“Is there any way I can hide the child from him?” I asked desperately.
She stood up and hugged me.
“Let me brew some herbs. It might work,” she said, turning to leave, but not before I saw her pessimistic frown.
After she left, I could only think about the possible baby in my stomach. I rubbed my belly absentmindedly, but my anger began to grow and fester. Who did these Fae fucker’s think they were? How many humans had they done this to?
Well, fuck the king.
This baby was mine.
Chapter 2
Willow
Grandma's warnings turned me into a shadow of myself. I ducked mirrors, held my breath passing darkened windows, and nearly screamed when my tea rippled. None of it mattered. My belly swelled anyway, stretching my skin tight within weeks. I hid it under Dad's old flannels, but Grandma's knowing looks said she saw right through me.
I caught myself singing the same lullabies I'd sung to Luke. The moment the words left my lips, something pressed back from inside. Not a kick. Five deliberate points against my palm, like tiny fingers reaching through my skin. The bittersweet emotions rocked me every time I felt my child move, reminding me of my loss but giving me hope.
???
The lavender aroma filled the air through the steam. I slipped the bathrobe off when I saw that I had forgotten to cover the mirror. It started to ripple like disturbed oil, its surface buckling as if something pushed against the glass from another world.
He appeared.
The Fae king’s face filled the reflection, his stag antlers towering like a crown of obsidian, their jagged points scraping the edges of the frame. Flowing black hair framed dark, sharp-planed features with a cruel hooked nose, thin lips pressed in amusement, and glowing black eyes that drank in her fear like wine. A slim gold earring dangled from one pointed ear, its enchanted leaf swaying as if caught in an unfelt breeze.
Between his antlers rested his crown. It wasn't a traditional circlet crown, but a diamond-shaped medallion of beaten gold that fit perfectly on his head. His dark skin was lighter than his antlers. My jaw fell as I realised he was no ordinary King, he was the darkest of them all—the one my Grandma had dreaded.
His gaze slid over me, lingering on my swollen belly with possessive hunger. I clutched my belly protectively, but his thin lips curled up at my action.
“Did you really think a few herbs and covered glass could hide what'smine?” he drawled casually, but when he said mine, he hissed the word out.
He lifted his clawed hand, the long, sharp black claws pointed, and his fingertips danced until, in the murk of the mirror's depths, something small and shadowed reached for me.
I grabbed my robe, fumbling with the bathroom lock before I ran into my bedroom, slamming my door shut. It didn't stop his sinister laugh from following me.
He'd found me. That glint in his black eyes told me everything—this Fae king would never release his claim. I scrambled for Grandma, my slippers slapping against hardwood floors. I was doomed if this was King Alvar of the Thistle Court.
Then my foot caught.
I whirled around and choked on a scream. There I stood, empty-eyed and frozen in the kitchen like a discarded doll. My own body, left behind.
The king materialised from the shadows, his clawed grip biting my wrist as he yanked me forward.
“That hollow thing isn't you anymore,” he murmured, breath smelling of rotting vegetation. Death.
Darkness swallowed us whole. When my vision cleared, three truths hit me at once:
The moss beneath my bare feet pulsed like a living heart.
The buzzing in my ears resolved into hundreds of Fae voices whispering about me and the king.
And somewhere back home, my abandoned body was still crying.
The portal sealed behind us with a sound I'd never forget—the decisive thud of a tomb door closing. Permanent. Final.
The King snapped his fingers at someone, ignoring me as I fell to my knees.
