Chapter Twenty-One
Alaya
His reaches out and a thumb traces along my jawline, deliberate and unhurried.
"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "Deals with me are always worth it."
He steps closer, his free hand finding my waist and pulling me flush against him—possessive, certain.
"You're going to find out just how worth it," he continues, his lips curving into something between a smile and a promise. His breath is warm against me as he leans in to nuzzle my neck.
He moves slowly, his tongue tracing over my skin towards my mouth as those warm pink lips finally brush mine, the tip of his tongue tracing my lower lip.
Cupping my face, he increases the pressure, his tongue parting my lips insistently, searching so deep for my own that I feel his desire fill me.
It's all heat and demand, lasting only a heartbeat but enough to steal my breath.
Satisfied, he pulls away, nipping my bottom lip, a sharp pain shooting through me.
I stand there, chest heaving, as he throws the trousers and shirt back over his shoulder towards me. I just barely catch them as he strides towards the door.
“Dress. I’ll be back in a while, and I can show Heartwood my new prize,” he throws back as he exits.
Once my breathing settles, I pull on the black trousers that Domanikk has left me.
They’re far too large, but between these and nothing, the choice is obvious.
I tie the waist as tight as I can with a cord threaded through it and roll up the bottoms, so they don’t drag on the floor.
The shirt fits the same way—I simply roll up the sleeves and leave a few buttons undone at the bottom so I can tie it tight at the front.
I can’t remember ever feeling such joy at wearing clothes.
While I wait for Domanikk to return, I walk around the tent.
It’s surprisingly sparse, with barely any personal items or the usual clutter of a lived-in space.
One thing catches my eye: a small wooden horse figure sits on the rough-hewn wooden mantle above the fireplace.
I gently pick it up and notice it’s crudely carved, made with a child’s hand and worn smooth in places from years of handling.
I wonder about its story—a childhood keepsake or a gift from his own child?
As I place it carefully back in the thin layer of dust, my eyes catch the glint of my golden wedding band on my index finger. I turn my palm over, tracing the thin golden thread that runs from my heart line, swirling up over my wrist to the intricate band just above.
Kiernan.
My heart jolts at the thought of his name. I picture his messy black hair and my fingers twitch, remembering how soft those strands felt. I think of his strong hands and my skin tingles with the memory of his tender touch.
Is he trying to find a way to reach me?
My resolve to survive this—whatever it takes—is for him. There’s no version of this kingdom without him and me that’s worth living in. I know this as surely as I know I need air to breathe, and only when all hope is lost will I take my last breath.
I feel a presence behind me, and I turn, my heart dropping as I realise I was hoping for Kiernan’s cocky smirk and wickedly glinting green eyes.
“Well, don’t you look sexy as hell wearing my clothes?” Domanikk leers at me. “Are you ready?”
“Do you have anything I can wear on my feet?” I ask, looking down at my toes peeking out from the upturned hems.
He opens the wooden chest beside him and pulls out a pair of short, worn black leather boots.
“They’ll be too big, but better than nothing.”
I walk to the chair and sit, pulling on the boots. I tuck the folded hem of the trousers inside them, and when I stand and take a few steps, they stay secure.
“I’m ready.” I laugh, throwing out my arms as if asking for his approval.
“Yep, they look as good on you as they would on my floor. Come—I want to show you Heartwood.” His hand settles at the base of my back to gently guide me towards the door.
The warmth of the afternoon sun embraces me as we leave, and I tip my face up, enjoying it, having spent far too much time in the shadows lately.
As we walk, Domanikk laces his fingers with mine, and a tiny jolt of guilt stabs my heart when I look down at that shiny golden band on my finger. I don’t dare pull away; I simply tuck that guilt aside to process later.
Domanikk’s tent overlooks the main green at the centre, and he weaves us down small paths between the other tents, deeper into Heartwood.
Though crude in structure, I’m shocked to see that many have created small gardens of flowers, vegetables, and fruit outside, some even with haphazard fences encircling them.
“Why tents instead of sturdier buildings?” I ask.
“We’re nomadic Fae, preferring wide open spaces with the freedom to roam.
Before The Corruption, our herds spent most of their time in Horse Form, so permanent residences weren’t necessary.
Of course, that changed when we were forced to confine ourselves to Heartwood. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”
As we continue, the sense of community becomes clear—families living their own version of harmony.
We pass a larger tent, and when Domanikk gestures for me to peek inside, I see rows of desks with children sitting behind them, all facing an Equitae in front of a blackboard with “Our History” written in chalk.
The children listen intently, though I’m too far away to hear her lessons.
“A school?” I say in wonder.
“We’re not uneducated heathens, no matter what you’ve been told.”
As we continue, several Equitae greet Domanikk with deep respect and, more surprisingly, acknowledge me. A nod, a smile, even curious looks. They don’t flinch from my scar or fear my Desolate state. I still instinctively lower my head to avoid their gazes.
A warm, strange feeling of acceptance washes over me, and it’s unsettling in ways I can’t quite place.
This feeling is foreign—almost alien to someone like me, who’s spent years treated as an outcast. I’m their captive, after all, taken against my will and brought to this unfamiliar place.
There’s no guarantee I’ll survive here, no assurance that tomorrow will come.
Yet these so-called savages—the wild beasts we’re taught are nothing but animals, mere creatures driven by baser instincts—have warm, welcoming homes and families that laugh together and share meals.
They accept me without question. They don’t scrutinise my appearance or judge my Desolate state.
They simply offer kindness where none was expected.
Meanwhile, my own Fae race isolate and shun me at every turn. The irony stings more than I care to admit.
We wander without clear direction, and when a brown-haired Equitae stops Domanikk to ask about a planned meeting, smiling my way, I step slightly behind him and pretend to be fascinated by something on the ground.
He makes his excuses and tugs me by the hand, but stops not far along the earthen path. His finger under my chin tilts my head up to meet his gaze.
“Why do you hide your beautiful face?” he asks.
“I’m not used to being stared at with anything other than fear or disgust,” I reply.
“Cowards fear the truth on your skin and miss the radiance within. I’d like to meet those bastards and gouge those filthy eyes from their sockets,” he says through clenched teeth, yanking my arm and striding quickly down the path with me in tow.
I hear laughter ahead, and we reach a small clearing where a fire roars in the centre, surrounded by log benches. Three Equitae sit chatting.
“Flameheart, my brother!” Rawson calls out as we approach.
“Flameheart?” I shoot a questioning look at Domanikk.
“My old Herd name. One that Rawson knows pisses me off,” he replies, shooting a venomous look towards Rawson.
Domanikk sits on an empty bench, and as I prepare to sit beside him, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me onto his lap, one arm snaking around my shoulder, his hand brushing the top of my breast.
“I see you’re enjoying your new pet,” the Equitae next to Rawson laughs. He has a similar build to Rawson and the same red hair, though his is long, and he wears a bushy red beard below bright yellow eyes.
“Samwell, Rawson’s uglier brother,” Domanikk says to me, and Samwell playfully reaches over, to punching Domanikk’s free arm.
The other Equitae stares at me, a small uptilt to her mouth. She’s striking, with silky blond hair cascading over her shoulders and flawlessly tanned light brown skin. Her eyes are the most captivating—a deep purple, almost black, with a paler violet ring around her iris.
“Lucky to still have that pretty head attached to your neck, I heard,” she says.
“Of which I’m grateful.” I smile back. She mirrors my smile, and in that moment, we connect on a deeper level without saying a word. Her eyes reflect the same warmth I’m offering, and I know we’ve established something genuine and surprisingly comforting.
“Viveen, our camp Healer and trainer of the newly mature,” Domanikk says.
“And she can keep those Healing hands to herself. Watch her; she’ll have those trousers around your ankles quicker than you can blink.
Sweet Viv, there are a few I share my spoils with, and sadly, you’re not one of them.
” He laughs, shooting a pointed stare at Viveen.
I blush and laugh along with him. As Earthbound, we only marry or have relationships with the opposite sex. I’ve heard of other practices but have no real knowledge of what that entails.
“Did Reth tell you about the meeting he’s planned?” Rawson asks Domanikk.
“He did. Something about making plans in case the King decides to attack. We’ll meet soon, before the Gathering.”
“That bastard King doesn’t let up, does he?” Rawson sighs.
“We’ll need to arrange more training sessions in the Meadow. Many of the newly mature fighters need Enchantra training,” Viveen adds.
“I’ll bring that up to Reth,” Domanikk says.