Chapter Twenty-Two
Alaya
The next few days blur together into the same routine: exploring Heartwood with Domanikk by day, resisting Reth’s interrogations, and enduring my punishment at the Gathering by night.
King Malaxor still hasn’t responded to Reth’s returned terms for my release. I’ve stopped wondering if his obsession with our marriage was ever about anything beyond strengthening Kiernan’s Gift. Now that he has what he wanted, I’m disposable—just an irritation to be abandoned and forgotten.
Yet I know with absolute certainty that Kiernan searches for me. I don’t need the Marriage Bond to feel his emotions; they echo clearly in my own heart—that desperate need to be with him, the tingles racing through my body when I imagine looking into his eyes as they shine only for me.
But there’s a part of my heart I’ve begun locking away, the pain too raw to face.
The guilt over the pleasures Domanikk coaxes from me consumes me, leaving me drowning in self-loathing.
I’ve tucked those feelings away, knowing that someday I’ll have to confront them and acknowledge a truth I’m not yet ready to face.
Reth’s punishments and Domanikk’s pleasures stir something strange and unwelcome in me. I’ve come to crave both equally, almost eagerly anticipating the evenings for the flames they promise to ignite.
Reth is my darkness—the part of me that tingles at his cruel touch, that yearns for that wicked flash in his ice-blue eyes when he looks at me with unguarded hatred.
He continues his promised punishments with relentless vigour, finding increasingly twisted ways to inflict pain and humiliation—the previous evening making me kneel at his feet ‘where Earthbound Fae belong’ and using me as a footstool throughout the Gathering until my back ached, until my knees and palms were numb.
Domanikk is my light—the part that longs to step into the warmth of his pleasure, that glowing desire thrumming beneath his hands and hot mouth as he teaches me his art of passion.
I’m lounging beside the tent entrance, waiting for Rawson.
Though Domanikk keeps me close—his promise to Reth to care for me is absolute—today, he’s away with a scouting party in the Barrens.
Rawson’s been recruited for ‘Alaya Sitting’ duties.
He’s promised to show me more of Heartwood and introduce me to some of his friends—definitely better than sitting in the tent waiting for Domanikk to return.
“Ready to go?” Rawson asks as he approaches the tent door.
He looks far more relaxed than before; instead of his usual leather trousers and chest armour, he wears a dark red loose-flowing shirt and well-worn brown trousers.
Domanikk brought back the clothes I’d been made to remove at the Gathering, so I’m dressed again.
“Yes. Where are we going?”
“I have a little surprise for you now that I have you out of Domanikk’s iron grip,” he replies gruffly.
“That sounds interesting. I can’t wait.”
We make our way down the earthen paths between the tents, paths I’ve grown so familiar with that I could navigate Heartwood alone now—not that I’d ever be permitted to try, being a captive and all.
“Where did Domanikk go today?” I ask Rawson, mostly to fill the silence.
“Reth took a scouting group into the Barrens and wanted him to join. They’ve spotted another area of fertile land and wanted to investigate.”
“I didn’t think there was anywhere else besides Heartwood and the Castle of Thorns,” I reply curiously.
“We often find small pockets during our travels. None big enough to sustain much life, and sadly, The Corruption claims most of them eventually, though not as quickly in recent years.”
“Heartwood is bigger than I realised. It’s amazing it’s survived.”
“The surrounding mountains help—they provide the moisture the land needs to stay alive, and their unique formation creates its own protective ecosystem. More luck than anything else.” He laughs.
“Heartwood is quite beautiful,” I muse.
And it is. Not just the vibrancy of the earth—the bioluminescent forest filled with birds and wildlife, lush green grass, and sweet-smelling flowers dancing in the breeze with their rainbow of colours—but also the Equitae themselves.
Their families, their sense of community and loyalty to their Herd.
Yes, the brutality of the Equitae was real, undeniable, carved from the stories I had been told.
Yet so was this.
The realization sat heavy in my chest, uncomfortable and unwelcome—that savagery wasn't the exclusive domain of one side. Both Earthbound and the Equitae had committed atrocities. Both had justified their violence as necessary, as righteous.
King Malaxor had coated the Equitae with a layer of brutality meant to teach us to fear them, which infuriated me.
But neither were they innocent. And perhaps that was the most troubling truth of all: that evil wore many faces and that understanding the enemy didn't require forgiving them—only acknowledging that the line was far thinner, and far more blurred, than I ever wanted to admit.
As we approach a larger tent deeper into Heartwood than I’ve ventured before, I hear laughter and music drifting from inside.
I cut a sharp, questioning glance towards Rawson. The corner of his mouth twitches in a ghost of a smile—gone as quickly as it appeared—before he presses a steady hand against the small of my back. With a silent, guiding weight, he ushers me forwards and sweeps the heavy tent flap aside.
My breath catches. Inside, perhaps twenty Equitae are gathered, including children. Some chat quietly, others sway to the music, while the rest sit in chairs along the walls, simply watching and smiling. A piano’s melody fills the tent with warmth.
“What is this?” I ask in wonder.
“A mating reception—what you would call a wedding. When two Equitae choose each other as their mate, we celebrate with our friends and family before we …” Rawson’s cheeks flush pink. “Mate? Have sex? Fuck? You know …” He nods towards the back.
A stunning tiny Equitae with long straight black hair twirls in a flowing white dress so gauzy it’s nearly transparent, her glowing green Enchantra visible beneath the fabric.
Her partner is tall with short black hair and purple eyes, his strong bare chest displaying a glinting purple Enchantra.
He watches his new mate with such devotion it brings tears to my eyes—tears I didn’t expect, remembering my own wedding.
“We can’t just go in uninvited,” I hiss at Rawson as he starts to walk in.
A short, jagged rumble breaks from him.
“They’re expecting us. Come on,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me into the joyous warmth. Rawson grips my hand as he weaves us through the crowd, narrowly avoiding the flailing arms of dancers.
When we reach the couple, the female launches herself at Rawson, who embraces her with his strong arms.
“Oh, you brought her!” she squeals, smiling at me. When Rawson sets her down, she walks over and pulls me into an embrace. I stiffen at the contact, confused by her obvious joy at my presence. Rawson simply shrugs beside her mate, whose smile never leaves his face as he watches her intently.
“I’m Jenna. Rawson promised he’d bring you. An Earthbound Fae at my mating!”
I’m taken aback by her warmth and even more confused by her genuine happiness.
“Don’t mind my mare.” Her mate smiles, wrapping an arm around her waist. “She studies Earthbound Fae history and customs like it’s religion.”
“Don’t scare her off, Fallon. Please stay and enjoy the party. I’d love to chat later once things quieten down.”
“I’d love to,” I reply.
Fallon leads his mate away to greet other guests, and Rawson rejoins me, smiling at my amazed expression.
“Jenna is an incredible warrior, despite her size. We ride out together regularly. She was adamant that I bring you today.”
“I’m glad you did.” I smile back.
We walk through the tent as Rawson greets guests, stopping every few steps for introductions and small talk.
I nod along politely, and something warm unfurls in my chest—a feeling I can’t quite name.
It reminds me of when I lived in the Whispering Glade with my parents, before everything fell apart, before fate wearing the face of a King tore me away from that simple, peaceful life.
The music, the voices, the shared joy around me now—it all feels hauntingly familiar, like stepping back into a memory I’d locked away to shield myself from the ache of what I’d lost.
Belonging.
It’s been so long the feeling is almost foreign—nearly unrecognizable.
But yes, that warm, cozy sense of belonging, of being part of something larger than yourself, something meaningful and enduring.
That profound connection to other Fae, to a shared purpose, to a community that sees you and accepts you exactly as you are.
Something I’ve desperately longed for as long as I can remember, through all those lonely nights and disconnected days, searching for a place where I truly fit in.
Rawson grabs two glasses of Fae Wine from a nearby table and gestures towards the chairs along the tent’s edge.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the glass and settling in to watch the celebration.
I sigh, and Rawson glances over.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, just … sitting here, watching all this, I wonder how we’ve let our King twist our knowledge so completely. It makes me feel like an idiot.”
“It’s how he maintains control. King Malaxor has always valued power above all else. It’s all you’ve been taught, all you’ve been allowed to know. It’s not your fault, Alaya.”
“We have entire libraries full of books, Rawson! We’re neither ignorant nor uneducated. How has he hidden this?”