by Ella Fields
Bron slid closer to me on the seat, brows crinkled with confusion. “How long?”
“Until an army can be raised.” Even as I’d said it, something inside me protested at the idea of the male who’d visited my rooms to help me thread gold dying upon a battlefield. Quickly, I squashed the feeling. He deserved nothing but the hardship and torment that awaited him. A death as gory and grotesque as what he’d given my father—if not worse.
“I’m not entirely certain.”
I took another bite, chewing as I talked, and knocked the image of my mother berating me, of Dade’s talk of manners, away. “You’re not certain?” I swallowed, smiling at the prince’s stunned face. “Or you merely do not wish to tell me?”
“Oh, I want to tell you,” he said, his expression melting into one of heated interest. “But I’m positive I’ll get myself in trouble if I do.”
“Who’s to know you said anything?” I arched a brow.
Chuckling, he reached out, brushing apple juice from my lower lip with his thumb. “If you can keep a secret…”
I fluttered my lashes. “Of course. You know we are adept at doing so.”
He leaned closer, the crispness of his scent all wrong, his hooding eyes upon my mouth. “We hope within a month, but more than likely, it’ll be a little longer.”
“A month?” I nearly choked, lowering my voice to a whispering hiss. “Anything could happen in that time.”
“We are calling for reinforcements from all over this side of the world, Princess. That and training them all once they arrive, well, it takes time. It’s quicker than waiting, hoping, that one of the neighboring human realms across the sea might merely come to our aid.”
No one would come. We were a land of myth and legend and death.
Gold was necessary—the only way.
Turning my eyes to the garden, I clenched my teeth, focused on the marigolds. He was right, and still, it hollowed something within me to think of all the horrors that could unspool from the shadows during that time.
“Opal.” Warm, smooth fingers grasped my chin, shifting my face back toward his. “We will defeat him, this I vow,” the prince whispered vehemently, then stole my lips.
They were soft, but not as soft as I’d hoped.
They were gentle, but with a firmness that spoke of barely leashed aggression.
They were nice, but five seconds was enough, so I pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” Bron murmured, blinking down at his lap.
“I should head back.” I stood, fingers fluttering against my lips. “I’m sure another delivery of clothing has arrived by now.”
Bron joined me, and what had seemed like a short walk now felt as though it would drag into eternity, the silence between us a cold wind.
I wasn’t satisfied that I’d proven the prince could be tempted to care for me, to help me, even if it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart. I was nothing but… hollow. A chasm, one that seemed to grow wider than the divide between our realm, had made a home within my chest.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to, yet I knew I wouldn’t—couldn’t.
At the top of the stairs, Bron opened the door to my cage and bowed. “Thank you for…” He stalled, sputtering roughly, “Well, for joining me.”
All I could manage was a smile and made to walk inside to the new mountains of clothing I could see awaiting me on the floor.
A large hand gripped my upper arm, pulling me back slightly.
Bron whispered to my ear, stirring my hair as my spine stiffened, “You should know that I’m not really sorry.” With a smirk curling his lips, he gazed at me momentarily, then released me and waded back downstairs.
Inside, I leaned against the closed door. The apple, still clutched in my fingers, had coated my hand in its sticky blood.
The king of wolves did not show that evening, and the following day, I remained in my rooms, determined to weave the golden thread myself.
Perhaps if I could, he wouldn’t come back. At the very least, he’d have no reason to stay if he thought to pay me another visit.
And so although no gold laid before me after hours spent with different items of clothing, I was ready, frustrated but ready, when he arrived.
Though as shadow unfurled into a large male, it occurred to me that I was wrong. That as he slipped inside the window, boots landing silently on the floor, and pulled the collar of his coat as high as the sharp bones of his cheeks, I was never going to be prepared for all that he was.
A monster masquerading as a rare form of art.
The flames in the sconces on the wall guttered and swayed, the soft light and dark highlighting the harsh angles of his face, the sensual lips, and those eyes… I swallowed and looked at the open window, wondering why I’d never thought to close it.
“I’d open it,” he said, with a crack of his neck, tracking my vision and line of thought. “Nothing keeps me from what I want.”
Those words were like stones sinking inside my burning ears. As I fiddled with an apron in my lap, my skirts trussed around me on the bed, I laughed a little, the sound dry. “You want to toy with me?”
I couldn’t not look at him as he took the same seat he had last time on the end of the bed, this time removing his boots before lifting his long, muscled legs. Pants that resembled breeches but appeared thicker wrapped around them, moving like water as he crossed his legs. My eyes bugged when I saw them mold over the largeness at his crotch, fire infusing my cheeks as he chuckled, and I looked away.
“I love to toy with you,” he purred, hatred and heat filling my stomach. “It’s amongst one of the many things I long to do more of with you.”
“Before you kill me?”
His eyes thinned, thick brows dipping over them. Without removing them from my gaze, he reached out and snatched my hand, fingers linking instantly. “I’m beginning to wonder if that would please you.” When I blinked, he added, “Admitting to something we both know I have no intention of doing.”
I had to move away from the subject, from him, but alas, hundreds of garments awaited me, and though I hated it, I couldn’t do this alone. “Let’s just get to work.”
His fingers squeezed gently. “Of course.”
We were four pieces deep, my gaze fastened on the gold unspooling from beneath my hand, a gentle warmth floating through every vein, flowing through my fingers to their tips, when he asked, “Who else knows of your ability?”
“That I’m a swan?”
He lifted a golden brow, dragging a pair of fur-lined pants between us. “The shadows hear all, Princess.” Noting my frown, he went on, voice so low I felt that heat return as I studied his lips to be sure of what he was saying. “The mortals have not only heard but spun tales of the only shapeshifter to grace the golden Fae, and so I’m sure some are also aware that the spinning of gold is linked to the rarity that is the black swan.”
“Those tales likely mean nothing to them,” I snapped, yet whispered the harsh words. “Only our kind, and to be honest, I’m not even sure why.”
“Ah.” The king of wolves smiled down at our hands. “They never told you.”
“That it’s a bad omen of some sort, yes,” I muttered. “I’ve gathered that much.”
The king scowled, eyes darting over my face from beneath curling lashes. “It’s just the opposite.” Sighing as though he were confused and annoyed, he tossed the pants aside and gathered a large gown. He lifted it into the air for it to fall over our legs, creating a gentle, brief, fluttering breeze. “The stars have indeed handed us some contradicting—what the fuck?”
Shocked by his outburst, the snarl that so suddenly roughened his voice, warped his expression, and raised his upper lip, I couldn’t move as he lunged toward me, then knocked me back onto the pillows. Warm puffs of air, tickling and stomach snatching, trailed over my neck, lower jaw, and then finally, my mouth. “The toad kissed you.”
The air he’d stirred with the gown had given the prince and me away. Enough time had p
Fool. I was a damned fool to forget who was stealing inside of this cage.
He was not like most Fae who resided in these lands. He was a wolven beast with a heightened sense of smell that exceeded even those of us with the grandest senses.
A low growl rumbled near my ear, and I felt him shaking above me—shaking with unmistakable rage.
Now was not the time to provoke him. “Stop,” I said as gently as I could, trying to keep my voice from wavering. “Please, it’s fine.”
But he didn’t move, just released a violent curse and dragged his nose over my cheek. “You let him touch you.”
Not a question, and so I didn’t treat it as one, and merely waited with my eyes shut tight for him to get off me. A minute passed, maybe two, with him just breathing, low and deep and deadly, arms braced by my head, his nose pressed into my jaw.
He was holding himself back. From doing what, I didn’t want to know. But for all my taunts about him murdering me…
No. Not like this.
I infused his name with every inch of fear crusading through me. “Dade.”
It seemed to work. He rose, staring down at me with ocean-deep eyes, then cursed once more. Shaking hands swiped through his hair as he retreated back to the end of the bed and then scrubbed over his cheeks.
Another suffocating minute swept by. I couldn’t look at him.
Unsure what else to do, I retrieved more clothing and his hot, stiff hand, keeping my eyes on the task. His fury didn’t ebb. If anything, it became a thundercloud between us, and I grew tense, never daring to look at him as I waited to see if it would erupt.
“Why?” he finally gritted through his teeth as though he loathed to release the word.
“You’re not the only one capable of games.”
“Meaning?” he barked.
“You know exactly what I mean,” I said, too soft, still unable to stare into those violent blue eyes.
My own glued to his clenching jaw, watched it spasm as he rolled his neck and grunted, “Fool.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me just fine.”
Simmering silence caged us, and we both remained focused on the clothing for taut minutes. Gold thread gleamed beneath our hands, shining brighter than any star. His hold so tense, his fingers twitched and squeezed mine.
I couldn’t stand it, hated that I couldn’t keep myself still, that I couldn’t keep enduring the quiet, the frustration, the ire. He’d murdered my father, so many of my people, destroyed towns and homes, yet I couldn’t keep my mouth shut nor make him leave. I loathed myself, loathed that he’d made that self-loathing worse. “It’s none of your concern.”
It was the wrong thing to say. For many reasons. The main one being that it propelled him into action. With a heart-quickening snarl, he launched to his knees. Clothing crushed beneath him, he gripped my cheeks in his hands. “None of my concern?”
His gaze held mine, searching and unblinking. “Dade,” I tried again, reaching up to wrap my hands over his. His head lowered, nostrils flaring, and then…
He kissed me.
Hard, possessive, erasing—his lips coaxed and claimed, and I tore at his hold on my face and shoved at his chest, slapping his hands away. “How dare you?”
His ragged breaths floated over my mouth. “Play what games you think you must, sunshine.” His face was void of anything welcoming, blank and ferociously cold. “But do not let him do that again.”
Then he was gone, leaving little more than half the clothing glittering with gold.
Anger and shame became a pit of snakes within my chest and stomach, writhing and strangling. After sleeping for all of half the night, I had to escape my rooms.
The queen’s servant girl had arrived, displeasure crinkling her features when she’d taken the incomplete clothing on the bed and floor. “I’m not feeling well,” I’d said, toneless, and she’d nodded before leaving to inform Sabrina.
I was certain I’d be paid a visit from her majesty before sunset tomorrow if I hadn’t finished, yet I felt no panic at the thought. No sense of urgency. All that remained was the blood king’s scent, his vicious kiss, and that never-ending self-loathing.
Rounding the outermost pathway to the rear of the gardens, I slowed my steps when giggling floated from the northern end. I turned, just slightly enough to make out moving color—pinks and greens and blues—and updos of chestnut and black curls.
The princesses.
I’d yet to meet them, sequestered in my gilded cage as I had been, but I’d heard rumors of their beauty, their cutthroat antics at court, and of their ages.
The twins, Myla and Claudia, were eighteen years of age, and the older sister, Rosabelle, a mere ten months younger than her twenty-three-year-old brother, Bron. Some said Rosabelle was a bastard due to her slightly darker coloring and hair, while others say she was adopted, found on the stoop of the castle.
I didn’t know what to think, and I hadn’t any thoughts one way or another due to not caring about human politics and their rumors.
But as they continued to laugh in the vine-shrouded courtyard atop the gardens, I could feel their stares upon me while I continued my walk. Perhaps they didn’t know I could hear them, or perhaps they knew my hearing was better than their own and did not care.
“Bron intends to care for her,” one of them said.
Another cackled, nearly hollering, “Eldrid wouldn’t hear of it.”
A quiet, firmer voice said, “The faerie princess stands more of a chance at marriage to the idiot than one of his braindead lovers, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Rosabelle,” one of the girls gasped, “she’s a bloody faerie. Don’t be absurd.”
Rosabelle said nothing else as the other twin whispered, “She might be pretty, but her ears are odd, and so is the way they carry themselves, as if they’re water in the midst of freezing.”
“So still,” murmured her sister. “It’s creepy.”
I pricked my finger on a thorn just to glimpse the color of my blood. Dark crimson bubbled, and with my back turned to the princesses, I lifted it to my mouth and sucked. A mistake, immediate and scalding memories flooding my mind—life-changing and too bitter to ever be considered sweet.
“…he’s even said he won’t marry her,” one of the twins was saying now. “Something about not being malleable enough.”
Rosabelle snorted. “Figures.”
Their conversation dwindled to some misfortunate courtiers as they retreated inside the castle, parasols left on the brick and white teacups upon a large metal table, its cream paint flaking.
Eyeing them as I walked past, I considered all they’d said and waited for the anger to arrive. Waited for the upheaval of my stomach at the knowledge I’d been played for a fool yet again.
It never came.
I couldn’t decide if it was because I’d experienced worse or if it was due to the fact I already knew I would never marry the human prince.
All I knew was that I needed to get out more, perhaps befriend a princess or two, if I planned to escape this place alive.
As though my dragging mood had summoned him, the prince soon sauntered through the gardens, his smile as bright as the fading afternoon sun. “Opal, I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Oh?” I tilted my head, smiling and withholding a laugh. “There’s really only one other place I could be.”
His answering smile could only be described as insufferably buoyant, as he went on to say, “You haven’t been informed? You’re free to roam the halls as you please, any garden you like.” Instead of feeling shocked or even excited, suspicion flooded. Grasping my hands, the prince grinned wider. “Mother has agreed a marriage between our two kingdoms would be beneficial,” he rushed out. “A fitting way forward.”
Beneficial.
Fitting.
I pursed my lips to keep them shut, slowly taking my hands from his so as not to make him concerned. “Well, this is… unexpected.” And utter rubbish, I thought.
Why would the queen lie to her son in such a way? To have him inform me, and therefore keep my hope alive enough to keep working for them?
Staring into his gold-flecked eyes while he muttered about the conversation they’d had over breakfast, his hands moving animatedly, I watched him scratch the side of his nose three times.
The timing of his appearance in the gardens, not long after his sisters had gone, leaving only us, the insects, and perhaps a loitering groundskeeper, said this had nothing to do with his mother or the king.
He was lying.
“Hello, murderer.”
Vordane’s king didn’t talk or falter as he crossed the room from where he’d warped inside by the door and retook his seat upon the bed. Silent, liquid movements now stilted, he gathered clothing and my hand, and we got to work.
“You seem… tense,” I goaded once we’d reached the second to last pile.
“Fucking furious is what I am,” he rumbled, jaw shifting and his hand clenching over mine. “You reek of him.”
“He didn’t kiss me,” I said after a minute had stolen precious air from my lungs. “He did find me in the gardens, though.”
His head lifted, features twisted with displeasure yet no less striking. “How lovely.”
Looking down at the bed, I hummed, and we soon moved onto the last pile.
Because I was an idiot, and because I hated him, I went on, casual and unbothered by the overwhelming heat that rolled off him and flooded the room. “He said he plans to marry me, has spoken with his mother, and she has taken it under consideration.”
His feral expression slackened, fading into something too dark to be named.
“What?” I asked with an air of feigned impatience.
“Truly, sunshine…” He seemed to stare right through me. “Can you not smell rot when it crouches before that pretty nose of yours?”
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