6. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
W hen I was a child, I stumbled upon a rabbit caught in a poacher’s snare.
In The Grove, the earth nurtures us, so I had never encountered a trap designed to catch and kill. The rabbit lay on its side, its brown eyes wide with terror, its chest heaving with frantic breaths. It was the first time I truly sensed fear. I tugged at the frayed noose wrapped around its delicate legs until it loosened. The rope had been so tight that it had sliced through fur and flesh, leaving raw, bloody wounds in its wake.
I expected the rabbit to leap up, bounding back into the safety of the forest, overflowing with gratitude for its newfound freedom. Instead, it remained there, its gaze locked onto mine, almost resigned to its fate. Even when released, it seemed to hesitate, choosing to stay rather than flee.
Now, I struggle to recall whether it ever hopped away or if, after long moments of silent watching, I was the one to leave first. Tonight, I understand what that rabbit tried to convey with its eyes—its fear, sadness, and the profound loss of hope. All I can do now is wait for my own release from this snare.
But the question lingers: will I have the strength to run when the moment comes?
The Archdruid interrupts my spiraling thoughts with a harsh, rattling cough to clear his throat, then stretches his arms wide, addressing the court with a voice that echoes through the hall.
“Brethren,” he declares. “I present to you Princess Amara and our crown prince, Daedalus Phaedren.”
Our names ring out like a proclamation of doom.
The prince pivots us to face the applauding crowd, lifting my hand high, our blood streaming down our arms like a crimson ribbon. A wave of dizziness washes over me. I can’t tell if I’m feeling unwell from the warm trickle of my blood pooling wastefully on the floor, or the oppressive weight of the smirking Fae surrounding us. Perhaps the very presence of the prince is causing the nausea to churn in my stomach, although I know if he hadn’t looked away from me, I might still be lost in the depths of his haunting eyes.
Suddenly, he brings my hand to his lips and lays a kiss on my knuckles. The soft warmth startles me, and a breath lodges in my throat. When he lifts his head, I see our mingled blood smeared across his mouth. I watch as his tongue slides over his bottom lip.
“You taste as sweet as you look,” he mutters and my breath escapes my body in a shivered gasp. “How does the rest of you taste?”
“Enough Daedalus,” Queen Lanneth says. She grips his shoulder and pulls us apart. “Why not fetch your wife a goblet of wine or something to eat?”
Daedalus wipes his blood stained mouth on his sleeve and continues to hold me in his unwavering gaze. “I have done my part, Your Grace, and if I am to get through this night, my own goblet will need filling.” He bows half-heartedly. “Wife,” he calls me, before turning his back and joining his Mordorin court, who have already begun celebrations.
Wife.
The word is like a blade scraping against the walls of my skull. I, who vowed never to tether myself to a man, now stand in the fortress of Baev’kalath, the bride of a Mordorin prince. I have sacrificed my freedom, my independence, even my dignity to protect The Grove.
I look over the raucous assembly as they laugh and sing, red wine spilling from overflowing cups. Suddenly, my eyes find my husband—dear old gods, I cannot believe I am saying this— my husband .
He raises his goblet to me, his stare so intense that I can’t hold it for more than a second.
He moves with a predatory grace, draped in garments woven from the threads of the night. There is a hunger in the way he watches me, and I am reminded that I am nothing more than a plaything for the prince’s amusement. I take a deep breath, shivering even though I feel no chill.
What more must I give?
I remain awkwardly beside the thrones in my atrocious gown as blood runs from my wound and the king and queen not so discreetly whisper about me to each other. Wine and laughter flows easily amongst the Mordorin and the more they drink, the less formal the occasion becomes.
The slender hands of the Fae females caress the charcoal armor of the warriors, male and female alike, removing their helms and putting goblets to their lips. Some of the more regal Fae in their fine linens and extravagant gowns take to the darkened corners, but even in the shadows, I make out bodies twisting and entangling.
As I stand amid the revelry, discomfort washes over me. The air is thick with laughter and the sounds of lips meeting skin. Their whispers and giggles feel like a stark contrast to my upbringing in The Grove, where physical intimacy is shared only in the most private moments.
Watching them entwined—so casual and unrestrained—fills me with a longing I barely understand. It’s both intoxicating and frightening. My cheeks flush with heat, making me feel exposed. I want to look away, yet I can’t help but be drawn in.
Suddenly Queen Lanneth stands and for a brief moment I fear she has heard my thoughts. But she is only concerned with the court, and when she claps her hands, all fall silent.
“Fearsome Fae of House Mordorin,” she begins, her voice resonating through the hall. “I know that for some of you, this match may seem unimaginable. After their ill-fated rebellion, why would we unite our beloved prince with a mere human?” A heavy silence blankets the court, all eyes trained on her, their anticipation palpable—mine included. “But do you not see? This is a time for glorious celebration! While the kingdom was torn apart, it was The Mordorin who stood firm. The other great houses scattered to the winds, while we fought fiercely until the last human bent the knee.” She pauses, her eyes fluttering shut as she takes a deep breath. “We are a generous and forgiving people, and what greater demonstration of our benevolence than to make a bride of those who have wronged us?”
I scan the court for their reactions. Some nod and applaud, but just as many exchange glares, muttering behind their hands. To me, the queen’s words feel like sheer delusion. Generous and forgiving? I was barely nearing my womanhood when the war begun, but even so I remember the forests on fire with flames so tall they burnt through the clouds and scorched the heavens. The Ebon Blade extinguished thousands of human lives in a massacre of steel and smoke, and for the humans who survived, the choice given was kneel or die.
Some say the price was too high for a failed uprising. That humans are still slaves to the Fae. But of the six houses that once ruled over us, only one remains. The Mordorin. Whisperings of their dwindled numbers are rife through the human villages, and as The Grove knows only too well, the Legion of Saints still thirsts for vengeance.
Queen Lanneth opens her pearlescent eyes and the thin line of her mouth curves into a smile. “So rejoice House Mordorin. For beneath the Pale Eye, you are fortunate enough to witness our salvation.”
The court erupts into applause, but still I can see the discontent lingering with some who return to their goblets and whispers. Does the queen speak the truth? Is this union more than just a bargain? Is it truly the dawn of a new day for Fae and human? I remember the screams from within the burning forest, so loud and horrifying that even with my hands covering my ears, I could hear them.
I still hear them.
No. The Mordorin cannot change. They are Fae. They are murderers. And now I am amongst them.
A server girl approaches the queen with her head bowed and hands her a jeweled goblet. Queen Lanneth raises it to the assembly, and I find it curious that King Kaelus sits in silence while she holds court. In fact, apart from threatening me at my wedding, he has barely spoken at all.
“A toast to Prince Daedalus and his bride, Princess Amara,” the queen declares. She takes a long sip. “Now. A dance.”
My stomach drops to the floor, and I look at the prince. He pretends he isn’t listening with his head bowed and his mouth buried in his cup, but his stunning eyes flit up to find me before swiftly looking away. The queen reaches over to King Kaelus, gripping his forearm, and this is enough incentive to get the king on his feet.
“Daedalus,” he booms. “A dance with your wife. Now.”
The prince takes one last drink from his cup before slamming it onto a table. He drags his sleeve across his mouth and strides to the center of the room, loosening the leather ties of his collar as if it was choking him. The court forms a circle around him and once again, all eyes are on me as they await my response.
My feet stay frozen in place and I’m certain that even the end of the world could not get them to budge. The prince rolls his eyes and extends his arm.
“Wife,” he calls. “Come. Dance with your husband.”
Footsteps close in behind me and I feel the queen’s breath on my neck.
“You do not wish to embarrass the prince, do you?”
I gulp and shake my head, forcing myself to take a step, but my feet feel like lead, weighed down by this enormous dress and the torturous corset that feels like a suit of armor. I manage another step, then another, but each movement feels heavy and awkward, and I am certain I must look like a clumsy fool in front of the lithe, graceful Fae court.
As the distance between the prince and me narrows, he extends his hand, and my trembling fingers reach out to accept his. His grip is firm and calloused, devoid of any gentleness, and before I can fully process what’s happening, he yanks me into his arms with such force that I stumble, colliding face-first against his chest. It feels like hitting a brick wall.
When I pull back, my gaze travels down the strong column of his throat to the intricate tapestry of black rune tattoos sweeping across his collarbone and around his neck on a leather string is a shimmering moonstone that appears cracked in half.
A low chuckle escapes his mouth. “Not particularly graceful, are we? Though I imagine weddings in the woods are mostly chanting and naked mud dancing around a bonfire.”
I glower, and I’m about to unleash a tirade of insults upon him, when suddenly a duet of violins starts to play and the prince grabs me by the waist while his other tattooed hand wraps around my fingers. He pulls me against him, our bodies pressed so tight I feel his heartbeat and each hard ripple of his abdomen.
With every dark, melodious chord, he moves me back and forth, side to side with such assertiveness that I would be foolish not to follow his lead. Though I feel his gaze, I can not meet his eyes and his every breath is soaked with sweet wine, so strong that I could get drunk just by inhaling. The prince’s fingers curl tighter around my waist, and I gulp when his hips press hard against me.
“Do you not speak?” he mutters in my ear. “Are you so well trained, little Jewel?”
His waves of dark hair brush annoyingly against my cheek and I throw back my head sharply. He jerks, giving me space to breathe.
“I speak very well,” I snap tersely. “When there is someone worth speaking to.”
His eyes widen and a smirk cracks the corner of his mouth. “Are you saying I am not someone worth speaking to?”
I keep the truth I wish to spit at him behind my teeth. “No, Your Highness. I would never.”
His lips straighten into a serious line. “Do not call me that.”
I raise an inquisitive eyebrow. “Then what am I to call you?”
“I’m sure you have plenty of ideas, but Daed will do for now.”
I exhale. “If we are doing introductions, then I am Amara.”
The hard gray of his eyes seems to soften. “I know who you are.”
Whether it’s the intensity of his piercing stare or the overwhelming exhaustion setting in, the faces of the court begin to blur, and the room tilts around me. My vision hazes, and I instinctively reach for Daed’s shoulder to steady myself. He tightens his grip as I falter in his arms, holding me firmly in place, his presence both a support and a trap, preventing my collapse but offering no comfort.
He glances down at me, his voice flat and impatient. “What’s wrong with you?”.
“I don’t feel well,” I mumble, struggling to keep my eyes open.
“Your hand. You’re still bleeding.” He sighs with annoyance. “Of course you are. You’re human.”
A sudden swell of cheers and laughter blends with the violins, snapping me back to reality. I find myself draped over my husband, my head slumped against his solid chest, his arms braced around my waist to keep me upright. To the court, I must look like a love-struck bride, but in truth, I’m fighting to stay conscious.
King Kaelus throws his head back and laughs loudly. “It seems as if our princess wishes to honor her wedding vows sooner rather than later.”
The court erupts with laughter, and the raucous cackling stings my ears. Just as my knees buckle, Daed sweeps his arm beneath them and scoops me up. I smell the wine on his breath and inhale his salty musk when my head falls on his shoulder.
“Eat and drink until dawn, brethren,” Daed booms. “Your prince must bed his bride.”
The court grows louder, their fervor intensifying as they close in around us, and I wonder how we can push through them all to reach the door. But at that moment Daed’s eyes flash with light and a gust of wind summons giant black wings from his back. After that, everything happens so quickly. He pushes off into the air and we soar straight up with such speed that my body shudders beneath the pressure.
I fight to look up, to see what is above us, and when I sight the solid rock ceiling growing dangerously close, I realize on top of everything else, I’ve married a man just as mad as I have become.
“What are you doing?” I murmur. “You’ll kill us both.”
“Nonsense,” he replies as we gain speed. “ I will survive.”
Never in a thousand years did I expect my wedding night to end like this. In truth, since I stepped foot on that ship, I’ve had very little control over my fate. I could muster the strength to fight him. Kick and scratch until he let me go, but then instead of a mess on the ceiling, I’d end up a mess on the floor and as for reasoning with the wicked prince of the Mordorin, time was not on my side. It would all be over in seconds. So I look into his eyes. Resigned to my fate.
“Please keep safe The Grove, Prince Daedelus.”
Our eyes meet just before we reach the ceiling. I brace myself and imagine at this speed, the end will be quick and painless. I am partly correct. There is no pain.
Because there is no impact.
A swirl of black smoke engulfs us, thick as treading water and stinking of sulfur. This in-between place is a realm of darkness. I can see nothing, not Daed’s face, nor my own hand. But we are not alone here. I feel a presence coming closer. I feel the walls of eternity closing in on me. Then something appears. A single, giant eye and a gaping mouth with a serpent’s forked tongue lashing out at me as it screams.
My throat tightens around my horror, not allowing a single sound to escape, but as swiftly as it all happens, a resounding pop deafens me and when the smoke clears, I am reacquainted with the unwelcome sting of icy rain upon my skin.
What is happening to me? Why am I being tormented?
I look up and squint at the bright ivory moon floating in a pitch black sky, and when I look down, I see the fortress and the steepled roof of the throne room that should have been my end. My stomach churns and before I can stop it I expel a sickly stream of vomit that plummets towards the courtyard.
I gasp, then cover my mouth, my eyes wide with shame.
Daed winces. “Charming.”
He pins back his wings and descends and I waver in and out of consciousness until I feel a thud as we touch down. Through half-open eyes, I recognize the balcony outside my bedchamber and the billowing gossamer curtains over the arches. Daed pushes them aside and as he strides, I find myself hypnotized by his heavy breaths and the pounding of his heart. He comes to a stop and bends over, and the sinking softness of the bed replaces the ropey muscles of his arms as he lays me down.
“Am I going to be sick again?” I mutter.
“Perhaps. Void walking does not sit well with the human anatomy. But we have not cared to test it thoroughly. It was brief, so you should be fine.”
Daed’s words patter in my ears like rain as my vision blurs and I wrestle to keep my wits. His hands run over my body as if searching for something, and I recall the bold words he exchanged with his court in the throne room.
Is this truly happening? Am I being bedded here and now… like this?
I ball the bed covers in my fists and twist my legs together, but the prince is strong.
He pulls the covers from my hands and pins me to the bed.
“Be still,” he mutters. “Before you do further damage to yourself.”
My senses fade from me and my mind drifts in and out of waking, but each time I stir, he is still there, holding me down.
“Wait,” I whimper.
I wince at the sting of something tightening across my palm, my eyes flashing open long enough to watch Daed walk around the bed towards the door. His shirt is unbuttoned, revealing every smooth, defined line of his torso, from the sculpted planes of his chest to the taut ridges of his abdomen. But I notice part of his shirt ripped away.
The hand he pinned down rests beside my head, and I feel a binding warmth around my palm. I turn and find it bandaged with the missing fabric of Daed’s shirt. Slowly, I regain my senses as the haze lifts from my mind, and when I look down, I find my gown intact and my maidenhood intact.
The door handle turns and I call out to him. “You do not…lay with me?”
My cheeks redden and I do not understand why I ask such a thing. I should be happy he did not touch me, ecstatic beyond belief that my husband did not force me to serve him as I vowed.
Daed puts his hands against the door and leans into the wood. “I do not,” he replies, his dark hair soaked with rain that drips down his neck, his shirt not only torn in the front but also across his shoulder blades where his wings burst forth. “I am drunk and weary, and your bed does not entice me, little human.”
Again, his answer should satisfy, but I persist.
“But is this not our room? Do you not sleep here… with me?”
He turns his head enough for me to sight the sharpness of his jawline and a single drop of rain beading at the tip of his nose. “I take my rest in my tower across the courtyard, and I will find comfort in someone’s bed tonight, but it will not be yours. Goodnight, wife.”
He pulls open the doors, strides out, then slams them behind him, leaving me confused and racked with uncertainty. Instead of coldly bedding me, he took care of me, yet had the callousness to throw insults before abandoning me all together.
Comfort in another’s bed.
It is easy to guess who that bed belongs to. Pretty little maids eager to fulfill his every degrading fantasy. Would I prefer the alternative? To have my maidenhood taken while out of my mind and against my will?
The king and queen would have found a gleeful widow in the morning if he had dared force himself on me. No matter how many times these villains declare so bluntly that I am theirs—they bargained for a bride, not a body. Then why does this rage burn so bitterly, and why is it tinged with a woeful ache in my chest?
Why do I care that he does not want me?
I roll onto my side and hitch up my knees, curling into a ball, and gazing out the arches to the ink black sky that stretches to eternity. The rain patters against the stone, and when the thunder rolls and the lightning cracks, I do not shudder. Instead, I close my eyes and find a soothing rhythm to the thrum of the storm.
Because I do not dream, I must imagine what dreams are like. Are clouds fluffy enough to bounce upon? If I climb to the very top of the tallest tree in The Grove, can I touch the sun? Would my parents be proud of me? As my heavy eyelids fall closed and I slip into slumber, all I imagined fades from my mind, and the last waking dream I see is Daedalus Phaedren standing over me, devouring me whole with those stormy gray eyes.