Chapter 17
ELLE
Four days have passed since Asmo last visited me. Four days since I learned Mae is still alive. Since then, I’ve spent every day waiting for Marik to reveal he knows who I met with. Luckily, he’s been too busy with Cora to pay me too much attention. I’ve never been so happy to be locked in my wing.
The days have been filled with pacing my room and trying to distract myself as I read through every novel in Mae’s private collection.
The slim forest-green book slides from the bookshelf, the embossed stag head on the front cover shining as it catches the sunlight.
The stag is smooth to the touch, but the rest of the cover feels rough and weathered.
The spine cracks as I open it. I flip through several blank pages, each one stiff and brittle. On the fourth page, The First Deer Queen is written in neat cursive.
I skim through the tale, finding some comfort in the familiar words.
My mother used to tell me this story to help me fall asleep, her calloused hands gently rubbing my back as she wove the tale of Wrena’s true daughter.
The story would always seep into my dreams, images of me wearing a crown sticking with me for the next day.
But this isn’t the tale I was told. No, the tale I was told was Mae’s prophecy.
The story in my hands tells of Wrena’s creation of the High Houses.
This tale is about Mae’s grandmother. Mae’s mother, a High Fae princess, was the daughter in the story. Has Mae read this? She must have, since this was in her private library. This is not a book that was housed in the royal collection. How did she get this?
I flip through the rest of the book. At the end, there’s a hurried script written on a singular page. The words are nearly illegible, but I can make out some—flowers, moss, blood, essence, two, light, and She.
Someone pounds on the door and I nearly jump out of my skin. I shelve the book and roll my shoulders as I mentally prepare myself for a visitor.
Marik stands in the foyer, lanky frame leaning against the wall. His head snaps up when I clear my throat.
“What do you want?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that how you wish to speak to me?”
I force a very-clearly fake smile to my face. “What can I do for you, Your Highness?” My voice is full of faux sweetness, as if I just bit into a rotten candy apple.
And suddenly, my back is against the wall, every muscle and joint locked. Marik stalks toward me, features darkening with every step. He stops inches from me. His eyes, the perfect embodiment of a solar eclipse, pierce into mine.
“Is that how you wish to speak to me, Elle?” he repeats, spitting my name like venom.
I refuse to look away from him. Rage has my blood pounding like a drum. “Yes.”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “And yet, it changes nothing.” With a crook of his finger, my chin tilts upward, exposing the column of my neck to him. I still don’t look away. His chuckle is low and derisive, his breath hot on my throat.
He could end my life in an instant. He’s already killed Etta, Silas, Adelaide, and who knows who else.
He takes a step back and smooths the wrinkles on his shirt. He runs a hand through his hair, returning it to its orderly state. “We have somewhere to be, little fawn. Can you behave? Or do I need to control your every move?”
I swallow the vitriol I want to hurl at him and say as calmly as I can, “Fine.”
The other corner of his mouth lifts. “Good girl.” He turns on his heel and walks to the door. “We need to be in the throne room immediately. Go change.” By change, he means change into Mae. He snaps his fingers and my body slumps as his control vanishes.
I trudge to the bathroom, to the blade, and the smothering blanket of dark magic settles over me.
The throne room is empty when we enter, save for one ancient, raven-haired witch. She sits in one of the berry thrones, slender arms draped on the armrests, legs crossed. Desire fills Cora’s bone-white eyes as she tracks Marik’s every move.
The snort comes from nowhere, and I clap a hand over my mouth.
Cora’s head cocks as her gaze lands on me.
In any other instance, the expression on her face would chill me to the bone.
But I’ve found that I no longer care what happens to me.
What I do care about, however, is pissing these people off.
I drop my hand back to my side and smile.
“What’s so funny?” Her tone is curious.
“Oh, nothing,” I say dismissively, not even deigning to look at her.
I expect what comes next. My foot freezes mid-stride. Icy fingers crawl up my throat before forcing my chin to tilt toward Cora.
She stares at me from the stolen throne, a single dark eyebrow raised. “What is so funny?”
I lock my jaw. Again, I’m expecting it when her shadow fingers pry it open. Although I have no choice but to look at her, I do so with pride as I say my next words. “You look at him like a love-sick teenager. It’s embarrassing.”
Anger flashes in her eyes, but only briefly. It doesn’t matter. It’s enough. It’s a win.
What happened to behaving? Marik’s voice whispers in my mind. I don’t respond.
Cora addresses Marik. “Are you prepared to speak with them?”
Marik nods and stops in front of Cora on the throne. He bends down and she reaches for him, wrapping those pale, slender arms around his neck before pressing her lips to his. I look away as a sour tang fills my mouth. Disgusting.
Marik clears his throat, now perched on the previously empty throne. He motions to the space behind him. “You will stand right here and you will not speak unless spoken to by me. Is that clear?”
I walk to the dais and take my spot. Cora’s earlier expression didn’t scare me, but this upcoming visitor has me nervous.
The throne room doors open and Marik’s control slips over me. For once, I’m thankful for it. Without it, I might have sunk to my knees in defeat.
“Welcome, House Panthera,” Cora says warmly.
Marik
For once, Elle doesn’t fight the hold I have on her.
Every time I’ve controlled her, she is a constant force bashing against my grip, like waves in a hurricane crashing into the rocks lining the shore.
The first time she fought it, I was shocked.
The second time, I was prepared. By the third time, I was impressed.
By the tenth time, I was jealous that she had the strength and the hope to not succumb.
But now, she sags against it.
And my skin prickles in disappointment.
House Panthera comes to a stop in front of us. They all bow, like good little, spineless soldiers. Katze stands and stares at Cora with something like worship. I’d love to hear Elle snort at him right about now.
“Welcome back, House Panthera. Lovely to see you again, Cassia,” I say, forcing myself to look at her with hunger. Forcing myself to play my part.
She stares back at me, her rage barely concealed behind her emerald eyes. “Lovely to see you, Your Highness,” Cassia says, but her tone tells me she’d rather be shoveling horse shit.
“Koa,” I say, dipping my head toward him.
Unlike his sister, his stare is hollow. “Your Highness,” he responds drily.
I wish rolling my eyes was kingly. “Give your reports,” I command.
Katze grimaces. “Our subjects are not as keen to invite the witches in as we initially thought.”
I lean back, placing my elbow on the armrest and resting my chin in my hand. “Make them,” I say. Again, he grimaces. He might be the weakest, most spineless of them all.
“It’s not as easy as that, Your Highness,” Katze says, casting a nervous glance toward Cora.
“What do you expect me to say, Katze?” I ask him, voice hardening. “The problem lies in your court, not mine. You’re responsible for your subjects, not me.”
“We’ve been thinking…” he says, turning toward his wife. Issa’s full lips curl into a cruel smile, and Katze straightens. “We’d like to begin executing the dissenters,” he says, chest puffed in pride.
Koa doesn’t flinch at the words, but Cassia balls her hands into tiny fists before hiding them behind her back.
Elle screams in my head. I tighten my control on her so she doesn’t sprint at the Panthera King and claw his eyes from their sockets.
“Are you sure that won’t push them in the opposite direction?” I query.
Before Katze can respond, Issa says, “We are confident that it will provide the right motivation, Your Highness.” Her voice is lined with cold, cruel pride. Mother always liked her.
“Fine,” I say, prepared for Elle to thrash against my hold.
But it doesn’t come. I resist the urge to look back at her.
Her fight is a constant that I’ve grown used to over the months.
Her silence, although rare, is concerning.
Not for the first time, I wonder if bringing her to this was a good idea.
I tried to warn Cora that it would be too much, but she insisted that House Panthera see “Mae” involved.
“Kill everyone who disagrees,” Cora says.
I shift in my seat at the order, but give a curt nod of agreement. There’s no room for sympathy on a stolen throne.
Elle was silent for the rest of the day, even when I released her from my control. After House Panthera left, she followed me back to her wing without protest. The last time she was like this, she was trying to take her own life.
The next morning, I knock on her door. I wait, hoping she’ll open it on her own.
She doesn’t.
I shove it open anyway. She’s curled on the couch, a novel clutched in her hands. Her crimson hair is a mess, wavy strands tangled in her ivory antlers. She wears a pair of navy-blue cotton pajamas, the blue accentuating the bags under her eyes.
“You look like shit,” I mutter. She doesn’t respond, nor does she look up at me. “Elle.” Still no response. I could make her, but the thought is tiring. I stand there, waiting for her to say something.