Her throat constricted. The compulsion he'd placed might be gone, but the memory of it lingered—that sensation of words dissolving on her tongue, the metallic taste of his magic forcing itself down her throat.
Behind him, five figures stood motionless. The sight of them made her skin crawl in ways she couldn't articulate. Antlered masks that were made up of bone orbark, tattered robes that didn't move despite the evening breeze. And beneath those masks—nothing. Just shadow where faces should be. The smell hit her then, subtle but unmistakable. Rot. Decay. The sweet-sick scent of things returning to earth.
Star Court guards lay groaning near the entrance. One clutched a shoulder bent at an impossible angle. Another's leg was wrapped in vines that seemed to be growing into his flesh. Briar's stomach turned. He'd hurt them casually, just to make his entrance.
"Ah," Malus said without turning. "There you are. I was beginning to think the Star Court's hospitality had declined." He faced them then, and his smile was exactly as she remembered—sharp, amused, dangerous. "Though I suppose letting myself in was rather rude."
Arion stepped forward, light gathering in his palms. "You're not welcome here."
"No?" Malus's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "And here I've come all this way on legitimate business." His gaze moved over them slowly, taking inventory. It paused on Thaine, and something cold flickered in his expression. "Still breathing, huntsman? My brother always was too sentimental about his tools."
The casual dismissal of Thaine as a tool made Briar's chest tighten. Is that all any of them were to the fae lords? Implements to be used and discarded?
Finally, inevitably, Malus's attention settled on her. His smile widened, and her body remembered—the grip of his hand on her wrist, the strength that had bent iron bars, the violation of his magic forced down her throat.
"Lady Briar. Or should I say—" He paused, savoring the moment like wine. "Queen? Though I suppose the title was never quite official, was it? How awkward, to be cast out before the crown was even properly placed."
Briar felt her heart lodge itself in her throat. Queen. Beside her, she felt Arion go rigid. Sian drew in a sharp breath. When she looked she saw them staring, seeing her differently. Not just Eliam's pet or prisoner, but someone who'd been chosen for more.
The shame burned through her chest. She'd wanted it. God help her, she'd wanted to be Eliam's queen, had chosen to stay for it.
And a foolish, traitorous part of her still wanted it. Wanted to hear him whisper the words she had once resented.You’re mine.
"What game are you playing at," Arion asked, but uncertainty threaded through his voice.
"Game? No games. If you don’t believe me," Malus tilted his head, "then ask her. Ask her what my dear brother promised before his tantrum. Ask the huntsman—he knows. Don't you, Thaine?"
Arion’s fingers tightened where they still grasped hers and she wasn’t sure who he was angry with—Malus for his taunts, or her for what he would undoubtedly see as a betrayal.
Briar's throat closed around any possible response. How could she explain? That she'd been ready to stand beside the Forest King? That she'd chosen the darkness he offered? The words wouldn't come, trapped behind shame and grief for something that would never be.
"I'm not here to bring harm to anyone," Malus continued, as if discussing the weather. "Well, beyond those unfortunate guards, but they were rather insistent about proper channels." He straightened his cuffs with practiced ease. "I'm simply here to collect what my brother so carelessly discarded. The Hunt isn't over until dawn, after all. Her highness is still fair game.” His eyes gleamed. “Laws are laws."
"The Hunt applies to the Forest Court," Halian said, but his voice shook slightly.
"The Hunt," Malus corrected, his tone edged with thinly veiled annoyance, "applies to any unclaimed prey. And since my brother publicly cast her out..." He spread his hands as if the conclusion was obvious.
The word 'prey' made her stomach turn. After everything that had happened, after surviving the forest, after Karse's protection, after thinking she might be safe, in the end she was still seen as quarry to be claimed.
"She has sanctuary here," Arion stepped partially in front of her, his light growing brighter. The protective gesture should have been comforting. Instead, it made her feel like a child being shielded, incapable of standing on her own.
"Sanctuary." Malus tested the word, amused. "From other hunters, perhaps. But I'm not exactly a hunter, am I?"
His eyes found hers again, and something knowing flickered in them. He stepped closer. "You could come willingly, you know. Spare everyone the unpleasantness." His smile sharpened. "After all, it was you who fed me. You who gave me strength when I had resigned myself to eternity in the dark." The words were almost exactly what he'd said in the dungeons, but twisted now, made public. "And I did promise I would thank you properly when the time was right."
"She's not going anywhere with you," Arion said.
"No? How fascinating that you believe your own words to be true." Malus's tone remained light, conversational. “You see, choice is an illusion given by those in positions of power. The only choice any of you have in this matter is how many of you die before I get what I want, and I will get it. So tell me, brightling, are the lives of your people worth protecting one human?”
The question hung in the air, barbed with truth. They were all doing it—Arion shielding her, Thaine expecting her to return, Malus claiming her as payment for a debt she'd never agreed to. Even now, they talked over her, about her, around her. As if her wants were secondary to their decisions.
Frederick shifted against her neck, hidden beneath her hair, responding to her rising anger. The tiny comfort of that small, chosen connection was the only thing keeping her from screaming at all of them.
"You should tend to that one," a familiar voice observed from the ruined gates. "His shoulder's completely dislocated. Probably the leg too, though that might just be the vines."
Karse strolled through the destroyed entrance, stepping over a groaning guard with the same casual indifference someone might show to fallen branches. His appearance had changed since the forest—he wore dark clothing that looked stolen from someone with better taste, and his shaggy black hair caught the dying light in ways that revealed those patches of iridescent scales along his neck and jaw.
His reptilian eyes swept the courtyard, taking in the scene with mild interest. They lingered on the Withered for a moment. "Hm, creative," he said, before his gaze settled on Malus.
