Talysse
The Room of Reflections
My thoughts flutter around like a swarm of moths on a moonless night.
The brush of Aeidas’s knuckles still lingers on my skin, and I shake my head, reminding myself that this male is the Crown Prince of the Unseelie, the one who holds the life of my little sister in his hands and that I should not fall for his deceptions and his lethal beauty. That’s what Fae do best: ensnarl us with their sweet talk and feral sexuality, turning us into mindless thralls doing their bidding. I let the delicate dress drop and carefully remove all the jewelry Ayrene has given me.
The night is warm, and the Halo over the city reflects on the golden ornaments of the ceiling. I pull the heavy curtains so that the soft light of the silver candelabra and the fire are the only light in the room, then throw on a transparent nightgown, probably intended for some royal concubine. My cheeks are flushed, and the peeks of my breasts are tight, straining against the airy fabric. And there is a sweet, hot heaviness between my thighs. The poison of this beautiful monster is already working in my body.
I snuggle between the crisp sheets, the softness a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I bury my face in the pillow, but sleep eludes me. Tossing and turning in the bed for something that feels like hours, I finally surrender to a maelstrom of dark thoughts that eventually drag me into a sweaty, fitful sleep.
*
Something wakes me up. There’s no need for magic to realize that something is very, very wrong. My teeth chatter uncontrollably, and I pull the covers tighter around me, noticing the foggy huffs of my breath. The candles have long since burnt down, and the only light should come from the gap between the curtains. But this is not the soft light of the Halo. This eerie, silvery glow—is something different.
Sitting up, I rub my eyes, trying to make sense of the glowing mist pooling at the ornate feet of the tall bed. It carries with it strange, disembodied whispers and climbs up, forcing me to press my back against the filigree headboard.
What kind of twisted nightmare is this?
The cold, flickering tendrils reach my feet, and the murmurs become more distinct, bidding me to rise and follow. It’s a command that snaps my willpower like a dry twig. As my toes touch the cold floor tiles, I flinch, but my body moves like possessed. Unable to stop myself, I open the door and peer into the gloomy corridor. The mist muffles all sounds, and the guards that usually patrol this palace wing are nowhere to be seen.
Elders, let this be some bad dream, not some wicked Unseelie sorcery.
The haze guides me through a labyrinth of neglected passageways, crowded with dusty old furniture. “Open the door,” the voice in my head orders, and I push a low copper-plated door open. The only light in the wide hall comes from the mist and from a tall, square object in its center.
“Come closer, Talysse,” the voice beckons, and my body obeys like a puppet on strings. “Look into the mirror.”
A haunting vision of myself glares back from the cold surface. My lips are blue, and my hair is tangled. One strap of the transparent nightgown has slid off my shoulder, revealing the dark peak of a breast. My reflection blurs and elongates, and suddenly the prince stares back at me, his eyes cruel and glowing with a malevolent glimmer. Questions make their way to my lips, but my jaw remains stiff. Aeidas steps out of the mirror, its surface rippling like the waters of a dark lake.
“Who are you, really, Talysse?” There’s a metallic echo to his voice.
Something wicked is at work here.
His hands rest on my shoulders, devoid of their usual warmth. Images of my past swirl around us. “Show me!” he commands, and tears run down my face as I see my mother humming in the garden, my father in his study, showing me maps of all the lands he longed to see. The burn of the hot milk spilling over me as I try, unattended, to take it off the stove, and my scream ripples through the empty hall.
“So, this is how you got this scar.” The mirror prince chuckles, his cold fingers trailing down the pink, uneven skin at my side as if he relishes in my pain. Panting, I see my mother consoling me, taking off her bracelet to place it on my childish wrist.
“This will make the wound heal faster and the scar less visible,” she whispers, drying my tears.
“Interesting,” the Fae whispers. The visions turn visceral. The feet of my hanged parents dangle before us, and a knife is pressed against my sister’s tender neck. “Show me who you really are, Talysse,” the prince hisses, and the knife his doppelgänger holds against Tayna’s skin slices deep, severing cartilage and bone. My parents’ lifeless corpses stalk us, their eyes open, black and empty like an abyss full of suffering, their whispers holding poisonous accusations.
Death.
Everyone is dead, the whole world is dead, and it is all my fault.
Shadowfeeders crowd the room, followed by a horde of Tainted.
“Tell me who you are, and I will make it stop.” This isn’t Aeidas’s voice anymore; it is a feminine, shrill, commanding voice that sounds oddly familiar. “What is the prince up to?” it inquires, and the Tainted Ones surround me, sniffing me, licking my skin. Saliva drips from black teeth and rotten lips, and claws scratch me—first timidly, then slicing deeper.
“There is more that you keep to yourself. Tell me WHO YOU ARE!” The prince is gone now; there is only me and the Tainted Ones. Their stench and bites drown my screams.
My lungs hurt, and darkness consumes me.
*
“Talysse.” First, I recognize the voice, then the touch. His hands are warm now, not like—
My eyes snap open and focus on the last person I expected to see here.
