Chapter 11 #2
“It’s… not you,” I start, but King Oberon makes a noise, like he doesn’t believe me.
King Sylvian leans in. “Is it about the fae you want to kill?”
My insides go cold. I nod, but can’t look at them. “That’s part of it.”
“The deal is made,” King Cassius says. “You help us, we help you. If it’s a fae you want dead, we’ll see it done.”
“Although you never told us who it was…” King Ashton says, less playful now.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.” My voice is a whisper. “But… it’s the reason I can’t stand to be near fae. The reason I hate the fae. All of them.”
They’re quiet for a long time. I think maybe I’ve said too much, or maybe they’ll press me for details. But instead, Sylvian pushes the fruit bowl toward me and says, “Eat. You need your strength for training later.”
“Training?” I ask suspiciously.
“We’re going to teach you how to defend yourself,” King Oberon says, as if it’s already decided.
“I don’t need to—” I start, but he cuts me off with a glare.
“You do. Because when we go into the labyrinth… If you want to survive, you need to learn.”
Survive what?
King Cassius pours me a glass of juice and slides it over. His voice is soft as moss. “Don’t worry, Alette. We’ll take care of you. The training just wouldn’t hurt, right?”
I glance at him, then at the others, and for a moment I almost believe him. But the memory of what happened, of what I saw as a child, bubbles up, sharp and raw, and I know nothing will ever make me trust them completely.
Not even a table full of breakfast and shirtless men.
After brunch, the four fae kings head off to shower or… whatever it is fae do when they’re not trying to kill each other. Lily and Ellie show up to clear the table, their hands quick and smiles bright.
I start to leave, but Ellie catches my arm. “You should be careful with the fae kings,” she says, her voice low.
I frown. “Why?”
“They’re… different, when they’re around you.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. Happier. Energized. Excited about life again, like–” She stops talking as a couple fae women pass by, then continues, her tone more even. “I hope you enjoyed your meal.”
I want to ask more, but she’s busy, stacking plates and humming a strange, sad song.
Wandering out into the garden, I let the sun warm my face. I want to believe I’m safe here. But I can’t help feeling the real danger isn’t the monsters in the labyrinth.
It’s the ones sitting at my breakfast table.
I try to disappear after breakfast, to explore the castle, and maybe see if there’s an escape somewhere.
But a guard is always coincidentally there to watch me.
The idea of escaping fills me with hope, but the ever-watching eyes of the guards dissuade me.
I might be able to run, but I think the fae will catch me, and then what happens? Would they put me under lock and key?
From around a corner, King Sylvian appears, grinning. And that grin? It makes my stomach flip. How do these fae kings make me feel things I’ve never felt before?
“Come to the field,” he says, excitement in his voice.
“Why?” I ask, trying, and failing, to keep my eyes ahead. There’s a dangerous sparkle in his eyes, a look I recognize from the wolves that used to circle the village herds.
“Because we’re playing a game. And you’re on my team,” he says.
I shake my head. “No, thanks.”
He blocks my way, all six-seven or so of him. “Please? For me? It’ll be fun.” Then, more softly, “You said you like outside. This is the best outside there is.”
I don’t know how to refuse without being rude. So I follow him outside, through an arch of climbing roses, and out to a large open field bordered by the same strange trees as yesterday.
King Cassius is already there, rolling an oblong ball between his palms. King Oberon and Ashton are at opposite ends of the grass, stretching their arms behind their heads, showing off chests and stomachs as if it’s perfectly normal to do so.
King Oberon sees me and calls, “You’re on the enemy team.”
“Enemy team?” I say.
“You’re on a team with me and King Sylvian,” King Cassius tells me, then flips the ball to King Ashton, who catches it one-handed and spins it in his grip.
“What is this game?” I ask.
“PigSkin,” King Sylvian says, puffing with pride. “We invented it during the last siege. Rules are simple: get the ball to the far line.”
“And each team tries to stop the other team from getting there before them,” King Ashton adds, grinning like a cat.
“By any means necessary,” King Oberon says.
My stomach drops, but the way they all smirk at each other, I think maybe it’s a joke. It has to be a joke. Right? Because if these men are supposed to stop me, they’re going to be able to do it. Easily. I’d already seen that.
We line up: me, King Sylvian, and King Cassius against King Oberon and King Ashton. The teams are pretty fair, given that I doubt I’ll add much to my team, so it’s really two versus two.
King Sylvian puts his hands on my shoulders and leans down, his breath warm against my ear. “Try to stay out of the way at the start. You’ll get flattened. Then, try to be open for a pass.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I say, trying not to let my horror at this whole thing show.
King Oberon and King Ashton move in a blur of muscle and violence. They don’t even pretend to go easy on each other. Every tackle lands hard, and every time the ball changes hands, it’s with a twist of the wrist or a sweep of the legs that would shatter a normal person.
King Sylvian and King Cassius move like water, their motions sharp and instinctive.
They’re beautiful, though I hate to admit it.
Watching them, I could almost pretend they’re some other creature, something less horrible than the fae.
King Oberon and Ashton are more brute force.
They look like they could level the very earth if it got in their way.
After three plays, I realize they keep glancing over to see if I’m watching. Why do these four men like to see me watching them so much? They’re like the children from the village shouting, “Look at me! Look at me! Are you watching me?” Except, it’s all unspoken.
On the fourth play, King Sylvian gets the ball and sprints toward the line.
King Oberon barrels into him, sending both men to the ground in a heap.
King Oberon’s hand lands on King Sylvian’s face, grinding it into the grass, and King Sylvian bites his hand.
King Oberon swears and shoves King Sylvian’s head harder.
“Keep your hands out of my face, you brute,” King Sylvian growls.
“Stop putting your face where my hands go,” King Oberon retorts, teeth bared.
“Boy, this is fun,” I mutter to myself.
Why would anyone ever play this “game”?
King Ashton cackles, clutching the ball in his hands tighter, then spins, eyes on King Cassius. “Remember the rules. No magic.”
“No magic,” King Cassius says, but there’s trouble in his eyes.
King Cassius waits for him, arms crossed. Tension brews. There’s going to be another play. And another excuse for them to pummel each other.
“Go on,” King Cassius taunts.
“Ladies first.” King Ashton bows, then pivots and darts right. King Cassius, moving impossibly fast, catches King Ashton in a tackle and flings him to the ground. King Ashton groans but rolls to his feet, dusting himself off.
All the while, I stand off to the side, praying no one throws me the ball.
“Your turn, Alette!” King Sylvian calls, grinning.
I freeze, a sinking horror overwhelming me. “No, I’m fine watching,” I protest.
“Catch,” King Cassius says, lobbing the ball at me with expert precision. I flinch, but somehow my hands find it. The leather is smooth, shockingly heavy.
“Run,” King Sylvian whispers, right behind me. “Don’t stop. Run until you hit the line.”
I glance at the far end of the field. It’s not that far, really, but with two fae kings between me and it, I might as well be trying to run up a mountain.
But King Sylvian nudges me forward, so I take off, legs pumping as fast as they’ll go. The wind whips my hair into my face. For a moment, I’m not thinking of the fae, or the old stories, or the memory of blood. I’m just running.
Then King Ashton appears beside me, his stride effortless, his hand catching my arm. He could pull me down easily, but instead, he slows, matching my speed, eyes dancing.
“Want to try something fun?” he asks.
I shake my head, but he’s already sliding in front of me, blocking my path.
I skid to a stop. The field is silent except for our breathing.
King Ashton reaches for the ball, but I clutch it tighter.
“Good form,” he says, almost gently. Then he sweeps my legs, catching me as I topple. He doesn’t slam me to the ground. Instead, he lowers me down, careful, like he’s cradling something fragile. We land in the grass, my back against the earth, and King Ashton rolls, so his body is pinning mine.
I can’t breathe. Not because I’m hurt, but because he’s so close, his hair tickling my cheek, his brown eyes inches from my own. He smells like honey and sweat and something wild.
“Never thought I’d get you under me so soon, little human,” he murmurs, his lips a breath from my ear.
Before I can say anything, King Oberon barrels in, grabbing King Ashton by the neck and yanking him off of me.
“Keep your hands off her!” King Oberon snarls, throwing King Ashton back. The two men hit the ground and immediately start to wrestle, rolling in the grass, cursing and punching.
King Cassius is there instantly, kneeling beside me. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” I say, voice shaking. “He didn’t hurt me.”
King Cassius gives King Ashton a withering look. “She’s not made of steel.”
“Next time, I’ll use silk,” King Ashton says, grinning up from beneath King Oberon’s knee.
“Enough!” King Cassius snaps, separating the two. “You’re acting like fools.”
“They’re always like this,” King Sylvian says, pulling me to my feet. He brushes dirt and grass from my hair, his touch soft. Then he pauses, holding my face between his hands, as if inspecting me for damage.
“I’m okay,” I repeat, staring into his eyes. They’re the color of moss, bright and alive.
“You ran well,” he says, holding my gaze longer than necessary.
I don’t know what to say, so I look away. “It sounds like it’s time for the game to end.”
“Probably,” King Sylvian says, and I can feel that he’s still staring at me. Still too close.
As I start to walk back, a strange pain shoots through my ankle. Not bad, just a twist. I take a few steps forward and feel a tinge of pain. I must make a noise, because King Oberon turns instantly, his gaze sharp.
“What happened?” he demands.
“It’s nothing,” I say, trying to walk without a limp, and failing.
King Oberon is beside me in an instant. “Which ankle is it? We’ll take care of it right away.”
King Ashton laughs. “Look at the big brute, all concerned. I barely touched her.”
“You hurt her,” King Oberon says, voice icy.
King Ashton holds up his hands. “She’s fine.”
“Are you fine?” King Oberon asks me directly, his eyes burning into mine.
“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice is too small.
King Oberon turns and punches King Ashton in the face.
The blow is so fast I barely see it. Ashton drops to one knee, a bright line of blood trailing from his mouth.
“That’s for hurting her,” King Oberon says.
King Cassius shakes his head and mutters something I can’t hear.
Then King Oberon turns, scoops me up, arms under my knees and shoulders, and strides toward the house. Like I weigh nothing at all. Like I’m not suddenly pressed up against a huge fae king. His chest is slick with sweat, and I can feel his heartbeat through the skin. It’s… different.
“I can walk,” I protest.
He ignores me, walking faster through the castle, then up the stairs.
He kicks open my bedroom door and strides in, then lays me gently on my bed.
He’s so gentle that I feel strange. I can’t remember anyone treating me like I was something fragile and precious.
Not like he’s treating me now. And I’ve been hurt a thousand times worse than this before.
I wonder what these kings would say if they saw my back.
“Wait here,” he says, turning to leave.
But then he stops, glancing over his shoulder.
He fishes in his pocket and pulls out something gold and shiny. A little charm, in the shape of a flame.
He sets it on the table beside my bed.
“For you,” he says, voice low. Then he’s gone.
I sit for a long time, staring at the charm. Picking it up, I study the pretty thing. It’s small, almost weightless in my palm, but the warmth of his touch lingers on the metal. I don’t know why he gave it to me. I don’t know what it means.
I’m not used to being touched at all, let alone carried, or cared about, or fought over.
I don’t understand these men. I don’t understand myself.
There must be something wrong with me because these cruel fae are treating me with a kind of kindness I only remember experiencing with my parents and the villagers. What does that mean?
I close my hand around the charm, feeling the points of the flames digging into my skin.
I don’t know what this is.
But I think I want to find out.