Chapter 20 #2
Before she can speak, Lox is already leaning forward, his lips pulled tight in warning. ‘Careful, Araxie.’ His golden eyes burn as he fixes her with a stare that could flay skin from bone.
‘Every moment she stays here, she risks bringing the Sheriff’s wrath.
’ Araxie’s gaze rakes Marian up and down, lingering on the vine tattoo curling above her neckline.
‘His fury won’t stop at just her. It’ll fall on all our heads.
And for what? A dalliance? Perhaps some of you are willing to wager Sherwood for a single human, but I am not. ’
The words lance Marian’s chest. She releases Lox’s hand and fusses with the hem of her shirt, unwilling to sully his reputation any further.
Will slams their palm flat against the table.
The sound snaps the air taut. ‘Marian earned her mark, Araxie, one that you have yet to, I might add.’ Their voice carries past the tables, silencing even the whispers.
‘She was accepted by Sherwood the same as any of us. How else do you explain the forest itself parting for her when she ran to save us? How else do you explain her hand steady on a bow none but Lox can wield?’ Their gaze sweeps the crowd, daring anyone to answer.
‘If Sherwood welcomes her, then so should you.’
Their words land like a hammer strike. The hush that follows is brittle. Then, slowly, murmurs resume, quieter now, less certain. Araxie sits back, jaw tight, but she says nothing.
The goblet reaches Allen. He rises with theatrical flourish, clasping the cup to his chest. ‘Since we’re casting off what no longer serves us .
. .’ His smile is wicked as he tilts the goblet toward Araxie.
‘I sever the poison of ill tongues. May mine always be sharp enough to defend, but never so dull as to wound my own.’ He drinks deeply, lips curling into a grin as the wine glints against his mouth.
Laughter breaks out across the tables. Even a few Elders smother smiles. Araxie’s face goes rigid, but Allen only shrugs, passing the goblet down the table until it rests before Marian.
Her throat tightens. The goblet gleams with a wink, as though the wine inside waits for her.
The whispers rise again, prickling her skin. She reaches for it, but before her fingers close, Lox’s hand covers hers.
His voice is low, meant for her alone. ‘Our wine is not for mortals, Marian, and the Severing cuts deep. Once loosed, the forest claims what you’ve cast away. There is no taking it back. If you drink, you might lose yourself to it as we do.’
The goblet gleams between them, beautiful yet treacherous. Around her, the others wait, patient and silent, as if they already know she will refuse.
Her throat tightens as she stares at her reflection in the rim. It’s the same face she’s seen in mirrors her whole life: a Hallomere, born to follow rules, to bend her neck. To smile through cruelty, to survive by silence. The world had carved obedience into her like scripture.
And yet, since stepping into Sherwood, her body hasn’t felt like it belongs to that girl any more.
Here, she breathes differently. Freer. Wilder.
And maybe this is what mortal men fear – what a woman becomes when no one else dictates her shape.
Lox’s hand tightens slightly around hers, grounding and warning all at once.
‘You don’t have to prove yourself to them.’
But maybe she isn’t trying to prove herself to them.
Maybe she’s proving something to herself.
She meets his gaze. His fingers are warm, steadying, grounding her. ‘I made my choice in the meadow,’ she murmurs. ‘And I make it again now. If I lose myself, then so be it. Perhaps I’ll like who I find even more.’
Marian clears her throat. Every gaze pins her, suspicion and curiosity tangled together. Her fingers tighten around the goblet until it bites into her palm.
‘I know many of you hate me,’ she begins, her voice raw but steady.
‘And you have every reason to. My father’s hands built your cages.
My family name should forever be cursed in your halls.
When I arrived here, I doubted everything I saw in these woods – the laughter, the loyalty, the love.
But mostly, I doubted the part of me that wanted to belong here.
’ She draws a breath, the mark on her chest throbbing.
‘Please hear me when I say that my loyalty does not end with one moment. One choice.’
The whispers grow, but she pushes louder, stronger.
‘I hold no love for the Sheriff, nor for the man who shares my name. If you need proof, then let me give it. I know the Sheriff’s delivery schedules.
His wagons. His stores. Let me help you burn his empire down, one shipment at a time.
’ Her fingers tremble as she lifts the goblet.
‘Tonight, I sever obedience to the men who would use my body as a warning to every girl who forgets her place.’
The liquid burns as it travels down her throat.
Sweet and sharp, fire and ice at once. The taste of earth and lightning floods her mouth.
Heat blooms in her chest, scorching every vein until she gasps.
The world lurches. For a moment she thinks she’ll fall, but then the warmth steadies and spreads.
All that she declared – obedience, silence, her father’s name – unravels and falls away.
She sways, lighter and rawer than she has ever been.
The vine over her heart pulses and the forest hums.
Literally.
It is a bone-deep note, the kind that loosens the teeth and widens the eyes.
Lanterns swell and dim in time. Somewhere across the clearing, a child starts to laugh for no reason and claps both hands to their chest as if startled by joy.
The Elders exchange looks over the rims of their goblets.
Rían’s eyes are sunburst-bright with glee.
Will’s mouth breaks into a smile before they snatch the goblet from Marian’s grip.
‘I sever,’ they say, voice rough, ‘the arrogance of judging others before I know more, and my habit of assuming I’m the only one who knows where the knives belong.’
Laughter breaks the tension as the goblet makes its way around their table, finally landing in front of Lox.
He slips one hand over the bowl of the goblet, thumb brushing its rim.
‘I sever the lie that guardianship is only a wall and never a bridge. I sever the pride that has kept my hand from asking, and my heart from wanting what would make me stronger.’ He lifts the cup to the crowd.
‘I keep Sherwood. I keep my people. I keep my teeth.’
He closes his eyes and drinks, jaw working like someone taking something bitter and promising to make it sweet later.
Rían takes the goblet from Lox with a mischievous wink. ‘With that, the Severing is complete. The Keeping has begun and will carry us through this equinox to the next.’
The clearing erupts.
Drums roll and pipes trill. Voices rise, half-song and half-howl.
Wind jostles leaves and lanterns swing wildly on their cords as if the forest itself is drunk on what’s just been set free.
Hands slap the tables, mugs clatter, and laughter breaks like surf over rock.
The fae push away from the tables and charge toward the heart tree.
All around her, fae whirl in circles, skirts and pointed teeth flashing, braids unravelling as they toss their heads back and laugh.
Little John has already been hauled into a dance, his massive form surprisingly deft as he twirls two children in wide arcs that make them squeal.
Will sings sharp harmony to a bawdy ballad that Allen strums, their blades clinking when they stamp their heel against the earth in rhythm.
Marian lets herself sway, the pulse of the forest pressing into her bones, the wine softening her edges.
Someone drags her into the circle then, hands on her wrists, spinning her in a whirl of bodies and music.
She laughs, hair flying, skirt tangling around her legs.
Her heart beats wild as the drums, her tattoo thrumming with each turn.
When she stumbles, another hand catches her, warm and calloused and steady.
She looks up to find familiar mossy eyes staring back at her, sparking with hunger. Lox draws her against him and his palm splays low at her back, fingers pressing just above the swell of her hip as her body arches into his.
He lowers his head, lips brushing her jaw, his breath hot with the spice of fae wine. ‘All I can think about,’ he murmurs as his fingers slip beneath the edge of her tunic, ‘is how I’d rather be on my knees again, with nothing between my mouth and the sound of you breaking.’
Marian shudders. She presses her hips forward, rubbing against the rigidity that meets her.
‘If we stay out here,’ he growls into her ear, ‘the wine and merriment will make us forget ourselves. I will take you in every way you’ll let me, ruining you sweetly against all the trees of Sherwood until your moans replace the birdsong.
’ His hands travels up her side, thumbs grazing the underside of her breasts through the thin fabric, as if daring her to call his bluff.
Heat floods Marian’s chest, her thighs tightening around a pulse that has nothing to do with the drumbeat.
She fists the front of his tunic, tugging until her hardened breasts flatten against the hard plane of his chest. Lantern light flickers over his antlers, casting sharp shadows across his face that make his hunger look holy.
Her lips brush his jaw as she whispers, ‘How about we start with the roots in your room? I’ve shared you with Sherwood enough for one night.’ She takes the lobe of his ear between her teeth. ‘I want you all to myself.’
His fingers tighten at her hip, then slide lower, palm spreading over the curve of her backside as he presses the hard line straining against his trousers against her thigh. ‘If we leave now, I won’t stop until I’ve memorized every sound you make.’
The wine burns warm in Marian’s blood, loosening the fear until only want remains. ‘Then I suggest you stop wasting time.’