Our names ring out like a proclamation of doom.
The prince pivots us to face the applauding crowd, lifting my hand high, our blood streaming down our arms like a crimson ribbon. A wave of dizziness washes over me. I can’t tell if I’m feeling unwell from the warm trickle of my blood pooling wastefully on the floor, or the oppressive weight of the smirking Fae surrounding us. Perhaps the very presence of the prince is causing the nausea to churn in my stomach, although I know if he hadn’t looked away from me, I might still be lost in the depths of his haunting eyes.
Suddenly, he brings my hand to his lips and lays a kiss on my knuckles. The soft warmth startles me, and a breath lodges in my throat. When he lifts his head, I see our mingled blood smeared across his mouth. I watch as his tongue slides over his bottom lip.
“You taste as sweet as you look,” he mutters and my breath escapes my body in a shivered gasp. “How does the rest of you taste?”
“Enough Daedalus,” Queen Lanneth says. She grips his shoulder and pulls us apart. “Why not fetch your wife a goblet of wine or something to eat?”
Daedalus wipes his blood stained mouth on his sleeve and continues to hold me in his unwavering gaze. “I have done my part, Your Grace, and if I am to get through this night, my own goblet will need filling.” He bows half-heartedly. “Wife,” he callsme, before turning his back and joining his Mordorin court, who have already begun celebrations.
Wife.
The word is like a blade scraping against the walls of my skull. I, who vowed never to tether myself to a man, now stand in the fortress of Baev’kalath, the bride of a Mordorin prince. I have sacrificed my freedom, my independence, even my dignity to protect The Grove.
I look over the raucous assembly as they laugh and sing, red wine spilling from overflowing cups. Suddenly, my eyes find my husband—dear old gods, I cannot believe I am saying this—my husband.
He raises his goblet to me, his stare so intense that I can’t hold it for more than a second.
He moves with a predatory grace, draped in garments woven from the threads of the night. There is a hunger in the way he watches me, and I am reminded that I am nothing more than a plaything for the prince’s amusement. I take a deep breath, shivering even though I feel no chill.
What more must I give?
I remain awkwardly beside the thrones in my atrocious gown as blood runs from my wound and the king and queen not so discreetly whisper about me to each other. Wine and laughter flows easily amongst the Mordorin and the more they drink, the less formal the occasion becomes.
The slender hands of the Fae females caress the charcoal armor of the warriors, male and female alike, removing their helms and putting goblets to their lips. Some of the more regal Fae in their fine linens and extravagant gowns take to the darkened corners, but even in the shadows, I make out bodies twisting and entangling.
As I stand amid the revelry, discomfort washes over me. The air is thick with laughter and the sounds of lips meeting skin.Their whispers and giggles feel like a stark contrast to my upbringing in The Grove, where physical intimacy is shared only in the most private moments.
Watching them entwined—so casual and unrestrained—fills me with a longing I barely understand. It’s both intoxicating and frightening. My cheeks flush with heat, making me feel exposed. I want to look away, yet I can’t help but be drawn in.
Suddenly Queen Lanneth stands and for a brief moment I fear she has heard my thoughts. But she is only concerned with the court, and when she claps her hands, all fall silent.
“Fearsome Fae of House Mordorin,” she begins, her voice resonating through the hall. “I know that for some of you, this match may seem unimaginable. After their ill-fated rebellion, why would we unite our beloved prince with a mere human?” A heavy silence blankets the court, all eyes trained on her, their anticipation palpable—mine included. “But do you not see? This is a time for glorious celebration! While the kingdom was torn apart, it was The Mordorin who stood firm. The other great houses scattered to the winds, while we fought fiercely until the last human bent the knee.” She pauses, her eyes fluttering shut as she takes a deep breath. “We are a generous and forgiving people, and what greater demonstration of our benevolence than to make a bride of those who have wronged us?”
I scan the court for their reactions. Some nod and applaud, but just as many exchange glares, muttering behind their hands. To me, the queen’s words feel like sheer delusion. Generous and forgiving? I was barely nearing my womanhood when the war begun, but even so I remember the forests on fire with flames so tall they burnt through the clouds and scorched the heavens. The Ebon Blade extinguished thousands of human lives in a massacre of steel and smoke, and for the humans who survived, the choice given was kneel or die.
Some say the price was too high for a failed uprising. That humans are still slaves to the Fae. But of the six houses that once ruled over us, only one remains. The Mordorin. Whisperings of their dwindled numbers are rife through the human villages, and as The Grove knows only too well, the Legion of Saints still thirsts for vengeance.
Queen Lanneth opens her pearlescent eyes and the thin line of her mouth curves into a smile. “So rejoice House Mordorin. For beneath the Pale Eye, you are fortunate enough to witness our salvation.”
The court erupts into applause, but still I can see the discontent lingering with some who return to their goblets and whispers. Does the queen speak the truth? Is this union more than just a bargain? Is it truly the dawn of a new day for Fae and human? I remember the screams from within the burning forest, so loud and horrifying that even with my hands covering my ears, I could hear them.
I still hear them.
No. The Mordorin cannot change. They are Fae. They are murderers. And now I am amongst them.
A server girl approaches the queen with her head bowed and hands her a jeweled goblet. Queen Lanneth raises it to the assembly, and I find it curious that King Kaelus sits in silence while she holds court. In fact, apart from threatening me at my wedding, he has barely spoken at all.
“A toast to Prince Daedalus and his bride, Princess Amara,” the queen declares. She takes a long sip. “Now. A dance.”
My stomach drops to the floor, and I look at the prince. He pretends he isn’t listening with his head bowed and his mouth buried in his cup, but his stunning eyes flit up to find me before swiftly looking away. The queen reaches over to King Kaelus, gripping his forearm, and this is enough incentive to get the king on his feet.
“Daedalus,” he booms. “A dance with your wife. Now.”
The prince takes one last drink from his cup before slamming it onto a table. He drags his sleeve across his mouth and strides to the center of the room, loosening the leather ties of his collar as if it was choking him. The court forms a circle around him and once again, all eyes are on me as they await my response.
My feet stay frozen in place and I’m certain that even the end of the world could not get them to budge. The prince rolls his eyes and extends his arm.
