Chapter 8 #3
"Bring forth the petitioners," he commanded.
The first petitioner approached with the scrape of bark against wood. A grove guardian, ancient enough that moss grew thick on what might have been shoulders. When it spoke, its voice creaked and groaned.
"My lord, the Eastwood Sentinel has allowed her roots to breach our agreed border. Three of my saplings have withered from her theft of nutrients."
Another guardian stepped forward, a female, if trees had gender, with silver bark and leaves that chimed softly. "The border shifted when the storms came. I follow the old markers, not his arbitrary lines."
"Show me," Eliam commanded.
Both guardians extended gnarled hands. Light bloomed between them, forming a miniature forest that hovered in the air. Briar could see the disputed boundary, roots tangling in territorial war beneath the soil.
"You," Eliam pointed to the first guardian, "moved the markers after the storm to claim more territory. And you," his attention shifted to the female, "knew this but pressed your advantage anyway."
Dismay rippled through both creatures.
"The original border will be restored. You will each sacrifice your three oldest trees to mark it. The wood will be used for my throne room's expansion." His smile was cold. "Consider it payment for wasting my time with disputes you could have resolved through honor rather than greed."
They bowed and retreated. Next came a water sprite, translucent and trembling.
"My lord, the sprite Silvian has been poisoning my stream with iron shavings. My fish die, my plants blacken—"
"Lies!" Another sprite materialized from the crowd. "She diverted the water flow to flood my territory. I merely acted in defense—"
"Silence." Eliam's voice cut through their babbling. "Bring forth the water."
A globe of liquid appeared between them, and even from her position, Briar could see the discoloration and smell the metallic taint.
"Iron in fae waters. Diverted streams. Both crimes against nature's order." He leaned forward slightly. "You will both surrender your territories. New sprites will be appointed. You may serve them or find new waters beyond my borders."
Horror dawned on both faces. Territory was life to water sprites, without it, they were nothing but wandering moisture.
More petitioners lined up, but Briar's attention began to fracture. Her knees had progressed from aching to burning. She shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure, and Eliam's hand dropped to rest on her head.
A warning, unspoken, to be still.
She forced herself to stop moving, but now all she could focus on was the pain radiating up her thighs, the way the hard wood pressed against bone, the growing numbness in her feet. The voices of petitioners became distant buzzing as she struggled to maintain her position without showing weakness.
Through it all, Briar knelt in silence. Her knees ached, then burned, then went numb. The mark pulsed with each judgment, as if feeding on the display of power. And that warmth in her chest responded every time Eliam spoke, reaching toward his voice.
She was so focused on staying still that she almost missed when the atmosphere changed.
"Your grace," a new voice said. "Such an... interesting addition to your court."
Wariness flooded through her as she glanced up without thinking.
The speaker was beautiful in a way that screamed danger.
She was tall and lean with skin the gray-white of birch bark.
Her hair fell in thick waves the color of old snow, streaked through with darker strands like shadows between trees.
Her eyes were pale green, the exact shade of lichen on frozen stone, and her cheekbones could have cut glass. She wore a gown that seemed woven from frost-touched pine needles and winter moss.
"Lady Sarelle." Eliam's tone gave nothing away. "Have you business with the court?"
"Merely observations." She circled the dais with predatory grace, gaze fixed on Briar.
Long fingers ended in nails like chips of dark ice, and when she smiled, her teeth were just slightly too sharp.
"Your new pet is quite lovely, for a human.
Though I heard she gave you some trouble?
Something about rebels and a moonlit chase? "
"Careful," Eliam said softly.
But Lady Sarelle continued, voice pitched to carry.
"Three days, wasn't it? Three days you gave her, and she used them to run.
To let another male touch what you'd marked.
" She paused as though weighing what she said next against the potential consequences.
"One wonders if the Forest King has grown.
.. lenient in his years. Soft, perhaps."
Absolute silence fell. Even breathing seemed to stop.
Dread coiled in Briar's stomach as she felt the change in Eliam. His hand, still resting near her head, curled slowly into a fist.
"Soft," he repeated, each letter precise.
"I merely speak what others whisper," Lady Sarelle said with feigned innocence. "That perhaps the legends of your ruthlessness were... exaggerated. After all, she lives. She sits at your feet whole and unbroken despite her defiance. What message does that send?"
The wood beneath Briar's knees groaned. She glanced up to see Eliam's other hand gripping his throne's arm hard enough to crack bone.
"You question my methods?" His voice was terrifyingly calm.
"I question nothing, your grace. But others might wonder—"
"Rise."
The command wasn't directed at Lady Sarelle. Terror shot through Briar as she realized he meant her. She struggled to stand on numb legs, pins and needles shooting through her feet.
Eliam rose as well, fluid and predatory. "You think me soft? Lenient?" He caught Briar's chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. Cold fury burned in their depths. "Shall I demonstrate otherwise?"
"My lord—" someone started.
"Silence."
His grip tightened, and she felt the court lean in collectively. Hungry for the spectacle Lady Sarelle had just given him an excuse to provide.
His free hand came to rest at her throat. Possessive and threatening.
"Soft?" he asked the court at large. "Shall I show you soft?"
The vines began to grow.
Horror flooded through her as they erupted from the floor around her feet, twining up her legs with thorns that caught and held. Not piercing, not yet, but present. The dress tore as they climbed, baring skin to the court's eager gaze.
"Don’t," she whimpered, feeling the vines beginning to tighten.
"Louder."
“Please, don’t." The word scraped past the hand at her throat.
"Don’t?" He leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear. "You dare beg for mercy when you should be begging for forgiveness, little thief?"
The vines reached her waist, climbing higher to encircle her ribs. Where they touched, they left marks, not wounds but patterns on her skin. Claiming her before all who watched.
"I'm sorry," she gasped.
"For?"
"F-for running. For—" her words faltered as his hand fell away and a vine rose to take its place, curving around her throat, thorns pressing just shy of breaking skin. "F-for trying to break our bargain."
"Better." But the vines continued their climb. "Tell them who you belong to."
The warmth in her chest flared, rebelling against the words. She clenched her jaw.
The vine tightened and she felt the sharp sting of a thorn piercing flesh. "Tell them."
"You," she said at last, the word forcing its way out. "I-I belong to you."
"Forever?"
The mark burned, the vines constricted and the court held its breath.
"Forever."
The word broke something in her. Tears ran freely now as she stood wrapped in living chains before creatures who viewed her suffering as entertainment.
"Wonderful… but unfortunately words alone are not enough, not in light of the accusations levied against me. Soft," he said again, as though the word itself tasted foul. "But what to do?"
His fingers hovered near her face.
"I could make you hunger for your own destruction. Cravings that would consume you from within, thirst that water can't quench, hungers that food can't satisfy. You'd seek relief in anything that might fill the void, never understanding why each attempt only deepens the need."
Briar struggled to maintain her composure even as a cold sweat broke across her skin. The court pressed closer, eager and engrossed.
"Or perhaps…your memories? I could take them. Make you forget faces before you’ve finished looking at them.
Names as they're spoken. Every kindness shown, gone before it can warm you.
" He stopped in front of her, head tilted in consideration.
"You'd remember only my voice. My touch. My commands. Nothing else would stay."
The vines tightened fractionally. Someone in the crowd made a soft sound of approval.
Each breath came shorter than the last as he continued his slow circuit, every new suggestion more insidious than the last. The court hung on every word, their anticipation pressing inward, heavy and suffocating.
"No… what about something more intimate?
The mark can do far more than spread, after all.
It can burrow deep. Imagine thorns growing beneath the skin, blooming internally.
Every movement would be exquisite agony, and the flowers when they finally pushed through.
.." He paused in front of her again, studying her terror with calculated interest. "Beautiful. "
"Please," she said.
"I find I quite enjoy hearing you beg." He reached out, finger hovering just above the mark on her wrist. "But which punishment fits the crime of making me appear weak?"
He turned to address the court. "She ran. She accepted aid from my enemies. She let another male's magic touch what I had marked as mine."
Murmurs of agreement, of condemnation. Lady Sarelle watched with unbridled satisfaction.
"So." Eliam's attention returned to Briar. "For such sins against my authority, I sentence you to..." He let the pause stretch until the court held its collective breath. "One night tending the bone garden."
The reaction was immediate. Gasps, whispers, and more than one fae stepping back as if the sentence might be contagious. Even Lady Sarelle's satisfied expression faltered, replaced by something that might have been anxiety.
"A whole night?" someone whispered.
“She’ll never make it.”
"One night, alone," Eliam confirmed, and his smile was terrible. "Unless, of course, anyone else would like to question my methods?"
At first nothing but silence answered him and then the court began to applaud, the sound wild and appreciative. They'd gotten their show, their proof that the Forest King remained as creatively cruel as ever.
Lady Sarelle bowed low. "Your methods are... thoroughly demonstrated, your grace."
"Leave," he said simply. "Before I decide you need a reminder as well. The garden always has room for more."
She fled, the others following quickly. The threat of the bone garden had done more than any display of violence could have.
Only when the hall had emptied did the vines begin to retreat. They withdrew slowly, leaving Briar standing on shaking legs. She would have fallen if Eliam hadn't caught her arm. She tried to pull away but he held fast, fingers tightening.
"You bastard," she said.
"Yes." He studied her face with what might have been satisfaction. "But a bastard whose authority is no longer in question. And you're still whole. For now."
"The bone garden—"
"Is survivable. If you're careful and attentive. If you remember that there are far worse things I could do." He paused. "It may not seem like it, but I protected you."
“You call that protection?”
His thumb brushed away a tear, the gesture at odds with his words. "Do you know what Lady Sarelle would have done if she thought me truly weak? What any of them would do to the human who made the Forest King look soft?"
"So I suffer for your pride?"
“Make no mistake, little thief. You suffer because you chose to defy me,” he said.
“What I have done is made clear that you are thoroughly mine.
Completely controlled. No threat to their order.
" His hand curved around her nape, thumb dragging over the thin line of blood left in the wake of his thorns.
"Would you prefer I'd let them test you themselves?
See how long you lasted against their court games? "
She had no answer for that.
"Your defiance has consequences," he continued. "Not just for you. For everyone who sees it. Remember that next time you think of running."
"There won't be a next time."
"No," he agreed. "There won't."
He stepped back, assessing the damage. Her dress hung in tatters, her skin marked with vine patterns that would fade in days. Or weeks. Or maybe never.
"Can you walk?"
She tested her legs. They were shaky but functional. "Yes."
"Then we return to your rooms. You'll bathe, change, and rest." He paused. "I'd hate for you to disappoint my garden by succumbing too quickly."
He turned and she followed, because she could no longer afford the luxury of defiance, not if she wished to survive this place. But that warmth in her chest, the one that had flared when she'd tried to resist, pulsed with what felt like promise.
Or warning.
Behind them, the throne sat empty. But the vines that had grown from the floor remained, twisted into new patterns. And if anyone had looked closely, they would have seen small golden flowers blooming among the white.