.
The room temperature drops as I lose control and shake.
Get a grip.
Focusing my sight on a small figurine sitting on top of the fireplace, I slow my breathing. Long, painful silence passes before the room returns to its normal icy temperature.
My mother notices my discomfort, and I see her lips tilt into a macabre smile.
“Cat got your tongue?” she purrs, stalking closer and grabbing my chin. Hard. Her nails dig into my skin, causing me to clench my jaw. “Come now, Elva. We haven’t been together for years, and now you can’t find the words to speak to me. I’m hurt.”
She pouts, her lips painted a bright red that contrasts against her dark skin. “Would you like to play together? I’m happy to call forth the servant for their punishment now if you want to loosen up?”
Play.
The word sends shivers down my back as I recall all the ‘games’ my mother forced on me over the years. Lessons, she called them. Mother-daughter bonding, she said.
The whip whistles through the air before it lands on flesh, the sound of fear and pain second nature to me by now.
A tear flits down my cheek. I brush it away, but it’s too late. She noticed.
“Again,” my mother says from her throne, her eyes as hard as ice. “My daughter hasn’t learned her lesson yet. You will do this until you don’t cry, Elva, or you will be on the receiving end of the whip.”
The servant kneeling before me whimpers but doesn’t say a word.
I lift the whip again.
And again.
And again.
I shudder, pushing the memory away.
There was no bonding between us.
She was honing me as a deadly weapon.
The joke’s on her because I know only one of us is leaving this room. And I have to get back to my Summer Fae. There are no other options.
I close my eyes, banishing my fear, before turning to face her once more.
“That won’t be necessary,” I say, shifting on the couch to stare at her. “We can talk.”
A beat of silence passes before she purses her lips and frowns. “What a shame,” my mother replies. “Perhaps we can play later.”
I shake my head. “I will not be playing your games with you. I came back because you crossed the line.” I clench my teeth, willing the memories of my captivity to remain hidden. “What you did can’t go unpunished. Iwon’tlet it go unpunished.”
She turns and raises a brow. “What I did?” She parrots my words, a false look of naivety plastered on her face. “My child, I do so many things each day. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”
I stand, my fists clenched, as I glare at her. “What you did,” I seethe, “was arrange for me to be kidnapped because I refused to marry Henrick.”
She laughs. The loud, high-pitched sound is eerily mirthless as it echoes through the room. My stomach clenches as bile rises in my throat at the sound. I struggle against the desire to throw open the window and shift, to fly away from here. It takes everything I have to tamp it down, to lock it into place with all my other emotions.
“I am serious,” I say, approaching her. My blood runs colder and colder as I get closer to her before she flicks a hand. Suddenly, I can’t move at all.
