Chapter 15
HELENA
Oh, my gods.
The line of people seems to stretch on forever.
It curves through the streets of Braemar all the way to the city gates.
My heart pangs with grief. How many families will be forced to part with a son or a daughter today?
Ten pieces of silver is a lot. Not everyone will have the required amount when they enter the castle to pay homage to the fae.
I imagine King Theron seated on his throne, watching as each family steps forward. Will he feel any regret as he witnesses families being torn apart? Will it bother him on any level, or will the pain and terror excite him?
Mama’s warnings return to me again, and I fight back a shiver.
The fae of Autumn and Winter are different. Darker. They are descended from Unseelie blood, their power drawn from shadow and cold.
If there are fae you must never cross, never trust, never provoke, it is those born of Autumn and Winter.
King Theron has never hurt me, but he’s hurt other humans. He led the attack on Braemar. I heard people in the street talking about his feats in battle.
His words come back to me now, his voice a deep echo in my head that confirms my mother’s warnings.
I enjoyed the battle more than you might ever imagine. I enjoyed killing your people, hearing their screams, and savoring the scent of their blood.
Angry tears burn in my eyes. He’s probably having the time of his life right now, the cold bastard. Does he truly derive pleasure from hurting my people? I can’t fathom it, yet it must be true.
A young woman standing in the courtyard below suddenly looks up and our eyes meet.
I recognize her instantly as someone I went to school with but haven’t seen in years.
Gwen Whitmore. Her face is puffy, as though she’s been crying, and her expression holds a profound sadness that punches me in the gut.
Something bad is going to happen to her today and she knows it.
Her family probably doesn’t have the required tribute.
She stands with her parents and several smaller children.
Their attire is threadbare, little more than rags.
Oh, gods. It’s too much. I can’t stand here and watch all day.
King Theron. What if I can reason with him? Maybe I can make some sort of deal with him, anything to convince him to stop this depraved cruelty. Gwen had nothing to do with the attack on the settlement of regular faefolk.
I turn and flee the balcony. As I rush inside the room, my gaze lands on the bed.
The covers are still rumpled since the slaves haven’t visited yet this morning to tidy the place.
My guilt and outrage increase. I rush to the bed and hastily start making it myself.
My hands tremble as I pull the covers up and arrange the pillows neatly.
I swallow hard as I recall how peacefully I’d slept last night while wrapped in King Theron’s arms. He’d held me all night, and for the first time in a long time, I hadn’t felt lonely as I drifted to sleep.
I’d awoken refreshed but a bit disappointed to find he was already gone for the day, gone to the receiving hall so he could preside over the mockery that is Tribute Day.
I stomp to the door and touch the knob, but it doesn’t turn.
Frost quickly spreads over my hand. I jerk my hand back and brush the frost away.
Damn him. Damn him for locking me inside and using his magic.
If only I could break past his magic. Oh, how I wish I could walk through his wards, march downstairs to the receiving hall, and give him a piece of my mind in front of the entire court, the consequences be damned.
But even if I did possess a few drops of fae ancestry, I still probably wouldn’t be able to bypass King Theron’s wards or hold my own against his magic. I mean, he’s the Winter King, a literal force of nature.
A sense of hopelessness descends. I’m grateful the king intends to spare Isabel and her father, but I wish I could save more people, including my former schoolmate.
The sound of muffled sobs reaches me, followed by a distant scream.
A woman’s scream. I go cold all over and my trembles deepen.
My anger also rises. Someone has just been taken.
I’m sure of it. Oh, gods. Was it Gwen? My heart breaks for her and for all the other young women and men who will find themselves in bondage to the fae before the day is through.
Approaching footsteps in the corridor catch my attention. My heart races as a plan starts to form in my mind, albeit an incredibly foolish and dangerous one. But I can’t just sit here and do nothing.
I glance down at my attire. I’m dressed in the same outfit I was wearing on the day Prince Alaric kidnapped me off the street, freshly laundered and delivered by one of the slaves just yesterday.
But the plush, fur-lined slippers I’m wearing aren’t very practical for what I’m intending, so I hurry to find my boots and put them on.
I finish tying the laces and hurry to stand near the door.
My heart gallops in my chest, and nerves churn in my stomach. For a moment, I hesitate as I worry about encountering fae soldiers in the corridors. But it is Tribute Day, and surely all the highborn fae who are staying in the castle have gone downstairs to observe the proceedings.
The door clicks open and two glamoured slaves enter.
One is carrying a tray of breakfast food, while the other is holding a basket of cleaning supplies.
Before they can close the door, I make my move.
I bolt through the open door and… hit an invisible wall.
A cold wall. It feels like ice beneath my palms.
“Fuck!” I curl my hands into fists and strike the invisible ice, but nothing happens.
I’m vaguely aware of the glamoured slaves moving around the room, completely oblivious to my turmoil and fury. I cannot believe King Theron has so thoroughly warded his bedchamber to keep me from leaving. And yet… I suppose I can believe it.
My shoulders slump and I turn around. I eye the balcony doors. What would happen if I stepped outside again and tried to climb down the castle walls? Or is the balcony warded too?
A mournful sigh leaves me. Even if the balcony isn’t warded, it’s a long drop to the bottom, and the entire city of Braemar is lined up outside. Furthermore, there’s a fae patrol in the courtyard, and likely many more in the streets beyond the castle.
I remind myself that King Theron will probably be leaving Braemar in the coming days and taking most of the Winter Court army with him.
Perhaps if I bide my time, the opportunity to escape will eventually arise.
Though, if I’m being honest, the idea of running away while on the road in unfamiliar territory is a bit scary.
In all my life, I’ve never left the walls of Braemar.
Not once. As a child, my mother made me repeatedly promise always to remain inside the protective stone walls of the city.
It’s a promise I kept into adulthood, even after I got married.
I kept the promise after she died too, though sometimes I used to wonder what it would be like to walk through the nearby forest, the forest I’ve only glimpsed from afar.
But if I escaped King Theron, where would I go? My mood darkens, and despite the crackling fire, the room suddenly feels colder. I couldn’t return to Braemar. Surely it would be the first place the king would look.
The prospect of finding a safe place to hide is daunting, but I resolve that I’ll do whatever it takes to escape him.
I can’t remain a prisoner for the rest of my life, even if my captor never hurts me.
My thoughts become muddled as I consider my conflicting feelings for the Winter King.
I still cannot reconcile the cruelty he’s shown my people with the gentleness he’s shown me.
How is it that he’s never hurt me? He even healed me once.
He used his winter magic to erase the bruises Peter left on my arms.
I pace back and forth as the slaves clean the bathroom and remake the bed, probably to appease King Theron’s exacting standards. Gods forbid one of his pillows isn’t properly fluffed.
My stomach growls, but I hesitate to sit at the table and eat while the slaves are hard at work. It feels wrong to sit around and enjoy the food they brought while they’re flitting about the bedchamber, cleaning up after me.
Before I married Harry, I cleaned houses and performed other odd jobs for my neighbors, everything from running errands to nursing a sick relative to babysitting. I’ve never had a housekeeper before, and I’m certainly not used to having meals delivered to me three times a day.
Everything about it feels wrong, and though the glamoured slaves seem completely unaware of my presence, I still feel guilty that they’ve been waiting on me hand and foot.
Relief fills me when the slaves finally depart the bedchamber. They exit the room without any issues and close the door behind them. Apparently King Theron has crafted his ward to allow them to pass through but not me.
I walk to the table and sit down. As I uncover the plate on the tray, another scream pierces the air, reminding me of the darkness that’s unfolding several floors below. I instantly lose my appetite, and I return the cover to the plate.
Rising to my feet, I peer toward the balcony. But I’m afraid to walk any closer. I don’t want to see the line of people again. Gods, I wish I couldn’t hear the screams. Or the sobbing.
With a heavy heart, I take a seat in front of the crackling fire.
I cover my ears with my hands.
But then everything changes, and I’m no longer in the king’s bedchamber. I’m back in that dark, swirling abyss, falling falling falling. I scream and I thrash around, desperate to grab hold of something, anything, to stop the rapid descent.
At last, I see a light. A bonfire. I’m seated on a fallen tree trunk, and I’m surrounded by fae.
The snowy forest around us is glowing and glimmering, and I instinctively know I’m on Winter Court lands.
I try to speak, but no words come out. It’s sort of like the last vision I had.
I’m a spectator, trapped in a body that I’m not sure belongs to me.
A tall male sits beside me. “Cousin,” he says. “I’ve heard the news. What a blessed turn of events.”
“Yes, I was shocked by the priestess’s revelation,” I find myself saying. “But perhaps it will be easier this way. I will play my part, and I will resist the bond. I’m strong enough. I know I am.”
“I believe you’ll do just fine, Cousin. And when this is all over, you will have a place of honor in the Winter Court.” He rests a hand on my shoulder and stares at the fire.
What revelation? What priestess?
I try to ask one of the many questions flitting through my mind, but I can’t speak.
Not when I really want to. Gods, it’s so frustrating.
And the longer I sit here, next to this tall fae male, the more familiar this event feels.
Like the erotic vision I had that involved King Theron, it’s as though I’ve been here before.
The vision fades, and suddenly I’m back in the swirling darkness.
Falling fast. Screaming. Thrashing.
Praying.
Gods, please make it stop.