Gade
next morning in searing pain, for a moment, I wonder if the witch is slicing me into pieces to add to one of her putrid-smelling stews. If she did, she’d find no fat upon my bones, only muscle, and I would not be very tasty.
Cracking my eyes open, I peer around the hut, searching for the girl. Pale light streams through the sole, high window next to the door, faintly illuminating the room.
The ash-filled hearth, long table, narrow bench that runs along the rear wall, and tall larder positioned next to it, all look as they did last night. The only thing missing is the witch.
The girl may not have hacked my head from my shoulders while I slept like the dead, drugged by her potion, but it appears she has unwisely used the time I was unconscious to escape.
Fury clouds my vision, and for three heartbeats, all I see is red, a river of blood, not mine—hers.
All is well, says the poison in my veins. If she still lives, she is yours and can never escape you.
The curse is right.
She’s likely already dead, her small body lying cold in the woods, a tasty meal for wolves and the wilder fae creatures who’ll happily consume any weak being they chance upon—dead or living.
Why does the image of her broken bones and gnawed flesh strike dread through my entire being?
With a grunt, I brace my wound with my hand, leap out of bed, and prepare to hunt her down.
As my feet hit the packed-dirt floor, a wave of nausea engulfs me. Pain burns deep in my gut and in the marrow of my bones. I’m accustomed to the agony of my cursed blood coursing through my veins, but these sensations nearly bring me to my knees.
Lifting the edge of the bandage around my stomach, I see a neat row of stitches. How did I manage to sleep through that? The room spins around me, ash and smoke coating my throat as I choke and cough. I wheeze like a changeling rattling their last breath, revolted by my weakened state.
The door slams open, and the girl strides through it, a skinned rabbit dangling from one hand and a pail of water from the other.
A frowning glance near slices me in two. “What are you doing out of bed? Lie down. Now, please, if you will, or you’ll start the bleeding off again.”
Another wave of sickness strikes, and I reach for the bed, collapsing back onto it.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Of course,” I say in my haughtiest voice. “Don’t hesitate to inform me how else I may be of service. I am eager to please you.”
My fingers grip the blanket as I brace for the stabbing pain from uttering a lie, but even though I spoke the words aloud, none hits, which baffles me.
Scratching my chin, I consider how my words might be true. Deep down, I must know she is likely the only thing saving me from a slow death, and that in my current vulnerable state, I would be wise to humor her. To help her even.
Yes. That explains it nicely.
I draw a sharp breath, preparing to test my theory and, hopefully, ruffle her feathers at the same time. “I would love nothing more than to satisfy your every whim with haste.”
Pain strikes my temples, drawing a curse through my lips. I suppose that’s what I get for stretching the truth to a ridiculous degree. I deserved that. No more mocking comments from me today. Or at least until after I’ve survived lunch and whatever horrid-tasting concoction she might choose to feed me.
I rub my temples, and she smiles smugly before setting wood in the hearth, then lighting the fire with speed and skill. “It hurts when you talk balderdash, doesn’t it, fae? Serves you right for lying, then.”
“Addressing me by the name of my species is not only ignorant but insulting,” I say, changing the subject swiftly.
“Is that why you do the same to me, then? To insult me?” Pots clang as she hangs them on hooks above the fire, then she turns and scowls at me. “Would you prefer Mister Fae? Or perhaps Commander Fae? I’m assuming by your arrogant personality that you hold a fairly high rank in your royal guard or army.”
Well, I can’t really comment on my rank without giving too much away. In the Land of Five, the heir to the throne is not in the army, he’s the head of it.
Sighing, I slump backward, and my skull thumps against the wall before sliding down onto the pillow. “Just Gade will do.” I wince, then smirk. “And I shall continue to call you witch.”
“Do it out loud again, and I shall acquaint your ballocks with that hot poker over there.”
I have no doubt she would. She seems a vicious enough female to follow through with her threats.
“How in the realms did you manage to catch the rabbit?” I ask as she prepares a stew with brisk movements, breaking bones and tearing flesh and sinews from the animal with practiced movements. Perhaps she was a servant in the mortal realm.
“The usual way. I set a trap.”
I grunt and pull my weight onto my elbows to ensure a better view of her as she buzzes around the room like an angry bee.
“My father and brothers are dead. My mother is sick and my sister uninterested in getting either dirt or blood beneath her nails. I learned how to hunt to survive. But royal guards who live in palaces likely have no idea of the trials humans who aren’t members of the gentry face. Keeping our bellies full is constant and exhausting work.”
“Human lives have never been of interest to me. If indeed you are one, as you claim,” I say, affecting a disinterested tone, even though I find my curiosity kindling hot.
Like me, this girl has only one living sibling, but thanks to the Merit fae, I am worse off than her, since neither of my parents are alive.
Painful memories assault me.
Many moons ago, King Bryar and Queen Aisheel embarked on a diplomatic journey to the dark kingdom and never returned. The Merit king, El Sanartha, claimed they disappeared before they arrived, wiping his hands of any responsibility and blaming wild Unseelie fae outside the borders of their city, who he claims no authority over.
Since the Merit cannot lie, elements of truth must exist in his story. Still, I’m certain he was involved in their demise. If not by action, then at least by design. It must be so. And when I gain control of the curse, marry my fated one, restoring my strength and power, I will make the Merit king pay.
Forever.
You may never find your bride, the curse whispers. And if you do, she may not think you worthy of her.
Nonsense. I will never stop looking for the fae who is destined to rule by my side. And the curse tells lies—I know that.
I remind myself that I was an obedient, if somewhat reckless, son who was always faithful to the crown. Those traits may not have served my parents well on the day of their demise, nor my kingdom in the years that have followed, but I believe they make me a worthy mate.
When I find this girl, I will know her, for she will love me instantly, just as a fated one should. And I’ll repay her with my honor and a queen of Faery’s crown.
When my parents disappeared, the high mage forbade me from marching the Court of Five’s army onward to destroy the Merits. Instead, she counseled peace.
She refused to risk my death and the crown falling to my cousin Elden, the fae closest in line to the throne. Although, he’s a little too fond of revels, tricks, and ruses, I believe Elden would do a decent job of ruling. But since Ether is the spirit, the key to our Elemental magic, her word must always be obeyed.
It took twelve moons for my parents’ bones to be found and returned to us and thirty-six more for my heart to fully rot in my chest. But when the curse is quelled, I will have my revenge. I vow it with each and every sunrise I greet.
“Are you still awake?” the witch asks, jolting me from my morbid thoughts.
“Of course. You were explaining why you have the skills of a huntress. And I was over here showing little interest.”
“Then allow me to finish boring you. In my world, villagers are hungry and many of us die from starvation. Most humans are poor. No doubt that makes us pitiful in your opinion.”
“Mortals are beneath my notice. Why should I care? There must exist a noble class, well placed to assist.”
“That’s not how it works. Wealthy folk only care for lining their own pockets and ensuring enough villagers remain alive to perform tasks they don’t want to do themselves.”
“Fascinating.” I grunt as pain strikes my temples. “Where did you sleep last night?” I ask, wondering if she had dared to rest beside me on this narrow bed.
“Mostly, I stayed awake, sewing you up, cooling your fever, then chopping wood by lantern light. Close to dawn, I took some rest by the fire.”
“I admit I’m surprised you didn’t attempt to flee while I was asleep.” Emphasis on the word attempt. Even in my current state—wounded, weak—I would never allow her to escape from me.
She sighs. “I’m not so foolish. If I had tried, I’d be dead already.”
Or worse than dead. Captured by any number of wild creatures, at this very moment, she could be enduring the most unpleasant of tortures. Forever pain, devised by fae who feed on the screams of their victims is not a very good way to die, but it’s most certainly one of the longest.
“I won’t run. I promise.” She hands me a bowl of fragrant rabbit stew. “My only way to return home is likely with help from your people.”
“Why don’t you use your witch’s powers and locate a portal?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Because I don’t possess magic, and I couldn’t transform this gown from shabby to fine to save my life, let alone locate a portal in Faery. When will you realize that I’m exactly what I say I am—a human, not a witch?”
I study her long-limbed, supple body. She is taller than tales told of human women, but height alone does not a sorceress make. I am not often incorrect. But could I possibly be wrong about this? About her.
Squinting in the smoky light, I study her carefully. The smooth brow, broad cheekbones, uncompromising pale-gold eyes, and her unsmiling wide mouth are all attractive enough for her unremarkable species, I suppose. And her rough hands and brusque manner tell me she is competent and used to hard work.
In contrast, enchantresses often possess ethereal beauty, soft skin, and clothes woven from magical fibers—the very opposite of this girl before me. I suppose I must take her word and accept that she is mortal. A young one at that.
Still, I cannot forget it was Aer who brought her here. Aer, the being who is the root cause of all my troubles and of all that ails my kingdom. Therefore, the human is not to be trusted. Under any circumstances.
After we finish our meal in silence, she cleans my wound and applies a foul-smelling poultice, the firelight casting an orange glow over the walls and her lightly tanned skin.
Time flows slowly while I lie unmoving, lost in delirium, and watch her bustle in and out of the door, prepare meals, and tend to my wound. I begin to wonder if perhaps two, three, or even more days have passed. I cannot tell.
Each moment spent in this hovel blends images of the girl into one continuous, feverish nightmare. Her brisk movements. Her impatient sighs when I don’t move my limbs fast enough for her to perform her ministrations. Her palms, scalding my flesh. Somehow it is both horrifying and strangely pleasurable to be so completely and utterly at her mercy.
She works efficiently, only speaking if necessary, and I’m at least grateful not to be subjected to constant mind-numbing prattle. But there is one problem with her tight-lipped, reticent nature, my senseless curiosity cannot be satisfied, which makes her all the more intriguing.
Why should a prince of Faery be fascinated by a lesser being? Boredom likely explains it.
Without warning, she pushes my shoulder, jarring my attention from the thatched roof above the bed to her steady, honeyed gaze. “Come, fae. It’s time to get up.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“I said, get up,” she repeats.
“How many days have we been here?”
“We’re nearing the end of the second, and it’s time you bathed.”
“Only two? What? Bathe? Unlike what I have heard about humans, fae do not sweat, and we don’t require daily washing. We only bathe for pleasure.”
A sandy eyebrow rises. “Well then, for the sake of your wound, it’s time to take your pleasure.”
My mouth falls open as I replay her words, stuck on their double meaning. Her cheeks darken, and I chuckle. “Ah, frail human, there’s no need to fear me in this state. Any tryst with you could not be categorized as a pleasure. You are safe from me for now. I vow it.” I shuffle to sit on the edge of the bed and point at my chest. “Do you perhaps have designs on me? Human men are no doubt lacking in many ways. I’m sure I am rather… stimulating to your senses.”
Scowling like an irate pixie, she visibly tamps down anger.
I give her my most annoying smile.
“In any event, water will revive your mind and clean your wound. Stop your prattling and stand up.”
Me? Prattling? I shoot onto my feet, then stagger sideways, my skull thudding against the top of the door frame.
From behind me, the girl wraps a blanket around my bare back and ushers me through the door into blinding daylight. “Wait, I’ll retrieve your boots.”
“There is no need. I could easily run up the side of an erupting volcano without them,” I boast.
“How pleasant for you,” she says in a mocking tone. “I send congratulations to your manly pride and condolences to the skin on your feet.”
I harrumph, then give her a wicked smile. “I see you’ve relieved me of the burden of my clothes,” I say as she scurries along to keep up with me. “How daring of you.”
“Only your top section. I promise I didn’t enjoy the task,” she says in a tone that suggests I am hideous to look upon, which is absolutely not true.
“Well, humans can lie,” I say, tripping over a rock and quickly righting myself. “I’m sure you delighted in it.”
She takes my arm roughly. “Here, let me help you. You’re still weak. I don’t want you to fall and me have to carry you all the way back.”
“Are you sure of that?” I tease. “You seem the type who might enjoy a challenge.” Fighting nausea, I shrug her off and lengthen my stride toward the narrow creek that winds through the valley behind the hut. “Have you been caring for Wren?”
“Your horse?”
“No, my tiny faithful bird.” The sky spins around me, and I stop to swallow bile, vowing to forgo sarcastic taunts until I am at least a little stronger and to visit Wren on the return journey.
“Your horse fares well. To maintain his condition, I rode him along the valley this morning.”
“Another lie. Wren only allows me to ride him.”
“And now me, proving you are perhaps not the most important being in the entire world. He has a lovely temperament, and you’re very fortunate to own such a magnificent and obliging beast.”
Wren obliging? No. She is mistaken. Did she dream it? I cast my gaze along her body, wondering what she’s made of—foolishness or courage? Certainly something sturdier than most human girls.
We pick our way down a lightly treed slope and stop on the mossy edge of the creek bed. The six-pointed star glyph on my hand flares as I breathe deeply, the sun on the back of my head providing energy.
Yes, the human is right. A swim is a fine idea. I shuck off the blanket, work the buckle on my belt, and then unfasten my leather pants.
The girl yelps. “Wait until I turn around.”
“For what reason? I don’t care if you look upon my body.”
“Well, I do. And I’d rather not endure the sight, thank you very much.”
“Your loss. I am well built and agreeable of form. You should hold back your thanks until after you’ve enjoyed the sight.”
A choked noise escapes her.
With difficulty, I peel off my trousers, toss them into the air, and then stagger into the water, using reeds and tree roots to stay upright. As I sink to my knees, water rising to my chest, a burden lifts from my mind, then deep peace flows through me as I lie back and float.
“It is quite safe for the overly modest among us to look now,” I say, watching her kick stones from the bank, then search beneath them. For what, I have no clue.
“What do you seek?” I ask.
“A type of healing moss.” She swings around and meets my gaze. “Do you feel any better?”
Sifting my hands and arms through the water, I grin, gratified to see her cheeks darken. “Yes, human. This was a worthy idea.”
“Good. I’ll refresh the poultice and your bandage as soon as we return.”
“I have no doubt.” My hair splays across the creek’s surface as if it has a mind of its own, her gaze tracking the sinuous movement.
“Gade?” she says.
Shock courses through me at her use of my name, her gentle tone.
“When will your people come for you?”
“By the fourth day at the latest.”
“Quite soon, then?”
“Yes. Unless something prevented Lleu from arriving home.” Knowing the impulsive nature of my eagle, this is, unfortunately, more than possible. Fear settles like a block of ice in my gut.
Lleu may well have risked a detour to chase his enemy, the golden boar, and as a result, been captured by the dark being that protects the creature—the antlered annlagh who rises from hibernation when the boar is near death.
I swipe hair from my face. “My sister will come soon and provide a much-needed power boost to my magic. This will make the journey home safer for us. If she doesn’t come, we’ll have no option but to travel regardless of my lack of power.”
“Then I hope Lleu is safe and your people are on their way,” she says, inspecting my chest as though cataloging the scars and dark-colored glyphs marking my skin.
A surge of power licks through my veins. I stumble onto my feet, the water now up to my thighs. The girl screams and covers her face with her arm as I send a bolt of water magic across the creek. The surface sizzles, turning a deep shade of purple before clearing.
“Did you see what I did? Perhaps my power is returning,” I say, hope blooming inside me.
“No,” she says, peeking through her fingers. “I didn’t want to risk an eyeful of… other things.”
Laughter rumbles in my chest. I drop back into the water loudly, then spring up silently. “I have gone under the water again,” I announce.
No pain blinds me, because my words are true. I did go under. And now I am out of it.
Pointing to the blue aura swirling near the bank in the distance, I say, “This is a sign of my healing.”
I fight a grin as I wait for her to turn around. She does and emits a bloodcurdling scream. I lose my footing on the slippery stones and plunge backward into the creek, the cold fingers of two wraith-like river maids pulling me into the deepest part of the creek.
“Gade!” the human cries as I flail against the nymphs’ hold.
Drawing on magic as I’m dragged beneath the water, I wrap my hands around a thin, blue neck and tug the black-eyed face closer. “Recognize your prince or die in ignorance, naiad,” I say, bubbles rising to the surface.
Green hair strokes my face and chest as the river maids retract their claws, then bow to me before swimming away with haste, my name upon their wet indigo lips.
When I surface, spitting weeds and slicking long hair from my face, the mortal breaks into a wide, genuine smile, stunning me into silence.
“You are awful,” she scolds, unaware that I was nearly made a meal of beneath the water. “Have you injured yourself in your attempt to embarrass me?”
“If I had, it would be worth it because now you know for certain that faeries are perfect in every way.”
Scarlet washes over her cheeks.
Taunting her requires little effort, and I have no idea why it is so gratifying that I immediately begin to search for another way to make her blush.
Perhaps she has little experience with mortal men, which might explain why the sight of an unclothed body discomforts her. In this regard, we fae could be of service and teach her the many ways to enjoy her physical form. Not me, personally, of course. But in general, my species has much to offer her.
I bend and splash water on my chest to cool the heat igniting under my skin—likely, my fever is returning.
“All right,” she says, dusting her hands on her skirts. “Since you’re so perfect, you should be fine to return to the hut without my aid.”
With her arms swinging, she marches up the hill, leaving me to wonder why the sight of her departing form fills me with bitter melancholy.
I climb onto the shadowed bank and attempt to summon a glamor of clothing, failing miserably. Then I don my trousers with clumsy movements and hurry after the girl.
How dare a mortal leave before I have dismissed her. If we were back at my court and she abused fae royalty in such a manner, she would be severely punished.
I laugh, thinking of the many ways I could make the mortal pay, then curse as the edges of my wound pull tight, all the while walking faster to catch up with her.
