1. Evanee #2
His eyebrows shot to his hairline in mock offense.
“And you, of course!” I added with a chuckle as I tossed the core aside.
“These beasts respond better to you anyway. I’m not tryna’ insult them, but those other girls are too caught up flirtin’ with my stable boy than gettin' real work done.” He glowered, glancing over to the gangly male, Tristan, as he moved hay, repeatedly flicking hair from his face.
“Want me to start with the stalls?” I wiped my hands on my apron and grabbed the pitchfork.
“I’d hate for a lady to do a task like that.
I don’t know why they send you lot out here at all.
Well, the others I understand. Especially that Lyra.
” He shuddered. “It may be a small castle, but there are plenty of other young males like Tristan who are capable of doing this.” He grabbed a bucket of oats and walked to the first stall.
The painted mare eagerly kicked at her door.
“I don’t think any of us are ladies,” I huffed, snatching the tool to begin mucking.
A scream rang out.
Our heads snapped up. The “neigh” that followed was full of fury. Micah let out a string of curses as he slammed the bucket down with a clang and stalked toward Tristan, who had curled into the fetal position.
“Dammit Tristan, how many times have I told you not to walk behind that stallion!?” Micah yelled as he hauled the young male by the back of his tunic, dragging him to safety from the angry steed.
Laughter bubbled in my throat, and I quickly covered my mouth with my hand.
The mare beside me pawed at her stall door, sharp huffs blowing hot hair against my face.
“Alright, girl, alright.” I set my pitchfork down and scooped a handful of oats.
“There you go.” She happily dipped her head, her soft muzzle like velvet against my hand.
Micah returned sometime later, muttering about the idiocy of young males. The rattled stable boy hung his head as he gave the stallion a wide berth and avoided eye contact, which made me snort a laugh with no attempt to hide it, this time.
We worked the usual chores and brushed the horses, cleaned the stalls, restocked the hay, and tidied up the outside of the stable.
Micah had received a message from a nearby Fae Lord, urgently seeking his help with a mare in labor.
He left, leaving me alone with Tristan. Even though the stable boy’s a moron, he’s still Fae, and prejudiced as hell against humans.
Thankfully, he left soon after Micah, leaving the burden of the remaining chores with me.
By the end of the day, I was covered in muck and reeking of the stables.
Even though I managed fine on my own and finished every single chore on time, I’d stayed longer than intended to avoid the judgment and disapproving gazes of the others back at our hovel.
There’d be no chance of getting a turn in the small tub anytime soon.
I wouldn’t even be allowed past the threshold in my current state.
Instead of heading left toward our quarters, I turned right for the main gate, then veered left along the gray brick wall.
I made sure no one was watching before ducking past a bush that concealed a hole in the wall just big enough for me to crawl through.
I dusted off as I stood on the other side, then ran toward the river concealed in the woods.
Micah told me of the hole after my first year here.
I was drowning in the emptiness without any memories to ground me, and he thought getting beyond the grounds might give me solace from the destitute life I now lived.
He was right; I enjoyed the solitude. The sounds of the water rushing and birds singing.
The sweet smell of the wildflowers that grew along the riverbed.
Trees hanging over me as a shield from a world I don’t belong to.
It was peaceful. And thankfully, it was within whatever boundaries Cressida had woven into the proximity spell.
Every time I slipped through the wall, I would tell myself I’m running toward my freedom, relishing in the burn that builds in my muscles and the sting in my lungs from my heavy breaths.
I’d envision that I could make it past that invisible barrier my marks bind me within, where a new and better life waited for me.
But I always stopped there.
I couldn’t see what that new life would look like.
As if my mind knew something that I didn’t—a secret, locked away with everything else.
Any image of an alternate life forming in my imagination was blocked.
I didn’t know whether it was another cruel punishment from Cressida, or something from my past deeply rooted in me, stopping me from meandering off my current path.
Either way, it didn’t really matter. There was no escaping while I had these damn markings.
I scanned my surroundings, ensuring I was alone as I slowed. The orange glow of the setting sun spread across the fields and distant hills, casting a golden haze over the land. If I were artistic, this would be the perfect color palette for a painting.
I’m not. All I saw in the sunset was a warning that the land would soon be shrouded in darkness.
No one came outside the safety of the walls this close to sunset.
Rumors of murderous human rebellions have spread across the land, making the Fae paranoid.
Even some of the Werewolves, known as the Fae King’s Shadow Stalkers, have joined the fray, fighting back against the King’s knights and joining the humans in their fight against tyranny.
Bells often clang through the night, waking the whole castle anytime a wolf is spotted.
It was always a false alarm. The Werewolves, in their changed forms, are supposed to be huge bastards with teeth the size of daggers.
The beasts roaming here were only regular-sized wolves.
But that’s not what struck true fear across the realm.
No, the real danger lay with the skurs—bloodthirsty beings that drain the blood from anything in their path, never feeling satisfied, wickedly fast, and almost impossible to kill.
The merchants that cycle through once a month have told bone-chilling stories of their run-ins with skurs.
They say the monsters keep to the north, where there’s less sun.
Which is fine by me—if they really exist.
No one knew how the skurs came to be or if they had a master.
There has been countless speculation on what their limitations are, how to kill them, and whether they even have conscious thought.
However, there were two things everyone could agree on: one, they’re deadly, especially in a horde. Two, they never came out in the sun.
No one here has seen one, so they’re probably made up.
I slipped off my dress and apron, laying them over a rock, tossed my tattered undergarments, then loosened my braid. Hair tickled the middle of my back as I eased into the frigid, clear water—instant relief from the hot, humid climate around me.
Having nothing to bathe with made it feel a little pointless, but at least I could scrub off a layer of grime. The river wasn’t very deep, but it was deep enough to slip under the water and try to rinse the straw and dirt out of my hair. I came up for air, breathing in the fresh—
Movement flickered in the trees.
Instantly, I covered my breasts and squatted lower in the water.
“Who’s there?”
I searched the depths of the forest with only the sound of my heart thundering in my chest. Everything quieted—the crickets, the birds. Even the river’s rushing water became a distant sound. The song of the woods quieted because of a threat I couldn’t see.
“Hello?” I called again, voice cracking. Silence answered, and unease twisted in my gut.
The sun had dipped behind the distant hills, casting long shadows that danced through the trees.
Muscles locked in place as I stayed there, exposed in the water, until courage finally found me, urging me to move.
Hastily, I threw on my dress. The fabric clung to my soaked body as I snatched my shoes and clutched them tightly to my chest. I ran as fast as I could for the safety of the castle walls.
My bare feet pounded against the dirt, racing against the approaching darkness.
My gaze stayed focused in front of me, not daring to look behind, until I finally reached the hole in the stone and—
Nothing. Nothing was behind me except the waxing moon, casting its light upon the land. But when I looked at the darkened trees, the spine-chilling sensation of being watched burrowed deeper into my gut.