I snuff it out and hang it once again on the hilt of my sword.
“Turn around,” I tell her.
No talkback this time. She complies with a bowed head.
And after scooping my hands beneath her arms, I launch us into the air.
Much to the relief of the people of Elephim. I am sure of it. She likely doesn’t hear the whispers coming from the tents, but I do. They wonder if I have returned to finish what I started. And of course, their craven king remains hidden in the largest of them, cowering until I rise into the sky once again with the princess in my grip.
This time, she does not scream. She stares off into the distance of the thirteen moons as I ferry her back to the Stone Fae Keep.
The Eryx Oblation is what we call among my ranks a “crushed stone,” offering me mulish silence in the face of my superior game play. That is fine. It adds to my triumph, even. I doubt anyone in my line has broken a Eryx Oblation’s spirit so fast.
But for some reason, the feel of her hands curled around my forearms, with those pitiful nails digging into my skin, keeps flashing across my mind. Like a mouthful of ice after a long flight. Something you wish for, but don’t have.
In any case, she makes no attempt to look for that letter she vowed to find earlier after we set back down in front of the castle.
The great hall is abuzz with activity when we return. Servants bustle back and forth to deliver meals and complete their moonsrise chores. And I can already see that my warriors are gathering for top-of-the-day drills in the fields beyond the castle’s back wall.
Many of the Stone Fae openly stare at the human in our midst.
If the Eryx Oblations notices, she does not acknowledge it. Her eyes remain lowered as she follows me back to my sleeping chambers.
Then sinks to the floor, where I set her down after she fainted earlier.
Another unfamiliar pain tugs at my chest at the sight of her so dejected. This is, of course, what I wanted, but like the feel of her hands on my forearms, I find myself missing the brash princess who tried to pull off such a terrible lie.
“When?”
The unexpected question delivered in a much quieter voice jolts me from my thoughts. She still has not turned her head to regard me. She looks straight ahead, as if asking my throne--which she probably cannot see with her inferior human eyes this question.
Unlike her kind, I value directness. I do not bother to pretend I do not know the aim of her question. “We are to spend a minimum of three nights together. And ideally, we will consummate the marriage before our wedding ceremony.”
She turns her head to me then, tilting her gaze up to ask, “Why would you want to spend three nights, or longer, having sex with someone you’re about to kill? Why not just get it over with?”
It appears that even in her despondent state, she cannot keep herself from asking questions whose answers she will not like.
“To prove my strength. To honor our ancient custom. And to extract every last benefit from your sacrifice,” I answer. “The longer the time spent with the Eryx Oblation, the stronger the king. This practice shows my people that I put our strength and victory above all else.”
“Strength and victory, but not their well-being,” she points out.
“Their well-beingisour strength and victory,” I let her know since she comes from a weak breadbasket kingdom, which would not know what it feels like to reign over all.
“So you’re not only going to kill me as a sacrifice to your war moon, but you’re also going to force me to have sex with you?” she asks.
Unlike before, there is very little emotion in her voice. She sounds resigned, as if she is used to bad things happening to her.
So perhaps she is surprised when I answer, “I would never take this choice from you unwillingly. It is up to you whether we consummate the marriage before your death.”
She frowns. “Are there consequences if I deny you?”
Again, I wonder what life in Aralysse was like for her. She talks in the manner of someone who has been treated poorly in the past. And even though I do not know, an odd, vengeful anger spikes inside of me on her behalf.
“No,” I answer, keeping those weak thoughts to myself.
“Then who would ever agree to have sex with the guy who was about to kill them?”
“Every single princess who has come before you has,” I inform her.
