Page 25 of Blood of the Fairest

"Don'thurtme," I slur. "Not again. Please don't t-touch me…"

My consciousness is pooping out on me, but somewhere in the falling darkness, I hear a broken whisper.

"What have I done?"

7

Wulf

I am a beast. I have always been a beast.

Yet never have I dirtied my hands and violated the tenets of my people more than I have this day.

My horror continues to deepen as I stare at the unconscious woman in my arms. Queen Reinhilde—no, whatever innocent soul has replaced hers is now motionless, the cut I left upon her cheek oozing a much brighter red than her hair.

How could I, a warrior of Nordhjem, harm an innocent soul? Torture her?

"Goddess, what have I done?" I repeat.

If my clan knew of this, they would curse my name.

In my homeland, violence among clans is wrong, but the harming of innocents is a sin unto itself—and harming women is abhorrent above all else.

Though they also despise the queen of Isenmere, the elders would banish me from their presence for all time for bringing this woman here.

For choosing to be blinded by vengeance.

In our youth, Gunar and I became friends while defending our neighboring clans from monsters in the west of Nordhjem. When word of his family's imprisonment reached me, along with the horrors they were enduring in the dungeon, I traveled to the castle. I planned to slaughter Queen Reinhilde myself.

I found her outside the gates, disguised in a cloak. Her soul-scent was that of foul blood and overripe fermentation.

Before I could draw a weapon, she made an offer: she would free all imprisoned northerners and execute anyone I wished. All she asked in return was that I take Snow White away, kill her, and return with the princess's lungs and liver for Queen Reinhilde to eat. She also gave me a vial to fill with the girl's blood.

I could not stomach such a vile request.

But I accepted it.

The princess is unharmed in an old hunting lodge in the Loomdark with strict instructions not to leave its magic boundaries. I slayed a wild boar for the organs and blood, but as I was journeying back to the castle, I stopped at a tavern where a fellow northerner told me the news.

Gunar was beheaded. So was his family.

My ire toward the queen consumed me so completely that it drew the attention of Malivant—the embodiment of wrath, patron faerie of a fallen kingdom. After I awoke from a trance-like rage, I found myself in this infamous underground prison where no one dares to venture.

The Thirteenth Faerie proposed a new deal.

Bring the queen to me for her reckoning, and you shall see her suffer beyond compare.

I agreed, for Queen Reinhilde was no longer human to me. She was but a walking evil, basking in pleasure and vanity as the blood of the innocent dripped from her hands.

I needed her to suffer. To weep and tremble and beg for mercy before her death, just as Gunar and his family must have.

And so, this woman wept until tears dripped from the queen's face. She trembled and begged for mercy with the queen's voice.

But if she is not the queen…

"Eldrunia, forgive me," I rasp.

"The goddess is not who you should beg forgiveness from," the face in the puddle points out.