Willow
Grandma's warnings turned me into a shadow of myself.
I ducked mirrors, held my breath passing darkened windows, and nearly screamed when my tea rippled.
None of it mattered. My belly swelled anyway, stretching my skin tight within weeks.
I hid it under Dad's old flannels, but Grandma's knowing looks said she saw right through me.
I caught myself singing the same lullabies I'd sung to Luke.
The moment the words left my lips, something pressed back from inside.
Not a kick. Five deliberate points against my palm, like tiny fingers reaching through my skin.
The bittersweet emotions rocked me every time I felt my child move, reminding me of my loss but giving me hope.
◆◆◆
The lavender aroma filled the air through the steam. I slipped the bathrobe off when I saw that I had forgotten to cover the mirror. It started to ripple like disturbed oil, its surface buckling as if something pushed against the glass from another world.
He appeared.
The Fae king’s face filled the reflection, his stag antlers towering like a crown of obsidian, their jagged points scraping the edges of the frame.
Flowing black hair framed dark, sharp-planed features with a cruel hooked nose, thin lips pressed in amusement, and glowing black eyes that drank in her fear like wine.
A slim gold earring dangled from one pointed ear, its enchanted leaf swaying as if caught in an unfelt breeze.
Between his antlers rested his crown. It wasn't a traditional circlet crown, but a diamond-shaped medallion of beaten gold that fit perfectly on his head.
His dark skin was lighter than his antlers.
My jaw fell as I realised he was no ordinary King, he was the darkest of them all—the one my Grandma had dreaded.
His gaze slid over me, lingering on my swollen belly with possessive hunger. I clutched my belly protectively, but his thin lips curled up at my action.
“Did you really think a few herbs and covered glass could hide what's mine?” he drawled casually, but when he said mine, he hissed the word out.
He lifted his clawed hand, the long, sharp black claws pointed, and his fingertips danced until, in the murk of the mirror's depths, something small and shadowed reached for me.
I grabbed my robe, fumbling with the bathroom lock before I ran into my bedroom, slamming my door shut. It didn't stop his sinister laugh from following me.
He'd found me. That glint in his black eyes told me everything—this Fae king would never release his claim. I scrambled for Grandma, my slippers slapping against hardwood floors. I was doomed if this was King Alvar of the Thistle Court.
Then my foot caught.
I whirled around and choked on a scream. There I stood, empty-eyed and frozen in the kitchen like a discarded doll. My own body, left behind.
The king materialised from the shadows, his clawed grip biting my wrist as he yanked me forward.
“That hollow thing isn't you anymore,” he murmured, breath smelling of rotting vegetation. Death.
Darkness swallowed us whole. When my vision cleared, three truths hit me at once:
The moss beneath my bare feet pulsed like a living heart.
The buzzing in my ears resolved into hundreds of Fae voices whispering about me and the king.
And somewhere back home, my abandoned body was still crying.
The portal sealed behind us with a sound I'd never forget—the decisive thud of a tomb door closing. Permanent. Final.
The King snapped his fingers at someone, ignoring me as I fell to my knees.
“Get her ready and bring her to Court for her collaring ceremony,” he said before he walked away with his black boots crushing the moss beneath his heavy weight.
Countless fingers gripped me and began to drag me away.
How did he splinter me apart like this?
I ignored the hands to check that my child was still in my womb. The gentle scrape inside of me made me sigh in relief. The Fae used all sorts of magic. I turned to the closest fairy to me.
“What is a collaring ceremony?”
The little blonde-haired fairy grimaced. “All the King’s consorts are publicly collared at Court.”
There was more, but when I looked at her, she avoided my eyes. This was the Unseelie Court, full of dark, dangerous and malicious beings. My shoulders sagged as the fairies dragged me away. I didn't miss the goblins and trolls that followed us. They were obviously the muscle to keep me in line.
The fairies scrubbed me raw, their tiny hands like scrubbing brushes against my skin. The water smelled too sweet, like crushed petals and something underneath that I couldn't place. They combed my hair until it shone like fire, weaving in leaves and flowers that writhed against my scalp.
Then they held up the “dress.”
An emerald robe, thin as cobwebs, with a golden tie meant to sit just above my swollen belly. It draped over my arms and back like a joke, leaving my breasts and stomach completely bare.
“Where’s the rest of it?” I demanded.
The dark-haired fairy giggled. “That is the dress.”
Of course, it was.
The King was a fucking asshole.
◆◆◆
I kept my eyes straight, focusing on the wall of weapons to ignore the crowds of beings that grew silent as I walked through the Court. The guards gripped my wrists as I approached the King's throne.
“Present the King's new pet,” a voice sang out.
Hands shoved me to my knees. Cold air kissed my exposed skin as I knelt before him. The King rose from his throne of intertwined antlers, a braided circlet of black thorns glistening in his hands. Each barb oozed a venom that smoked where it dripped onto the floor.
“Kneel properly,” he commanded.
The magic hit me like a whip. My spine bent without my consent, thighs splaying obscenely wide as my head tipped back, offering my throat to him. It was an unfair fight, and I could do nothing about it.
Alvar's claws traced my jugular as he fitted the collar—the thorns pierced with deliberate slowness, each puncture a pop of fire in my veins. Blood welled, tracing hot paths down my chest.
“Look at them,” he breathed, forcing my chin up. “See how they hunger for you?”
Hundreds of eyes watched. Some hungry, most mocking. A troll's tongue swiped over cracked lips. A Fae woman cupped her own breasts, mouthing “Milk for the Prince” as she grinned.
Then Alvar licked the blood from my collarbone, his tongue forked and left my skin burning.
“Mine,” he purred loud enough for the rafters to hear.
The collar sprouted new thorns, curling inward to prick my windpipe. I choked, but the venom turned my gasp into a shuddering moan.
The Court erupted in cheers.
In amongst all the chaos, I felt the baby move.
“The baby,” I rasped.
He crouched down until I stared at his bare chest. His claws pushed my hair before trailing them from my neck to my belly.
“My seed is protected. The collar only binds you,” he said slowly. “Take a look.”
I shifted on the floor and gasped when I saw that my silver stretch marks had become black. They spread across my entire belly like a complex pattern of veins. They were thick at the bottom but grew as thin as a spider’s web at the top. Before I could react, he was standing behind me.
“This is my wager won. In a few short days, she will give birth to our next Prince,” he announced, but his hands cupped my breasts. “Until then? She'll learn her true purpose.”
My breasts started to leak, and Alvar laughed, retracting his claws. I stared at them, the white droplets of milk dripping down me, aghast that he made me lactate.
He snapped his fingers.
The collar's thorns dug deeper.
And my body arched for him.