Chapter Six
Avari
The following day was perhaps the most uneventful of my life. My days in Ortensia had never been thrilling, but I'd never felt chained to the castle. Now I did.
All I managed through the long hours of my new predicament was lying in bed and wallowing in self-pity, encased within the greenish walls of my newly acquired Fogoyan room, which I tried hard not to think of as a cell.
The more I dwelled on what had happened, the more paralysed I felt, and the walls seemed to close in around me.
Being a prisoner to a man I barely knew, a man capable of such dreadful cruelty, knotted my stomach with terror.
I considered avoiding the self-serving fae king at all costs, but that would never work when he insisted on training.
Refusal wasn't an option. Even thinking about the consequences sent my panic spiralling. He would probably drag me out by force.
There was so much more to worry about. It was all too much.
If I hadn't returned to Ortensia by the end of the week, I was as good as dead.
Physical and mental exhaustion, coupled with my self-imposed isolation, had already begun to wear away at my unstable witchcraft.
It wanted out. It cared nothing for circumstance, only that it longed for a connection to nature.
In brief moments of clarity, when the storm of chaos eased enough for logic to breathe, I knew I needed a plan.
With so many obstacles in my way—my underdeveloped powers, my obvious otherness, and the fact that I was captive to the monster himself—I could only come up with one scheme: pretend to accept life in his court.
If I abided by his rules for a few days, he might lower his guard. Then I could escape.
The first time I saw the portal, I would dive through it and find the Elders Committee to report the treacherous king, begging for release from that cursed treaty. My dragon and I weren’t hoping for much more from them.
Michael knocked on my door several times throughout the day, pleading with me to speak to him. But trust is earned, not given, and as Dracon’s subject, he could well have been involved in my imprisonment.
Power itching beneath my skin, driving me half mad, I decided to leave the supposed safety of my room for the courtyard where we trained. Soil beneath my feet might soothe my power enough to let me rest.
Slowly descending the main staircase, I was met by a silence that echoed through the castle, sending shivers down my spine. My footsteps rang loudly across the tiled floor, disturbing the stillness, each tap sounding far louder than it should have. Was this place always so eerie?
I followed the paths I’d tried to memorise after the king had brought me up, eventually reaching the foyer. When I turned towards the winding corridor that led to the garden doors, a man stepped into my path.
Anger radiated off him, making the hair on my arms prickle with warning. His clothes were spattered with blood and grime. He was a soldier—black and burgundy fatigues, heavy boots, and a utility belt bristling with weapons.
My heart hammered as his eyes glinted with a promise of carnage.
His mouth twisted in a vicious scowl, his arm erupting into flames as he reached for a dagger. ‘How fortunate I am to stumble upon yet another witch. I think I'll enjoy this.’
I spun and bolted in the opposite direction, but he was too fast. Even before his weight crashed into me, I could feel him at my heels.
It slammed me into the wall hard enough for the sharp taste of copper to flood my mouth. His grip was so tight there was no room to move or defend myself. I tried to scream, but he pressed a flaming blade to my throat.
Wedged between my legs, his breath reeked of blood and smoke. ‘You’re a cute little thing. Maybe I’ll let you beg me for a swift cut. I don’t usually finish quickly.’
The bastard’s voice oozed mockery, and I flinched when the blade began to bite. Panic dominated all of my other senses.
‘Sebastian,’ the king’s rough voice cut down the corridor.
The soldier froze but didn’t withdraw his weapon. He pressed harder, searing my skin as his liege warned coldly, ‘The witch is not to be harmed. By you or anyone else.’
A deep frown carved across the man's face before he reluctantly sheathed the blade. Instead, he wrapped a hand around my throat and squeezed while I desperately tried to pry his fingers away. His disappointed grunt told me how lucky I was that my captor had interrupted him. ‘What’s so special about this one?’
‘She’s the Ortensian who summoned a dragon,’ Dracon replied, his voice low and measured. Leaning against the wall, he yawned as if bored, while panic still clawed at my chest.
Still too close. He could still inflict far too much damage while I remained completely defenceless.
The soldier studied my face with open disgust. ‘How the fuck did this thing ever bond a dragon?’
He shoved himself away, seeming to enjoy the way I winced when he finally released my throat. His laughter echoed down the marble corridor as he strode past his king. I wanted to hear what they were saying, but my ears rang, every sound reduced to a dull hum.
I touched my throat and found a thin line of blood. Dracon closed the distance, pressed a finger to the wound and gently traced the cut, his expression unreadable.
‘I wish I could just let him fucking kill you,’ he murmured, lost in thought. ‘A witch is only good when it’s dead.’
‘That’s your flawed opinion,’ I said, forcing my quivering voice to steady. Who did he think he was?
His lips curled as he wrapped a hand around my neck, leaning close enough for his breath to brush my ear. His grip was gentler, though his hand trembled. ‘It's not an opinion. It's a historical fact, witch.’
Then his fingers dug in, deliberately dragging across the shallow cut. My body locked, bracing for what would come next. The soldier left us alone, and I was all his to torment.
‘Green witches helped cast blood witches awa—’
‘I don’t need a fucking history lesson from you.' His voice lashed at me like a whip. ‘I know what you are. Soulless abominations. I’ll paint the world red with your witch blood.’
He tore himself away from me as though I'd burned him, as though I were the most disgusting thing he'd ever touched, and strode off, his boots thudding against the stone floor.
I barely remembered running back to my room.
I didn't recall filling the bath or sinking into the scalding water, only the desperate need to wash away the grime, the stench of blood and the touch of their hands.
They had gripped my flesh as though they owned me and my pain, as though I were nothing more than a toy at their disposal.
It sickened me.
Unaware of the passing hours, I replaced the water again and again whenever it cooled, until dawn crept through the window and painted the room gold, though somehow I saw it only in shades of black and grey.
The warmth might have soothed my witchcraft, but it could do nothing for my mind.
I wasn't safe. Not here. Not anywhere. And there was nowhere left to hide.
I dressed mechanically, deciding to face breakfast with the king. I couldn't afford not to. If I was going to escape, I had to act. My dragon hummed faintly in my thoughts, a fragile comfort in a court ruled by violence and ill intentions.
There was no one I could trust here—not Michael, not anyone in this cursed place. And with the third day of captivity passing, my bond with Anya was slowly beginning to feel weaker.
The irony wasn't lost on me. The king who intended to keep me was the very man slowly killing me. Would he at least bury me, or did witches deserve nothing more than to be burnt?
‘Don’t worry,’ Anya whispered. ‘Escape and it’ll be fine.’
‘I wish it were that easy,’ I murmured back. ‘They’re stronger than me.’
‘You’ll figure it out.’
Her faith was both reassuring and heart-breaking. I could already feel my strength depleting, legs feeling too heavy and arms growing weaker. When Anya sent bursts of her own life force to keep me steady, it left me emotionally shattered. I wasn’t worth her endangering herself.
By the time I entered the dining room, conveniently on the same floor as my bedroom, the king and Michael were deep in conversation. They stopped the moment I appeared.
‘Good morning, princess,’ Michael said with a gentle smile. I gave him only a curt nod.
Deep down,I knew he couldn’t stop the king from imprisoning me, even if he wanted to. But hurt seldom heeds logic.
Dracon didn't even glance up from his plate of scrambled eggs and sausages. To him, I was beneath notice, and perhaps it was better that way.
I slid into the seat beside him, across from Michael, and steadied my breath before serving myself a spoonful of eggs and a single slice of avocado toast. Reaching for the orange juice in the centre of the table, I returned to find my plate piled high with more eggs I hadn’t taken.
‘Hey, did you put this on my plate?’ I asked on instinct.
‘Eat,’ the king grunted, voice brusque and unyielding.
My pulse thundered. ‘Excuse me, I’m not your dog.’
Dracon smirked, lifting his gaze to meet mine. ‘You're just as insubordinate as the bitches in our kennels, witch.’
Michael’s mouth fell open. I clenched my fists beneath the table, forcing myself not to react. My fists itched to teach him a lesson, but I feared that if I struck him, it'd be the last thing I ever did.
‘How dare you?’ Heat crept up my neck. ‘I'm a royal too. Have some fucking manners.’
He laughed, the sound dark and loud. ‘Your Ortensian titles mean nothing to me. Sit down and eat, or you'll starve. I want to train today.’
There was no room for discussion, and there shouldn’t be anyway. My plan involved playing a timid, obedient mouse, and it had already gone to shit as usual.
Determined not to help him during training that afternoon, I answered every question with short, detached remarks. And I kept my distance, terrified my fire might betray me again. Lately, it seemed to have a mind of its own, as unnatural urges pushed it to the surface more often.
Sitting on the ground a few feet away from my captor, I couldn’t stop thinking about his unwavering revulsion for halflings, though it was clearly witches that bothered him most. He kept referring to me as one, even though it wasn’t the entirety of what I was.
Part of me was fae, just like him, but he refused to acknowledge it.
When the session ended, he left without a glance. So much for cooperation or civility.
The day was still young, birds chattered in the tall trees, and it felt better to stay outside than hide in my holding cell. It was unlikely the soldiers would ignore a direct order from their ruler, so I doubted there would be more attacks. I hoped there wouldn't.
As summer waned, the air felt thick with change.
Some birds chipped at bark for nests; others gathered sticks.
Calls and drumming filled the space with a calming hum I could finally embrace now that I was alone.
For about an hour, I basked in their rituals, wondering what it felt like to be so free.
Eventually, I rose and followed the colourful flocks deeper into the forest until I reached the place where I'd connected to nature days before.
Beneath the canopy, surrounded by lush, tangled branches, the hum of life wrapped around me.
I wandered until I found a small clearing with a flat rock, the perfect place to lie back and gaze at the sky.
If this had been my kingdom, I would have made it my refuge.
Then my power shifted, tugging me towards something darker and irresistible.
A faint pulse thrummed through the ground, drawing me to the left.
With every step, the magic grew heavier, its essence increasingly sombre.
That's when I came upon a gated cemetery cloaked in vines and shadow.
The air shimmered with potent magic, alive with a weight that stole my breath.
Leaning against a tree, I closed my eyes and let it flow through me as we exchanged our truths. I was so captivated that I never sensed the presence behind me until it was too late.
A crushing weight slammed me into the trunk. Pain flashed along my spine as a hand clamped around my throat, cutting off air.
Dracon.
He loomed over me, his eyes blazing with sparks of fire ready to scorch the realm. His grip slid higher, forcing me onto my tiptoes for the smallest breath, but even that wasn't enough. I clawed at his wrist, and he only tightened his hold.
‘You dare disturb our fallen?’ he bellowed, his blazing breath scorching my face.
Everything in me screamed to fight, to shove him away. I tried to speak, to plead, but no sound came. My vision blurred at the edges as the pressure mounted.
He lifted me higher. Nails like claws pierced the fragile skin of my neck.
Tears stung my eyes, mingling with the blood that trickled towards my collar.
His energy was as dark as his eyes. As dark as his soul.
I wasn't strong enough. I clawed at his hand, but his grip never faltered.
I kicked, twisted, and fought. It didn't matter. His strength dwarfed mine, and every desperate movement drained what little air I had left.
I tried again to speak, to beg. Nothing came.
Growling and squeezing harder, he cut off my oxygen completely.
The beast enjoyed my struggle. Edges of my vision darkened as fear clawed up my chest. This was how it ended: my neck snapped between his fingers.
The tension coiled tight from the base of my skull to my shoulders until I thought I might shatter.
More tears streaked down my cheeks, joining the blood at my nape. The wetness reminded me of rain, the only thing I’d ever cherished about Ortensia.
His hand never left.
The King
My hand wrapped around her throat, and I squeezed until she struggled to breathe. Her erratic heartbeat brought me no satisfaction. Killing something so pitiful would be beneath me.
What the hell was she doing on our sacred ground? Looking for a way to hurt my people. I had no doubt.
She deserved to die. The rational part of me demanded it. I forced my fingers to crush her windpipe as my fire thrashed inside me, fighting to break free and protect her. It was the first time it had ever defied me.
It was her fault. The spell she’d cast on me.
The witch had cursed me; she was making me lose my mind. My fire was betraying me; was my sanity next? Or perhaps it was warning me that, as much as I wanted her dead, I couldn’t kill her. Not yet.
That didn’t mean I couldn’t punish her. How stupid could this girl be, wandering into the graves of people her mother had butchered? There was something broken in her, like her mind wasn’t wired properly.
My hand hitched higher as though I were trying to prove to myself that I could do it, while my fire rebelled against it.
Of course, I could. She was nothing. Just a witch who needed to learn her place.
Then, the moment she went limp, fire exploded out of me. It threw me backwards, tearing my grip from her.
What the hell?
What had she done to me?