TWENTY-FIVE
DECLAN OWYN DUSKRUN
As a side note, my single subject was refusing nourishment of late. This my or may not affect my observations on faerie blood.
The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper
Prince Eamon pushes past the lesser faerie and into a room decorated in the same style as the castle.
I follow after him, admiring the grandeur of its design, with high arched ceilings fashioned of stained glass, causing a full spectrum of colour to flood the floor, while tall trees sway gently overhead.
The golden embellishments adorning the room serve as a regal reminder of its royal ownership. It’s a work of art.
Stepping out from behind my prince, I see his brother towering over Bryn.
Immediately, my muscles quiver with tension.
My Bryn, hardly clothed, in the company of a faerie prince, just as sparsely dressed.
It takes them a moment too long to acknowledge our presence, and when they do, Bryn’s cheeks glow a delicate pink.
White flashes in my vision as I stare at them.
Memories of them together at the manor haunt me like fresh wounds.
I can still see him pinning her against the wall on that fateful night of the fire and then cunningly whisking her away from me after the ball.
The way he touched her, as if he had the right to.
The way she allowed it. My lip curls with contempt.
“Get your hands off of her!” I shout. My feet are moving of their own accord, forgetting their place, which is behind the prince.
Prince Eamon’s hand splays across my chest with an aggressive slap, sending a jolt of pain through my ribs. A look of disapproval mars his features.
“Call down your dog, Eamon. This is my domain,” Prince Odhran says with a smugness in his eyes that begs to be removed by force. “I’ll touch whatever I desire, as long as the lady enjoys it as much as I will. I have yet to receive a complaint in that department.”
My prince looks at me, but I don’t dare meet his eye.
It would be disrespectful, and after my outburst, a risk.
“Wait outside the door,” he commands. His voice is a spear of ice, cold and lethal.
After being called a dog, it’s a reprimanding slap to my cheek.
Odhran’s smirk widens as he slides his hand to the small of Bryn’s back, her posture stiffening.
“Bryn, light of my life, why don’t you go see that my brother’s new pet behaves himself?
” Every word is elongated to convey a bored and snobbish tone.
She covers her breasts with her arms as he guides her first step.
Bryn, the girl I met in an empty stable when we were mere children, doesn’t meet my gaze.
Instead, she narrows her eyes at him. My jaw aches from gritting my teeth.
Her body is warm against mine as she throws her arms around my neck, hugging me.
“I’m so sorry,” are her first words. My stomach clenches, and my mind starts racing, trying to come up with all the possible reasons for her apology.
Every single option has a common element at its core, a man with platinum hair.
My fingers clench into fists, pushing into her hair and gripping the thin straps over her shoulders.
Deepening our embrace, I breathe her in.
Citrus and lavender and honey. I’ve missed her.
He scowls at me from across the room. “Come.” She pulls away to take my hand instead, leading me through the same door we entered. I don’t close it behind me, wanting to hear Prince Eamon rake that bastard over the coals. I wait for him to claim what belongs to his kingdom, in his castle… Bryn.
Prince Eamon speaks first. “If you came to the castle when Father called, I wouldn’t need to venture down to your hovel to speak with you.” A long pause is followed by the sound of glass clinking against a hard surface. “The coronation is in three weeks.”
The lesser faerie rises from her seat the moment we enter the dining room. “Let me get you some tea.” She darts to the kitchen, then back again, biting her nails while she walks. Her expression is fixed in one of agony. “Some cookies, perhaps?”
I don’t answer and raise my hand, dismissing her offer.
“No thank you, àine,” Bryn says softly, taking a seat at the dining table across from me. “I can’t tell you what a relief it is to see you.” She reaches for my hand.
Closing my fingers around hers, I squeeze, momentarily forgetting the conversation at my back. I lean in, close enough to whisper, “I’ll get you out. You won’t need to stay with the bastard prince much longer. Perhaps not a moment longer.” Instead of a smile, a frown settles on her face.
“You know I won’t set foot in that place,” Prince Odhran barks out.
“It’s a coronation, not a dinner invite,” Prince Eamon yells back. “As my general, you…”
An object crashes against the wall or the floor in the room behind me. Loud and unexpected. A startled àine returns with a tray of cups and sliced fruit, porcelain rattling as she comes closer. Tea floods the saucers around the cups when she sets the tray on the table.
“You won’t release me, will you?” Odhran’s voice holds a threat. I don’t look at Bryn. Instead, I turn in my seat, shamelessly prying. “You gave me your word, Eamon. You gave me your fucking word.”
“If it’s because of Father…” Prince Eamon starts.
“That vile thing is not my father.”
“You are being absurd! And disrespectful! If he heard you, he would have you flayed.” The returning snarl confirms my prince’s irritation. He’s close to reaching his breaking point. The explosion will be epic.
“Am I?”
“You will obey!” Prince Eamon’s tone manages to cut through bone.
“Don’t tell me what to do! You won’t like my response, brother,” Odhran hisses.
“Is that a threat?” A long pause follows.
“Let’s take a walk, shall we?” Bryn is already on her feet before I nod my approval.
She’s beautiful. So beautiful she steals my breath when I look at her, the way her slip falls over her curves.
As quickly as it vanished, my anger returns.
How much of her has that brute seen? How much has he touched?
I follow her to the front door, watching her night dress dance behind her as she walks.
Her feet are bare, and her braid sweeps down her spine.
She leads me to the doorstep, climbing onto the narrow wall beside the front door.
We’d spent most of our lives together, but here, in another man’s house, something feels strained.
I forget how to act around her. What to say or do.
Our familiarity is lost over the span of two miserable days apart.
“So, tell me, how will you get me out?” She speaks so softly her voice is barely a whisper.
“What has he done to you?” I ask, looking deeply into her eyes.
I love how they don’t match, how one is half blue and brown.
“You can tell me.” I don’t take a seat beside her, coming to stand in front of her instead.
Her knees push against my stomach, her chest rising and falling with each rapid breath.
The sight of her body, the outline of her chest… My breathing quickens, too.
“Nothing.” She bites her lip, shifting back on the ledge so we’re no longer touching. “But these past two days have changed me. I’m not the girl you knew back home.”
I want to lift her off the wall and take her away from here, but I can’t.
I’m bound by a vow I can’t break. Even if I could, they would only find us and most likely behead us for our transgression.
They’d put our heads on a spike as a warning to anyone else who dares shirk their responsibilities to the crown.
“He’s hurt you. I swear, he’ll pay for this.”
“You’re not listening to me, Declan. Odhran is infuriating, a total ass, and a secret drunk, but he hasn’t given me any reason to believe that he means me harm.
Not at the moment at least…” Her voice goes quiet as she looks down at her hands resting in her lap.
“He isn’t responsible for my changing.” Her lips thin into a line, and her eyes narrow at me, as they always do when she’s upset or before she tries to shove me to the ground.
“You must guard your mind, Bryn. Faeries love to compel humans. They take pleasure in torment. You may believe yourself to be telling the truth, but they mess with human minds. He’s probably messed with yours, too.
” Pity settles like bags of grain on my shoulders.
All my life my mother has prepared me for these risks, but hers didn’t.
“Can we not talk about Odhran for a moment?” She pulls back her shoulders, putting distance between us.
Something in the way she casually says his name, like he’s her equal, irks me to the pit of my stomach.
There’s one thing I know to be true, and it’s that the bastard prince has harmed her in some way.
She may not remember it, but there’s no doubt in my mind.
He has a reputation, which exists for a reason.
“I need you to tell me what you’ve found out about Laoise. Have you seen her?”
I suck in a breath, indulging her change in topic. “Your sister is in Prince Eamon’s service.”
Her face lights up at the mention of Laoise. “Is she alright?” Her eyes sparkle, searching mine, leaning forward to close the distance between us.
I smile at her, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Yes. She’s fine. She’ll be just fine. Your parents are safe, too. They’re still at the manor.”
“We need to get her away from here. Promise that you’ll help me.” Her words come rushed, pitching her tone. “Promise me, Declan. Promise that you won’t let her wander into the woods.”
I frown, my hand leaving her hair. “What do you mean, the woods?”
“Just promise me.” Her eyes widen further, her hands reaching for mine. When our fingers touch, hers are ice cold.
“I promise.” My eyes rake over the lines of her face.
Lines I can map out in my sleep. I try to puzzle together the hidden clues in her reaction.
The emotions behind each twitch of her lips.
“I’ve missed you so much. You had me worried.
” I run my knuckles over her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed, leaning into me until she withdraws.
“Declan, I’m not the girl you knew back home. I can’t be that girl for you anymore.” Tears wet her lashes when she looks at me. “I’m sorry.”
“You will always be my Bryn.” My voice cracks.
“But I’m not.”
Footsteps from inside the house close in on us, heavy and approaching quickly.
“We’re leaving,” Prince Eamon says, reaching the front door.
I’m not ready to go, and my chest tightens as I look at Bryn, uncertain whether this is a goodbye or if she is to come with us.
I remove a piece of paper from my pocket and stuff it into her palm. Its other half is still on my desk.
“Your Highness, is Bryndis…” I speak my words carefully.
“She stays!” is all he says, marching down the steps.
I have to keep up. There’s no time for goodbyes.
No time for a last embrace. I give her an apologetic look over my shoulder, one that I hope conveys my promise to find a way out, a way back to me.
My heart rips in two as Prince Eamon uses his magic to usher us back to the castle.