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He doesn’t correct me, so I take it as a yes.
“And Myron’s father killed their entire bloodline.”
“Not the entire line,” Royad jumps in, directing his gaze at the bone-white walls that are the Crow palace. “Some say a few Fire Fairies got away.”
“Fact or tale?”
Royad shrugs. “One can never know these days. We thought humans couldn’t be mated to fairies either until King Recienne had a human mate.”
I shoot him a look supposed to tear through his crypticism. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know, Ayna.” The expression on Royad’s face isn’t what I expected, neither is the way his hand shakes as he reaches out to smooth back a strand of hair that has gotten loose from my braid. “Myron knows more about the entire mate business than any of us do.”
Whatever bridge he’s crossed in his mind, I can’t follow. “What does Myron have to do with mates?”
Royad shakes his head in a clear sign he isn’t going to answer, but his words don’t disappear from my mind even when the sun settles and I’m getting ready for dinner, slipping into a black, slender satin dress that does little to conceal my curves. If nothing else, the daily meals with the Crow King have helped me gain back my weight, and my hips and chest consist of defined slopes once more.
When Myron knocks and enters his bedroom, I am standing in front of the tall mirror in the corner by the bookshelf, braiding back my hair. He stalks a few steps into the room, dressed in fitted black pants and a tight vest that draws my attention to the muscles I know lie beneath the fabric.
He clears his throat. “Ready?” And our eyes meet in the mirror, his coal-dark and endless, and my breath stutters for a heartbeat as he seems as speechless as I am. A few more strides and he stands behind me, gaze sliding over my hair. “Wear it down.”
It isn’t an order, but the way he catches a lock of ash blonde between his fingertips and drapes it down my back, in a gesture so tender I can barely conceal a shiver as his knuckles brush my bare shoulder, makes me want to obey. It is then that he freezes, that familiar fury filling his gaze.
I only realize where he’s looking when the tip of a talon slides along my skin right next to the welded scar on my back. “Whoever did this to you will not like what I have in store for them if they ever cross my path.” He pulls back his hand as if catching himself doing something forbidden, but his gaze remains on my scar.
“Your people have lost two wars against the very creatures who did this.” I turn around so I can face him without the mirror in between. “If you face one of them, they might do the same thing to you.”
Myron’s jaw works as he seems to be searching for words. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you aren’t. It doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t step away even when the space between us feels crowded and the room suddenly is five degrees warmer. “That won’t keep me from giving them what they deserve.”
The menace in his eyes tells me everything about what the fairy guards of Fort Perenis should fear if the Crows ever got loose from their Seeing Forest. He smooths his features with a bland smile, emphasizing the sensuous curve of his mouth, and it takes me a beat to remember that I’m supposed to hate him, that I am here because we have a bargain.
Myron shakes his head and holds out his arm, and I slide my hand into the crook of his elbow, the sensation of silky feathers familiar and exciting on my skin as he leads me toward the door and down the hallway to the dining room. With my free hand, I comb through my hair as best I can with my stiff wrist. With everything Myron has been able to heal after the Crow attack, he hasn’t found a way to repair that old injury. A few days of rest, however, have worked wonders, and I no longer flinch with every movement.
The hallways are empty, but I plaster a bland smile on my features anyway. Better to keep up appearances so I hold up my end of the bargain. I have no idea what will happen if I don’t—if magic will tear me apart, or Myron, or the Guardians themselves will descend from their realm and nail me to a tree with a strike of lightning—and I don’t want to find out. All I can think of is freedom. If I keep this up and survive, I’ll be free.
The torches on the walls illuminate Myron’s features as I study him from the side while I still can without having the attention of his court on me. If it weren’t for the feathers and the occasional shift into his crow face, he’d be more than beautiful. But even the feathers don’t disturb me as much as they used to.
When we enter the dining room, the Crows seated by the long, white-clothed table stand and bow the way they do at every dinner I’ve attended since our little bargain. I no longer cringe under their hungry stares as they glance at me over their plates of raw meat. Surely they’d prefer to tear me limb from limb and devour me for a fresh meal.
Myron doesn’t even look at them as he guides me to the head of the table where he waits for me to sit before he seats himself in the chair next to mine.
The Crows hiss and caw as they wait for their king to start eating so they can tear into their own meals, but Myron takes his sweet time, making a show of pouring me a glass of wine before he takes a sip from his own glass. Naturally, I don’t touch it. Fairy wine supposedly meddles with humans’ minds, and I’m not allowing anything to meddle with mine while I am on display for the Crows.
“I see you have adjusted well to your new life, Wolayna,” Royad says with a hint of amusement in his eyes that reminds me of some of the crew members of the Wild Ray whom I’d considered family. Older brothers rather than fellow pirates. Something about the way Royad eyes me triggers those old emotions, and I can’t help wondering if I’m starting to soften up against my captors. But the truth is, neither Royad nor Myron have ever hurt me. Myron even stated he is as trapped in this situation as I am. The only question is: Do I believe them?
The way they can’t seem to get certain answers to cross their tongues is proof that there is more at work than the mere cruelty of a monstrous people. If I could only get enough out of them to piece things together on my own. However, for now, I have to rely on whatever I can find within books and those cryptic hints both Myron and Royad have been giving me. I don’t know what’s preventing them, but I’m determined to find out. If it has something to do with those Eternal Flames I’ve read about in the history book Myron left sitting out for me, or if the Guardians themselves are keeping them from speaking to punish them for their cruelties?—
If I believed the Guardians still cared for Eherea and its people, I might have believed that, but then, if they did, I wouldn’t have ended up here, a prisoner sentenced to death by marriage.
“Myron has been helping me grow into my new role,” I say with a saccharine smile that I hope convinces the predators seated around the table. I don’t know how Myron chooses each night’s assembly, but I’m pretty certain that by now, we’ve been through half of his people with the way I never see the same beaked faces twice. And, impossible as it may sound, I have found a way to distinguish the Crow Fairies by traits like a shimmer of color on their feathers, the weapons they carry, and small marks on their beaks and bare skin. Some of them have tattoos of birds or symbols of the sky inked onto their necks and chests while others are recognizable for their height or build.
Myron brushes his taloned finger along my bare forearm in silent response while he turns his gaze on Royad. “It’s been quite a few … enjoyable nights.”
I want to stick my tongue out at him, tired of pretending he’s the greatest lover in history, but I bat my eyes at him, sliding my hand into his and ignoring the way his fingertips turn into talons as they graze the inside of my palm.
However, I can’t ignore the shudder running through my body at the heated look he gives me before he disentangles our fingers and starts eating—roasted meat, thank the Guardians. The thought of him eating like the rest of the Crows makes my stomach turn. Before my mind can come up with horror scenarios of Myron’s eating habits, he leans in, nose grazing my cheek as he whispers, “Don’t worry, Ayna; I don’t feast on my brides.” He pauses, his chuckle running along my skin as he leans in a bit farther. “At least not the way you think.”
The fork slips from my grasp as I understand what he implies, and he laughs softly, a sound of genuine amusement that I haven’t heard from him before. The melody burrows deep within me like an echo of a life I’ve never gotten to live. The effect is intoxicating, and I can’t help but turn my head so I’m face to face with him, holding that heated gaze as I meet his clear challenge. “Another thing I’ll be begging you for?”
