Chapter Fifty-Nine
The Fae lands, the witchlands, and the wyverian territories all share a similar climate.
Grey clouds stretch endlessly above us. In the east, the winds howl across the land while in the west, the air softens, becoming warmer.
Once, they were not divided. These lands were originally mine.
Hades came later, carving out a portion for himself and shaping it into the wyverian lands.
He delights in claiming otherwise. That he was first, that his creations came before mine.
But I know the truth of it, as deeply as I know my own name.
And then there was Persephone. She was always jealous of me.
She stole from my lands as though they were hers to claim, and from that theft she fashioned the Fae.
She named them the most beautiful of all.
And though I loathe to admit it, though it burns like poison in my veins…
She is not entirely wrong.
Tabitha Wysteria
The witches brought the march to a halt deep within the jungle they had entered a day earlier.
The air there was thick with humidity, clinging to the skin like a damp shroud.
Ylva had spent most of the day leaning against the carriage window she shared with Hagan, staring out through the tangled green while dreaming longingly of a cool, clear pool in which she might sink and disappear.
Her pale silver hair clung stubbornly to her forehead, damp with sweat. No matter how often she wiped her brow, the moisture returned, relentless beneath the suffocating heat.
Hagan had not spoken to her since their last conversation. When the company stopped for the night, he simply ordered one of the witches to tie Ylva up, never once sparing her a glance.
Ylva found she did not particularly mind.
She was, however, pleased when she was secured to a tree and soon after saw Arden dragged forward and bound to the one directly opposite her. A small smile crept onto her face as he was shoved roughly onto the ground and tied in place.
The moment he noticed her, his expression brightened.
‘Well hello, little wolf,’ he said with an easy grin. ‘You just can’t keep away, can you?’
‘It seems so.’
Ylva stretched her legs carefully. They ached from the long hours spent cramped inside the carriage, where she had been forced to sit rigidly, doing everything in her power to keep as much distance as possible between herself and Hagan.
The witches raised their camp within minutes.
With quiet murmurs of magic they conjured dark tents from the air itself and summoned eerie green fires that flickered softly through the clearing—meant for light rather than warmth.
In this part of the jungle the air never cooled; the night carried the same heavy heat as the day.
Bound to their trees, Ylva and Arden watched as the witches finished their work and gradually settled for the evening. Soon the clearing filled with low voices and shifting shadows, and for a moment it almost seemed as though the prisoners had been forgotten entirely.
Ylva found herself alone in her thoughts and alone with Arden.
‘Arden…’ She cleared her throat, suddenly uneasy with the thought that had crept into her mind. ‘The other prisoners… there are none left. Just us. What do you think that means?’
‘Don’t,’ Arden said quickly. ‘Don’t do that. If you start asking those sorts of questions, it will only torture you.’
‘Then what are we meant to do?’ Ylva struggled against the unseen magic that bound her to the tree, panic tightening her voice. ‘Can you do something with your magic?’
‘I can’t use it to break these ties,’ Arden replied. ‘Fae magic isn’t destructive like witch magic. It was never meant for that. It’s meant to heal… to shape beauty… to make the world gentler. We need a plan.’
‘How far do you think we are from Velunthar?’
‘Not far,’ Arden said.
‘Then perhaps the Fae will help us when they—’
‘When they what?’ Arden snorted softly. ‘I wouldn’t count on the Fae to rescue us, little wolf. They’ll be far too busy fighting the witches. If we want to survive this, we’ll have to find a way to save ourselves.’
Ylva nodded slowly.
Yet the longer she watched the witches moving through the clearing—their numbers and the way they surrounded the camp like a living wall—the more she began to realise that the dream of escape might remain nothing more than that.
A dream.
Especially without help.
‘Thank you, Arden Briar,’ she said at last, turning back towards him.
‘For what, little wolf?’
Ylva attempted a small shrug, though the gesture was rather difficult with her arms bound tight against the rough bark of the tree.
‘For being in my life,’ she said simply.
And in that quiet moment, as she saw the way his deep green eyes caught the faint firelight and shone with something she could not quite name, a thought took root within her.
She would find a way to save him.
If only so she might see that brightness again, the same light that had carried her through even the darkest hours.
…
Hagan had shut himself away within his tent.
Part of him longed to storm back outside and drag the damned valkyrian before him—the one who had left his thoughts churning with restless desire and irritation alike.
He wanted to seize her shoulders and shake her until something, anything, began to make sense.
Instead, he forced himself to turn away from the temptation.
At the desk he had conjured from a fallen tree, he buried his attention in the scrolls spread before him, determined to lose himself in ink and parchment rather than in thoughts of her.
He barely acknowledged the witch who entered to ask whether he wished for dinner.
When she returned a moment later, however, it took every thread of his control not to unleash his blood magic upon her.
Hagan spun around in his seat, ready to snap at her and froze.
Eris stood at the entrance of the tent, a smug curve to her lips as she clearly enjoyed the surprise she had inflicted upon him.
‘My, my,’ Eris drawled as she wandered inside, her steps unhurried. She crossed the space and seated herself on the edge of his bed as though she owned the place. ‘Imagine my surprise when I discovered you had left the keep and were marching towards Velunthar without me.’
Hagan said nothing. He merely turned back to his scrolls.
‘I fail to see why you are surprised,’ he said. ‘The plan was always for me to attack the Fae.’
‘True. Very true.’
He felt her rise and move closer. A moment later her hand settled upon his shoulder, her grip tightening slightly.
‘But we both know that isn’t entirely the truth, don’t we?’ she said. ‘I’m a goddess, Hagan. I know when someone lies.’
When he finally glanced up, he noticed her eyes had drifted to the scrolls upon his desk. She quickly looked away, feigning disinterest, but the moment had already passed.
He knew she had seen them.
‘I’m worried, Hagan,’ she continued smoothly.
‘Mortals have a terrible habit of feeling. And those little emotions of yours can interfere with the grand work we are trying to build here.’ Her fingers pressed a little more firmly into his shoulder.
‘I need to be certain you’re not about to start ruining everything. ’
Hagan rose so suddenly that Eris scarcely had time to react. In a single motion he seized her by the throat and slammed her down against the desk. The scrolls scattered beneath the force.
Yet instead of fear, a low chuckle escaped her.
She looked positively delighted by the display.
‘Are you questioning me?’ Hagan asked, his voice low, edged with something dark and dangerous.
‘Did you ever love her?’
Hagan stilled.
For a moment he did not understand what she meant. Eris noticed the hesitation immediately. With an impatient roll of her eyes, she clarified, ‘Alina Acheron.’
‘No,’ Hagan said coldly. ‘I loved the idea of hurting her. For everything she represented.’
‘But you did love Ash, didn’t you?’ Eris’ pale fingers slid around his wrist—the same hand that still gripped her throat—and tightened gently, as though she were the one holding him in place. ‘Your sisters couldn’t love you,’ she continued softly. ‘But he did. Like a brother.’
Her smile widened.
‘And you hated him for it. Because you were certain that once he discovered what you truly were, he would despise you too. But he didn’t, did he? He kept loving you. Protecting you.’
Her eyes gleamed.
‘And that made you hate him even more. Because he proved you wrong. He forced you to be wrong.’
The memories struck him all at once.
Years of buried pain crashed through him like a breaking storm, and Hagan roared in her face, his grip tightening around her throat. But Eris did not struggle. She did not plead.
She simply lay there, drinking in his fury as though it were nectar.
His pain delighted her.
It fed her.
Hagan forced himself to breathe.
He could not allow weakness, not again. He had once been weak, once allowed himself to care for a fire prince who had broken him in ways he had never truly healed from.
Eris was right about one thing.
His family had never known how to love, not even his mother, who had abandoned him to the world without a second thought.
But Ash had.
His sworn enemy. A son of the very House that had destroyed the witches. And yet he had been the only soul who had ever truly loved him.
Now Ylva reminded him too much of Ash, and of that past life he had tried so desperately to bury. He could not allow a foolish valkyrian to ruin everything he had built.
Hagan released Eris at last and stepped back, his chest rising and falling with harsh, uneven breaths. He expected the goddess to rise and leave him there with his anger, but she did not. Instead, Eris slowly sat up and watched him, her purple eyes alight with a strange, unreadable brightness.
After a moment she rose to her feet.
Unhurriedly, she crossed the space between them. Her hands moved to his clothes, tugging them from him piece by piece before pushing him backwards onto the bed.
‘You can take your frustration out on me,’ she said before claiming his mouth in a kiss.
And Hagan did.
He was rough with her, careless in his urgency, not even bothering to remove her dress.
He lifted her easily and forced her down onto her knees upon the mattress, gripping her hips as he entered her from behind.
His movements were hard and merciless, driven by the fury still burning through his veins.
When she began to tremble beneath him, when her breath broke and he sensed she was close to coming, he stopped.
The pause drew a sharp sound from her, something between a whine and a snarl.
Hagan listened to it with cold satisfaction, knowing full well he was playing with something dangerous… and enjoying every second of it.
He remembered what had happened the last time they had fucked, and though every sensible part of his mind urged him to pull away, to flee as far from her as possible, another part of him craved the suffering.
He needed it.
He shifted, guiding Eris above him. She seemed to understand the unspoken desire in his purple eyes, reading it as easily as one might read a page.
A slow smile curved across her lips, wicked and dangerous, the sort of smile that made his control falter.
For a fleeting moment he thought he might spill himself inside her.
Then her face changed.
The sharp, knowing features of the witch vanished as though wiped from existence. In their place was another face altogether.
Ylva.
She looked down at him with a soft, almost gentle smile.
‘Not her,’ he growled.
‘Why?’ Ylva tilted her head slightly. ‘Does she make your cock hard?’
Hagan froze as Ylva’s hips began to move faster, his large hands instinctively gripping her narrow waist. He clenched his teeth, fury rising as the realisation struck him that Eris was toying with him.
‘I know you want to come inside me,’ Ylva whispered.
‘Stop it,’ he snarled. ‘I don’t want this face.’
‘Why not?’ she teased.
‘Because she…’ He faltered, frowning, unable to finish the thought.
Suddenly Ylva’s hand closed around his jaw, forcing him to look up at her.
‘Fuck me and make me come,’ she said softly, her voice edged with threat, ‘or I will take you to Hell and back.’
‘Change the face.’
‘No,’ she replied, her smile dark and merciless. ‘Fuck me as the wolverian princess.’
Hagan shoved Ylva away and climbed off the bed, his whole body trembling, still alive with the fading pulse of pleasure. He stood there for a moment, breath uneven, trying to steady himself.
Ylva remained seated upon the bed, her head tilted slightly as she watched him with quiet fascination.
‘How interesting,’ she muttered.
A moment later the illusion dissolved. Ylva’s gentle features vanished, and Eris’ own freckled, plain and far more dangerous face returned.
Hagan said nothing. He watched as she rose from the bed and smoothed her dress back into place, her movements calm and deliberate. When she had finished, she cast him one final glance before turning towards the tent’s entrance.
The silence that followed made something cold settle in Hagan’s chest.
In that sudden stillness, he realised he had made a terrible mistake.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, his voice rough from more than breath.
Eris paused at the doorway. She turned back slowly, a smile spreading across her lips, one that matched the sharp gleam in her purple eyes.
‘To fix a problem.’