Thorns burn through layers of flesh and erupt from my skin. They slice through the air, wrapping around Amarantha’s hand, the one where she still holds the knife. To keep her from dropping it I tie it to her hand with more ivy, the thorns piercing her skin to hold her in place.
Then I spin her against the wall, her one hand hovering over her heart, the knife pressed to her flesh.
A slight tear rips the fabric as the tip presses as close as I dare. Though I imagine ripping through her perfect flesh.
“Oh and there she is.” Moros begins to slowly clap, his laughter haunting as it floats around the dining room.
“Remember, if you draw my blood then—” I tighten a vine around her throat to shut her up.
I don’t care about rules and politics anymore. The Fae are exhausting in their word play.
The rage bubbles inside me. Burns through me until I shake with it. I want, no, need to look at my mom. But Amarantha is a crafty bitch.
And she isn’t above stabbing me in the back with my head turned. It doesn’t matter that I have control over her.
So I don’t dare look away. Despite Moros’s dark energy pulsing nearby, it’s a standstill.
Three courts.
A king. Two queens.
Only one bound.Me.
And isn’t that just fucking hilarious. The Wild Court heir, the one destined to unite them all according to some bullshit prophecy, and I’m the only one in chains. Magical or otherwise.
The irony isn’t lost on me. It’s just not funny.
But that doesn’t mean I’ll hesitate to kill her if she tries that bullshit again. Damn the consequences.
“Now Ash.” Moros steps up beside me. “Do think before you act. You wouldn’t want to take on two courts now, would you?”
“Excuse you?” I look at him for a moment then back to Amarantha, who’s smiling now despite the vines.
“There is an entire world you know nothing about. One you’ve claimed.” His voice is so smooth and cunning I tune it out completely.
“Tell me now.”
“You expect me to fill you in on eons of Fae politics in a moment?” He laughs. “Set her down. Come, sit, have breakfast.”
“My mother.”
“Isn’t even in here.”
This time I do drop her and turn. She’s gone. “Where did you send her>“ I turn that fury onto Moros. “Tell me where she is!” I yell, my voice echoing through the hall.
“She had a stab wound, Ashlynne. Do you think me so much of a monster that I wouldn’t send her off to a healer?” He presses a hand to his chest.
“What’s going on?” I squint at him. “You were mean and now,” I wave my hand up and down. “What the fuck this is?”
“As I said. Fae.” He steps back and around the table. “Sit?”
I step back, seeing Amarantha moving. Then go around the table to the other side, this time facing the open archways. And I put a chair between me and his spot.
Somewhere in this castle my mother is bleeding. The thought pulses at the back of my skull with every heartbeat. I should be with her. I should be holding her hand and telling her it’s going to be okay even if I don’t believe it.
Instead I’m here. Playing politics with monsters.
“My mother?” I don’t know what I’m asking. Not really. Assurance she’s okay? That he will prove it? All of that? Everything in between? I don’t know.
