Eris
Blood sprays from the castle guard's broken nose when Wulf's fist knocks his head sideways once more.
Two more equally brutal blows follow, more red splattering until the wretch stumbles, his back colliding with one of the trees. A ringing sound fills the air as the disoriented man's sword is unsheathed from his side.
The guard cries out as his own weapon impales his right shoulder, pinning him to the tree trunk.
The Huntsman of the North looms over him, his glare as perilous as thin ice. His bloodied hand grips the collar of the man's livery, forcing him to look up.
"Who else was bribed to kill the queen?"
I'm glad Wulf is just as aware as I am that this may not be the only guard Schultz bribed.
"Y-you bastard," the guard grimaces.
Sweat beads on his quickly bruising face. He spits blood out of his mouth. It narrowly misses Wulf's reflective axe hanging near his hip, where I'm watching all of this take place.
"Did you drag me from my post on the castle wall just to accuse me of treason?" the rat demands. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
Perhaps he would come up with a more believable lie if he knew that I witnessed him accepting the money from Schultz's former personal servant in Isenhold. When I overheard him agree to kill the queen for the disgraced, imprisoned chamberlain, I warned the Huntsman at once.
"The incriminating evidence is in his left boot," I yawn.
This hassle already bores me.
Still, I ought to see it through before I return to Verena. Last I checked, she was gathering measurements from Snow White and her two new friends for the dresses she's making for them.
Wulf bends down and shucks off the man's boot without hesitation. He holds up the clinking bag of coin to weigh it before scoffing, unimpressed.
"Your integrity was bought for such a light sum? Pathetic. You are unworthy of calling yourself a man, let alone one working for the queen."
The guard tries to grip the sword in his shoulder and pull it out, but his fingers slip on blood, slicing themselves on the blade. He hisses in pain, writhing against the tree trunk to which he is impaled.
"What's it to you, anyhow? She's not your queen, you northern fiend! If you're after more gold, Schultz can double or triple whatever that man-eating royal cunt is paying—"
Wulf's next blow lands to the man's gut, robbing him of air so he wheezes.
I fold my arms, impatient. "Just kill him and be done with it. I'll keep an eye out for more vermin like him, but Verena is far too shrewd not to suspect what we're up to, if we're both gone much longer. If she figures it out, she'll want this rat to stand trial."
"He doesn't deserve her mercy," Wulf agrees.
The man spits out blood. "Who the hell are you talking t—"
Swift as death itself, the fabled warrior snaps the man's neck.
That crunch of bones is followed by thick silence in this copse several furlongs away from the walls of Isenmere Castle.
Apparently not interested in searching the man for more coin or valuables, Wulf strides in the direction of the castle, leaving the traitor's body for the witchfolk.
"Evidently, Schultz learned nothing from the last time he attempted to harm Verena. You should have sliced off both of his arms," I joke.
"Arms will not suffice. I shall slice off his head within the hour."
I'm all for the repugnant ex-chamberlain meeting a bloody, savage end.
But already, I can envision that cute little furrow between Verena's brow and the way her lips twist every time she thinks of violence.
"Just don't tell Verena you offed him. And bathe before you return to remove all traces of blood," I suggest, watching the trees rock through this window as Wulf walks.
"Verena will be painfully sensitive to its smell by this point, since she still is not drinking enough blood from you.
I'd be impressed by her willpower, if it wasn't so damn infuriating. "
I'm surprised she hasn't already fallen ill over the several days that have now passed since the new chamberlain arrived.
"Her will to resist temptation certainly outpaces mine," Wulf mutters.
So I've noticed.
He's been nothing but loyal to Verena—a silent sentinel escorting her everywhere, spiking her mulled wine with his blood morning and night, and waiting patiently for orders she never gives.
Still, there's no missing the way the Huntsman's gaze follows each move Verena makes.
He's captivated by the otherworldly woman, and terrible at concealing it.
That makes two of us.
At least this lucky rogue can gently wake her from her nightmares when she weeps in the night. Meanwhile, all I can do is curse the glass that holds me prisoner, impatiently counting down until the full moon.
Less than three weeks remain.
"Maybe the only thing you have to tempt her with in return is your blood," I can't resist nettling Wulf. "You ought to flaunt it more, just to see where that gets you."
I can't see his face from this angle, but his voice is firm. "I will not use Verena's thirst to torment her."
"Why not?"
I would, if I were him.
The idea of her thirsting for me in any way makes me glower again at the window-spackled darkness of the prison surrounding me.
Whatever I am, I'm not certain I even have blood—let alone a flavor of it that Verena can't seem to get enough of, like Wulf's.
"I will never torment her again. If she decides to feed, my blood is hers. If she prefers to ignore me, so be it. And if she ever desires more than just my blood…" He mutters something in Hjemic that I don't know before sighing. "Alas, it would be more than I deserve to enjoy."
"So noble and self-punishing."
"Afflictions you clearly lack, to observe Verena bathe as brazenly as you do," he snarks.
It's a fair shot.
Still, it's not my fault she apparently has no qualms with being nude in my presence.
While Wulf continues toward the castle dungeon, I leave this window of light and make my way back to Verena through countless others in the silent darkness of the mirror realm.
Under Reinhilde's negligent rule, Isenmere was eternally stale. Its castle was full of lazy, self-serving people who spent their time luxuriating in their status or lining their own pockets.
Almost overnight, Isenmere has transformed. Now it's budding, just like the slowly warming springtime outside.
Verena wasted no time in changing many things with Merrick's efficient help—taxation cuts and adjustments, hiring earnest workers, redirecting funds to needy villages throughout the kingdom, and approving northerners' long-ignored requests to settle within Isenmere's borders.
She's begun earning the begrudging respect of everyone in the castle, though they still fear her.
But as happy as most people are with all the changes, there are also many whispers.
Whispers about the queen's sudden, drastic change of heart. Whispers speculating about what could have possibly caused it. Recountings of the legendary northern warrior who has become a constant shadow at her side.
"He must be the first of a new set of Favored," someone is whispering near a reflection I pass on the way to Verena. "Haven't you seen the way he looks at her?"
"I certainly have," a man replies. "She'll earn Ayna's wrath if she doesn't tire of that northerner soon. Come to think of it, if she's desperate enough to fuck one of that ilk, maybe she'll take me as a Favored, too. Maybe I ought to break into her chambers tonight and lounge naked in her bed."
Fury stops me in my tracks at the idea of anyone even joking about violating Verena's safe space. Whether she will speak of it or not, it's obvious she is already haunted by something like that happening to her long ago.
I wheel around to glare out that reflection, but the idiots' laughter is already disappearing out of view.
Damn. If I'd gotten a glimpse of them, I would have sent Wulf to snap their necks, too.
Finally, I reach my mirror in Verena's room. The instant I lay eyes on her, tension leaves my shoulders.
Her dark red hair is messy. Bits of it fall from the bun on her head as she pins a piece of fabric in place on a makeshift mannequin. I can tell she's been using charcoal to draw again, as some of it is smudged on the plain dress she's wearing.
For a moment, I quietly observe her utter focus as she pins more pieces. The dress she's designing is a soft blue, the simple fabric slowly turning into something elegant.
"Who's that for?" I finally ask.
"Gah—ouch! Fuck," she scowls, shaking the finger she just pricked in her surprise.
"Careful, Fairest."
"Careful, I'm just going to scare the living shit out of you while you're stabbing something with an itty bitty sword. Do you hear how crazy that is? That's what you sound like right now," Verena gripes.
Just as quickly, she deflates, sitting on the floor by the mannequin. She exhales, looking over at me.
"Wow. Clearly, someone is super crabby. Sorry about that."
"I did warn you about the irritability from not feeding enough," I shrug, watching as she lifts her lightly bleeding finger to her mouth.
Her own blood is useless to her, aside from its intensely magical properties. Whatever Reinhilde's origin, I've witnessed the wildly unpredictable ways her blood affects anyone who comes in contact with it.
Speaking of affecting…I need to stop staring at Verena sucking the tip of her finger, or I'll have to step away from the mirror again. I lick my own lips, imagining it's me sucking the sting away despite what her blood might do to me.
"The dress is for Snow White," Verena says, getting to her feet and beaming at her handiwork. "Don't you think it'll look gorgeous on her? She told me sky blue is her favorite color while we were hanging out yesterday."
She's been hanging out, as she puts it, with the princess and her two ladies' maids often, in between everything else. Although Verena is careful to act indifferent to Snow White in front of most people, and vice versa, the girl's existence is now a far happier one.
"She'll love the dress, just as she loves you. I'm afraid you'll break her heart when you leave," I add in a murmur.
If she leaves.
If I don't find a way to keep her here first.
Would my heart also break if she finds a way home? Do I even have a heart to break?
I've never questioned the limits of my watery existence as much as I have since this alluring soul fell into this world.
Verena stares thoughtfully out of the large windows now. "Shit, you're right. I really fucking adore that kid, but I probably shouldn't get too close to her or anyone else in the short time I'm here, huh? That might just make it difficult when I leave."
I want to suggest that she do get as close as possible to anyone she likes, since it might demotivate her from returning to her world. But her dark blue gaze sweeps back to me.
"I've been thinking. A dangerous pastime, I know," she adds in a melody I don't understand.
I fight a smile. "Verena."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. You don't get my references. Anyway, I think—god, I can't believe I'm about to even say this." She takes a deep breath, squaring off with my mirror. "I think I want to get a message to that freaky faerie guy who tortured me."
Surprise makes me stare for a moment before I feel like I have to remind her, "The Faerie of Wrath almost killed you."
"Yep."
"You were terrified of him."
"Still am."
"Yet you want to send him a message, presumably through me?"
She throws her hands in the air, emphatic. "Look, I don't want anything to do with that creepy telepathic jackass ever again, but I want to dance to death in hot iron shoes even less!"
She's lost me again. It must be another reference to her world.
With a sigh, Verena waves off my confusion. She begins cleaning up the fabric scraps and other things littered around the mannequin.
"That faerie is the only other magical person I've met in this world so far, and I clearly need magical help because I've made zero progress with learning to read.
Partly because I feel like it's monumentally unfair to have to learn another fucking language since it all sounds like English to me anyway—and partly because…
no offense, Eris, but you're not the best teacher. "
On the contrary, I'm a fantastic teacher.
But I've intentionally been doing a spotty job in the hopes that it would slow Verena down. I thought if it took long enough, she might be more inclined to stay in this world.
Now I'm cursing myself for imagining anything could slow this woman down for long.
Why must she be so hellbent on leaving me without her magnetic intellect?
"Faeries are extremely dangerous creatures. Wrath, in particular, would never help you for free," I warn her. "You're better off learning to read."
"Maybe you could just dig around to get a hint from him about possible ways I could return home," she presses.
"He might know of some nifty mythical item, like seven-league boots or a magic flying carpet or just…
I don't know, something. He doesn't even need to know I'm the one asking.
Tell him you're sick of me and you just want a way to send me back where I came from. "
I scoff. Anyone would be able to see straight through that bald-faced lie, Malivant included.
Verena mimics praying, peeking one eye open at me as she pouts her lip.
"Please, do this for me, Eris? Please."
I open my mouth to tell Verena no, absolutely not, but…
Oh, Crones. I can't.
Damn it, I just cannot say no to her. When did that happen?
My conundrum is made worse when she sees that she's won and breaks into a bright smile, hugging the mirror.
It puts us so close that I can't stop my attention from dropping to the way her breasts have pressed against the glass above the neckline of her dress. Her breath fogs near my shoulder.
"Yes! Thank you. Have I mentioned you're the best, most gorgeous Adonis to ever haunt the mirrors of any world? Because you are, and I couldn't be luckier," Verena gushes, hope and excitement sparkling in her dark sapphire eyes as she pulls back. "I swear I'll make this up to you, somehow."
Already, my brain is coming up with far too many ways I can ask her to repay me for this, once the moon is full and I can finally touch her.
Or maybe in repayment, I can ask her to at least consider staying here, in this world.
With me.
"I am utterly fucked," I groan, turning and marching away from my mirror.
As well as anyone can march with an erection, anyway.