by Faith Ellis
He clears his throat. "I apologize." His voice sounds gruff, gravelly, as if he'd had a long, restless night and is feeling it. I watch him carefully. "I had no right to touch you yesterday. Forgive me."
My lips twitch. "Oh, that." I shrug. "I instigated it." Silence grows between us.
He nods to the tray. "Thought you might like a nice breakfast and some hot tea to start the day." A thin layer of frost coats his shoulders.
I roll my eyes. "I'll take what good things I can get, no matter how small at this point." I tear off a chunk of bread. It's fluffy on the inside and warm. Chasal's blue eyes are shadowed like an ocean with a storm raging
above. As I reach for the tea, the urge to place my hand on top of his overtakes me. The leather is smooth and thick. Baffled by my own actions, I say, "Thank you. For the food, I mean."
He stares back. Carefully he tugs his hand from my own, and one by one, pulls the leather from his fin- gertips and slips the glove off his hand. A sharp in- hale is the only sign that he feels the iron's bite. His blue eyes hold my own steadily as he reaches his hand out for mine. My eyes drop to it before coming back to his gaze. Slowly I reach out and slip my hand into his, flesh to flesh. His skin is soft and rough at the same time. His hands are much bigger than mine are, and broader. A sharp shock of electricity shoots through my palm and up my arm. I yelp, snatching my hand back as he yanks his to his chest and hisses.
So he felt it too.
My eyes narrow, and I search his face. Excitement courses through me. "What was that?"
He stands, mumbling, "You don't want to know."
I scrunch my nose and rise to my feet, positioning myself in a defensive pose. Though I am far shorter than him, and he outweighs me massively, it makes me feel more empowered than sitting on the ground as if I was cowering.
"What does that mean? What do you know that I don't?" I put my fists on my hips and bore into him, raising my chin slightly.
He sighs deeply but turns around to face me. His shoulders remain strong, his leathers taut across his
chest. I hadn't realized how broad he was until this mo- ment. Running a hand through his curls, tugging pieces free from the tie keeping them back, he looks at me. "It happened yesterday too."
"I know that. I felt it then, and I thought you were using your ability on me, but I don't know what you are capable of." I cross my arms over my chest, and a look of surprise flashes behind those still-raging waters. My torn tunic causes chills to tiptoe up my spine.
"What? No, no, of course not. My abilities aren't like that. I can influence emotions. It wouldn't have done anything like that. I—" He sighs again. "It was some- thing else. I shouldn't tell you."
"Excuse me?" I say, exasperated. "Why not?" "You wouldn't believe me."
"Try me."
"You're better off letting this go. I have things to do." He turns to leave, and I catch his arm.
"Captain, wait." He freezes.
"I know you don't owe me anything. You have a job to do, and I'm just a part of your job. I know you ques- tion my strength and success here." My voice softens with innocence. "I just want to understand what's go- ing on."
He turns and studies me for a moment with those deep blue eyes before relinquishing. "I don't question your strength. You have Folk who stand behind you. But this’s nothing you should concern yourself with right now."
"You're First Court."
He looks at me levelly and shifts uncomfortably. "As your queen, I demand you tell me what that
was."
His eyes widen, and a battle shows in his features. "You think I have some type of dedication to you?"
"Carla does, and you're close to her. So I guessed you two are fighting for similar goals."
He sighs and stares at me. He looks conflicted and unhappy; his brow is furrowed, and his shoulders are tense. "Andryad, this information will not help you with Mable. It's meaningless in this fight."
"I'm sick of being left in the dark. Let me make that decision."
His eyes dip to the floor, and he runs those large hands over his face. I remember the way they feel. They look so big, so rough. But they are so surprisingly gen- tle. He sighs again. "Very well. I find it difficult to argue with that."
I bite my lip to keep the smile from my face. The elation in me makes me want to squeal.
He didn't deny me as his queen either!
"Thank you, Chasal." I clasp my hands together.
He lowers his voice a couple notches. "Do you re- member anything about the mating bond?"
I wrack my brain, thinking back to my childhood years in Faery. "Yes, there is a very special connection for each fae. But not every fae finds that during their lifetime."
"Yes. Basically, there’s one perfect fae for everyone. When those fae come into contact for the first time, the bond snaps into place."
"Doesn't it drive the fae mad?" I frown.
"It creates an intense connection of possession, love, and even communication. They can feel, sense, and speak through the invisible link of the bond when within a specific distance."
I hold out my palm, examining it closely. "Wait, so we're each other's mates?" My brows draw together. That's impossible.
He shrugs, frost falling from his shoulders. "Appar- ently."
My jaw falls open, and my hand drops down to my side, limp. "How can that be?"
Chasal shakes his head, causing waves to come free, swaying with the movement. "I don't know. History has never told of a ruler and a commoner to be mates, yet here we are." He gestures between us.
"No, no, my mate is..." I swallow the knot in my throat. "Was...Aiden." We both fall silent, and there is a sadness in Chasal's eyes too. What has he lost? "Why did this happen now? And why twice? Shouldn't the bond just have happened once?"
The captain shrugs, looking anywhere but my face, and moves awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. "I as- sume last night was the first time we had skin-to-skin contact. I usually wear my gloves." He nods behind him to the iron door, acknowledging their agonizing pres- ence. "I don't know why we felt the jolt twice. Maybe
we pulled away so quickly the first time, it didn't fin- ish." His eyes are leery. "You only have one mate. I ad- mit I'm new to this too." He goes quiet.
I step carefully toward him, and his eyes look down into mine as I reach for his cheek. I let him lean into my palm for a moment. Nothing happens. The bond must have completed. I search his eyes and whisper, "Mate or not, my heart is Aiden's." Then I drop my hand and turn to the place beside the tray, where I plop down and ignore the captain's obvious hurt, the drop in his shoulders.
He recovers quickly, putting on a facade on neutral- ity. I will not accept this bond, will not allow it into my heart that continues to ache for my lost love. My stom- ach coils with nausea at the very thought of giving my love to another male. One I do not know, do not love. How ironic that in truth my mate is my captor while the male I fell in love with through building a relation- ship and sharing a dream is dead. Chasal might not un- derstand my refusal to this new discovery, but I will not betray Aiden's memory, and the thought of giving myself to anyone else feels like a betrayal. I wrap my arms around my body and douse my fire, allowing the chill to seep into my bones and numb everything.
Minutes pass before Chasal walks out of my cell and the door clinks and clangs into place.
"I'll be back soon to take you to Carla," Chasal says through the bars. When I can no longer hear his re- ceding footsteps, I lean against the cold stone wall and release hard, body-wracking sobs. The sounds bounce
off the rock walls and fill my ears. They sound so des- perate they make me cry even harder. For the love I have lost, the love I will never experience again. For my failure as a queen, a friend, and a lover. All of the emo- tions burst through me at once, swelling up and con- suming my soul.
Chasal comes back. I look forward to seeing Carla again; her presence is a comfort. We enter her room, and after a short bath, she sits me down on the bed. Her h
orns are not adorned with gold today, but they look better, much smoother. My eyes are closed, sink- ing into her soft, familiar touch. She sets the brush down and comes around, crossing her legs in front of me, taking my hands in hers. They are so small in my own. Her fingers are delicate and graceful. So different from the size and feeling of Chasal's. Stop it, I chide myself.
She whispers ferociously, "Andryad, please let me help get you out of here. I’ve spoken with Chasal, he believes in you too. Please, together, I think we can at least get you out."
I sit stunned for a moment that my quiet friend has made such a bold suggestion. Carefully I fold my hands over hers and smile. "Carla, I can't do that. I need to stay here to finish this. I have to put a stop to Mable. I can't abandon my Folk."
"It's torture," she insists.
"Precisely. But it will be for her more so than myself.
Be patient. You have to trust me." "And if she asks me questions?"
"Stay quiet and keep your head down. You don't know anything."
"But I know you have a plan. Isn't that enough? I know you're trying to win back your throne. And there's only one way to be sure that happens." Carla watches me with a too-serious gaze. She appears much older in this moment than she ever has before. Her ears are swiveled, facing the front, fully alert.
I stand, dressed in a plain brown dress with inner fleece lining. My hair hangs loose and shiny from Carla's brushing. The strength and confidence I'm feel- ing are more than I have felt since I first set foot in Mable's castle. I hug Carla tightly to my chest. When I release her, she pulls back and looks up at me. Her brown eyes are large and clear. "We'll figure that out if and when the time comes. For now, I must go with Chasal."
Carla nods as the captain walks into the room. He looks at both of us as we detach, and when he catches my eyes, a slight flush fills his cheeks. I ignore it. After our discovery, I have to admit it is a little awkward. I take Chasal's leather-covered elbow, and we leave the room for the throne room.
As we walk, we catch each other's gaze, and an in- visible cord pulls taut between us. When did his eyes become so soft? My heart flutters. I barely know any- thing about this male.
"I don't even know your name. Not your birth name," I admit casually as we stroll down the halls. He seems surprised, but he answers.
"It's Erek."
"Erek," I repeat, tasting it on my tongue. It is a good name, a solid name. "Interesting. Doesn't that mean ‘ruler of people’?"
"Hah, yes." His mouth twitches slightly, and color crawls up his neck.
"But you're not a royal or an aristocrat?"
"No, but"—he glances at me again—"my family stems from the right hands and top warriors of royal families. When I was born, my parents thought it would be a strong name for a leader and assumed I would follow the path of leading other warriors." A sheepish smile lights his face. "I guess I did."
"How did you come to be here, Erek?" When he doesn't answer, I add, "Under Mable's rule, I mean."
Erek clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. "Another time, maybe." He glances around. "Seeming too friendly will get both of us in a lot of trouble." With another glance, he quickly pulls me underneath a shadowed doorway and waits for a guard to pass by before he whispers, "Andryad, I have to get you out of here."
"Oh, so now that I'm your mate, you care?" I fold my arms over my chest, ready for a fight when his bright eyes find mine.
"I cared before that piece of information revealed it- self." He sounds a bit hurt, but he keeps on. "I can't keep letting her do this to you. And what happens if Mable does extract your essence? You're our only hope to defeating her. I—" He swallows. "And I can't watch
you die." He drops his eyes, suddenly all too interested in his boots.
My eyes search him. He truly cares about what hap- pens to me. He acts so cold, so distant. As a soldier should, I suppose.
"I'm so sorry I haven't been able to do more, to get you out. This wasn't the plan. You came here far earlier than we expected, and—"
My eyes narrow in suspicion. "What do you mean this wasn't the plan? What plan?" His eyes avoid mine. "Erek, what plan?"
"Aiden positioned some of us here, inside. To be ready for when you came to take down Mable. He said if things went south, no matter what, to keep our cov- ers. But then you all just…" He shrugs. "Showed up. Completely off track, two months ahead of schedule. We assumed it was best to stick with the plan as best we could." Frustration etches into his brow.
Pins stab at my heart as everything goes silent. Dizziness sweeps over me, and my breath picks up. "Two months. How much better would it have been if we’d stuck to the plan and trained another two months? I would’ve been stronger. I could’ve saved Malor!” My heart pounds in my ears. “When did Aiden plan this?"
"He was planning while you were still in the human world."
"So you're one of the rebels? What about Malor?
Was he in on the plan?"
"I don't know how much he knew, An. I gave Aiden my word to follow his orders. And when I tried, there was no way I could get around it, no way to intervene." My legs are unsteady, the feeling of falling a thou- sand feet washes over me, and Erek's hands reach out
to grab my shoulders and right me. "Why didn't Aiden trust me?"
Pieces of blond waves loosen from his tie as Erek shakes his head. "I don't think he did things this way because he didn't trust you. I think he loved you so much he wanted to protect you, and he thought this was the way to do that. I'm sure he thought the less you knew, the less you'd worry."
Water pools at the bottom of my eyes, blurring my vision. His hands on my shoulders tighten, and I blink the tears away. He offers me his arm. "C'mon, we're al- ready late. We have to go."
"Wait." I hold up my hand. "If you couldn't inter- vene, why can you help me now?"
He laughs softly. "It's ironic, isn't it? The mating bond is a curious form of power. Between my mate and something or someone else, my mate will always have the upper hand." I allow that to sink in before I accept his arm. We walk the rest of the way in silence.
By the time we get to the throne room, I push away the emotions spilling out of my heart and tap back into that invincible power I had before Erek shared Aiden's plans. Those feelings quickly vanish when we enter the cold room and I take in the scene. My heart plummets to my feet. Horror coils in my stomach, bitter and chill-
ing. In the air hangs a feeling that is tight and expec- tant.
Mable sits on her throne looking far too pleased, though beneath her eyes are dark half-moons, and un- der her powdered cosmetics, she looks gray. But it's the male beside her that stops me dead in my tracks. Erek tightens his grip on my elbow to support me. I don't dare look at his face.
Two Elites guard the male. His hands are clasped be- hind his back, but he jerks his shoulders violently until they grab him to still him. A thick black hood conceals his face and hangs down to his shoulders, but I would know that form anywhere. His long black hair drapes over one shoulder. When the Elites have him settled, they snatch off the hood.
"So glad you could join us," Mable sings sweetly. "You seemed to take a while getting here. No bother, that gave us plenty of time to gather our guest."
The room spins, and my chest clenches so tightly I struggle to breathe. If Erek wasn’t at my side to sup- port my weight, I would have fallen to my knees. Mable appears satisfied at my reaction, but Aiden looks tired and disoriented: his eyes are unfocused, and his skin is incredibly pale. They must have kept him in irons, be- cause he has bruises of purple and yellow decorating his face and throat that have yet to heal. He bucks his shoulders against the Elites again.
"Get your hands off me." His voice is scratchy. My whisper sounds loud. "How is this possible?"
"Oh, dear, I am the queen. I have access to the best healers in our realm. Do you think me so cruel as to al- low my son to simply die?" She places a hand over her heart, feigning offense. Indeed, I think such a thing, and for her to have
rushed to save him, I know he is simply a pawn in her game.
Aiden looks at me but stays where he is, now strug- gling to keep his head up and eyes open. "An?"
"What do you want?" I direct at Mable.
"Your suffering, of course!" She claps her hands to- gether. "Torture can happen in a variety of ways, pet. I decided to get a little more creative."
"You're insane, Mable. He's your son." My voice grows stronger.
Mable shrugs a narrow shoulder. "Yes, and he has a purpose. Now you will see him suffer. Torturing you with weapons has not yielded the results I hoped. Maybe if you hear his screams, it'll shred you apart more than any iron, any weapon, ever could." Her eyes darken. "Will you let Aiden die just like your little blond friend?" Her lips press into a pout, mocking me. My nails bite into my palms as I clench my fists, push- ing out the images of Malor's broken body running through my head. I can't let that happen to Aiden. No matter what, I can't.
She turns to one of her Elites standing near Aiden and nods. As the Elite hoists Aiden to stand taller, Ja- mal strolls in casually to join us. A chilling shiver rolls down my spine at the crude iron spike in one of his gloved hands. He walks past us to stand in front of
Aiden, and the pulsing of the iron's presence closes my throat until he's passed. Roughly, Jamal grabs a fistful of Aiden's dark locks to lift his head up. Jamal plunges the iron deep into Aiden's thigh. Liquid runs freely, seeping through and soaking his ragged breeches, turn- ing them a deep color.
Aiden clenches his jaw, the muscles in his neck straining as he holds Jamal's stare, but he finally breaks, unable to take the searing pain any longer. His screams crack my heart wide open. The desperation breaks something inside of me that pushes my feet for- ward, feeding the fire inside my gut.