That’s what iron does to us. It doesn’t just disrupt our magic, it hollows us out, leaving nothing more than a shell in the shape of what we used to be. But now the collar is gone, and I can feel every empty space inside where my power should be. The absence hurts more than any physical wound I’ve taken over the years.
The places where the antlers jutted from my skull throb with a dull, persistent ache that sharpens every time I turn my head. My fingers find where they used to be, gently touching the tender, new skin that has sealed over wounds that should never have existed. I trace the curve of my skull with one fingertip, feeling for the damage.
My jaw tightens, and I force myself to stop touching it.
Three days I wore them. Three days of being turned into prey.
My lip curls.
Prey.Me.
The idea would be funny if it wasn’t so rage-inducing. Humans have a particular talent for looking at things and seeing the exact opposite of what is there.
The collar was on. I was in a cage. Therefore, I was safe.
They’ll learn differently now. The ones who survive, anyway.
The memory of how they changed me rises, the way memories do when you’re too exhausted to keep them caged.
They dragged me out of my cage and chained me to a postin the courtyard where the others could watch. That was part of it—making it a spectacle. They wanted the rest of my kind to see what happens, what they force us to become.
My breath fogged in the air while they stripped me naked. Their mage drew circles in chalk and ash around the post, while the other fae pressed close to the bars of their cages, watching with empty eyes. I stood there with iron around my throat and could donothingto stop what was coming.
The mage was a thin man with ink-stained fingers who never once looked at my face. He consulted a piece of parchment while he worked, reading aloud to his apprentices.
Twelve points, spreading no less than three feet at the widest point. Coloring to match standard hunting stock. The king’s seal is on this order, so we cannot make any mistakes.
Standard hunting stock.
I wanted to tear his fucking throat out with my teeth. I wanted to feel his blood on my hands, and watch the life drain from his eyes while he choked on it. Instead, I stood there. Chained and collared, unable to do anything but hate.
They thought the collar would keep me docile and weak.
They were wrong.
When the mage stepped into the circle and raised his hands, I lunged for his throat. The fae watching shouted, urging me on, but the chains caught me short. The collar blazed white-hot, searing into my neck, and my muscles locked mid-stride.
But I’d moved fast enough to scare them. The blood drained from the mage’s face, and his hands shook as he stepped back. And for a single moment, he feared what he was standing in front of.
That fear was worth every second of pain that followed.
Four guards rushed in, big men used to dealing with fae who still had fight left in them. They forced me to my knees, twistedmy arms behind my back, and held me in place while the mage muttered about untamed beasts.
Then he cast his spell.
I’ve known pain. I’ve taken wounds in battle that would have killed a human twice over. I’ve endured centuries of iron against my skin, while it slowly leached away everything I am. But I’d never felt anything likethis—bone pushing through my skull from the inside, splitting skin, and forcing its way out.
I couldfeelit growing, each point extending.Branching.The weight increasing as more bone emerged. The pressure built inside my head until I was certain my skull would split apart.
I screamed. I couldn’t help it. The sound tore out of me, and over it I could hear them discussing adjustments.
“The spread lists to the left,” one of the apprentices said. “The eastern point grows crooked.”
“Then straighten it.”The head mage didn’t look up. “The order calls for twelve. There are only ten.”
“The bone resists. If we force it?—”
“The king’s daughter wants a trophy worthy of her first hunt. Force it.”
