SWNOVELS Prince of Then: Chapter 7
Holly
Day and night, he raves about mages, magic, and a black poison that supposedly runs through his veins. He frightens and fascinates me in equal measure, and if it wasn’t for my mother, rather than spend one more hour in his presence, I would tear into the woods—and risk death at the hands of an even more diabolical creature.
If I can’t be there to ease Mother’s suffering, I must at least arrive home in time to help her transition through the veil from this world to the next. Since I now reside in the realm of Faery, I can no longer deny that this Otherworld she believes in likely exists.
Today is the third day confined in the hut, and I long for it to be over. Not only is the fae frightening—his size, his every movement inspired by irrational thoughts—but he exudes a magnetism that prickles my skin and keeps my gaze lingering on his form and hard, masculine features.
As I finish scrubbing our lunch dishes, I turn at the creak of the bed, surprised to see the fae on his feet and stretching his arms as he yawns.
“I cannot endure this hut a moment longer,” he says, settling on the edge of the mattress. “But every time I stand, I lose my balance. What poison do you feed me?”
“Poison? I wish. But had I done so, you’d already be dead, along with my chance of surviving this horrible place.”
Slumping over his knees, he grunts.
“Come, let’s get you outside. Fresh air and exercise will strengthen your muscles.” I jam my hands under his armpits and heave. He doesn’t budge. “Please don’t resist. You’re as heavy as three horses.”
“When was the last time you carried a horse?” he says with a smirk.
“Just stand up, will you? Lean on me if you must.”
“Your rough handling is turning my mind to indoor activities,” he says, straight-faced and staring into my eyes. His ragged breath breezes over my mouth, and I jolt backward, shocked at how close our faces were.
“You ate enough lunch to feed an army, so you should exercise lest your muscles turn to jelly.”
He laughs, those beguiling blue eyes sharpening, like a dog’s when scenting prey. “Never. Pinch my flesh, stroke my skin. See for yourself how fit I am. Besides, there are other ways to burn energy than hiking over mountains and battle training.”
Who said anything about battle practice?
“Goodbye, then,” I say smoothing my skirt. “Enjoy your peace and quiet.” With a wave of my hand, I head through the door. “I’ll visit Wren, and then take a walk by myself.”
“Wait,” he calls out, his boots scuffing over stones as he follows close behind. “’Tis an excellent idea. I’m eager to see how Wren fares.”
“If you pay attention,” I say. “You’ll find I have many wise ideas.”
He grunts, lumbering up beside me. “Time will tell if that is so, mortal.”
“Why do you take that everywhere?” I ask, indicating the long sword belted to his lean hips.
“Why? Because I’m not a fool. Would you prefer I had no weapon to protect you with should an assailant strike?
“That’s unlikely—out here in the middle of nowhere.”
He laughs, adding an unsteady swagger to his steps. “You’re not in the human realm anymore. Out of the two of us, don’t you think I’d know more about what is likely to happen? As I’ve told you before, if anyone comes to the hut while I’m asleep, slam the door and wake me immediately. They’ll take advantage of my weakness, try to kill me. And, mortal, their plans for you don’t bear contemplating.”
“Of course I won’t let anyone in.”
“Good. Your healing drafts produce a heavy slumber. I would not wish to sleep through your demise.”
No. He’d probably prefer to take an active role in it.
We cross the yard and duck into the small stable, both laughing at the scolding whicker Wren greets us with. The fae rubs the horse’s neck and leads him out of the stall, murmuring in a foreign tongue.
He tucks the reins loosely into the horse’s saddle bag and walks on, allowing Wren to either keep pace with us or stop to feast on grass as he wishes as we descend a hill toward a line of willow trees that graces the river bank.
I stop now and then to stuff my pockets with pungent self-heal, and the fae waits patiently by my side, circling his arms or lifting medium-sized rocks as if to improve blood flow through his limbs.
Color is returning to his cheeks. He looks much better than when we first arrived in this valley and Lady Death’s hot breath dampened his neck.
“Don’t lag too far behind in case you faint without my knowledge,” I say as I skip ahead through an arch of silvery leaves hung from golden branches.
He glances back at Wren who is busy nibbling on birch bark, and then holding his wound, he jogs to my side. “When I’ve returned home, you’ll bear witness to how fast I can move. How much stronger I am,” he boasts.
A shadow crosses his face, his brows pinching together.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“At least, I hope to be restored. Since the boar’s strike, the curse seems to have gained the upper hand and triumphs more easily over my will.”
“Do you think that’s why your fever keeps spiking? It responds to my teas and breaks as it should, only to return over and over. Yesterday morning you looked deathly, and then went on to chop wood in the afternoon. Human fevers don’t behave this way.”
“The poison in my blood works against my healing. It longs for my demise.”
I snort. “The poison does? That’s ridiculous. It isn’t a sentient being with hopes and dreams.”
“Humans clearly have little experience with curses; otherwise, you would understand this concept. When curses are conjured, ripped from the Otherworld by their creators, they squall like newborn brats and are indeed alive, seeking sustenance from your soul, as though it were mother’s milk. They take over their hosts’ minds, destroy their flesh and bones, but worst of all, their good hearts. Curses are parasites. For your information, I didn’t always have a taste for violence.”
“Many of my neighbors believe in curses and use protections against the meddling of your kind. They hang marigold garlands over barn doors in the hopes of preventing the Folk from riding our horses to death in the night. Some wear their coats inside out, sprinkle salt everywhere, carry iron nails in their pockets, or chime bells the moment their children take their first breaths to keep you faeries away.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and looks me up and down. “These actions are naught but foolish games. If a fae wishes to meddle with a human, believe me, they will meddle. Besides, there are worse things than faeries; the creature who inflicted me with this curse, for example. All the bells and whistles and iron in the realms would not save you from her should she wish to cause you harm.”
Up ahead, the purple flowers of vervain dance on the light breeze. They make a good tea for pain and insomnia. I stop and collect both blooms and leaves. The fae joins me, ripping a whole plant from its roots and passing it to me.
“Thank you,” I say, stooping to re-cover the roots with dirt. “I have enough. These shouldn’t be flowering yet. Plants behave oddly here and grow in strange places.”
“Odd to you perhaps, but not to fae.”
As we walk up the hillside that overlooks the winding river, Gade tugs my arm, his touch tingling all the way to my belly. A strange heat kindles there, filling me with a pleasurable guilt.
“Sit a moment. The view is pleasing here,” he says, dropping to the ground and resting his elbows on his knees in a relaxed fashion. His eyes narrow as he presses against his wound, and I’m displeased to see it still pains him.
Inspecting his pointed ears, broad shoulders, and muscled arms, I feel the opposite of relaxed and make sure to sit a safe distance away from him. Although, perhaps I shouldn’t be too worried. Since we’ve been in the hut, he hasn’t tried to hurt me or expressed a serious wish to do so.
Sighing, I look about the landscape. The sky above is blue, the breeze mild, but storm clouds gather in the distance. I hope they’re not headed our way anytime soon. I’m not thrilled with the idea of drying out soaked clothes while I potter about the hut dressed in my undergarments.
“We should return,” Gade says, pointing at the clouds. “Storm’s coming.”
“Not yet,” I reply, not sure if the reason I want to stay longer is to listen to the pleasant hum of insects or to do the opposite of his bidding. “Let’s stay a while and hope for the best.”
“You’re an optimist.” His lips make a sour shape as if positive people make unbearable company.
“I prefer to fret when I have cause to, not beforehand. And what makes you a proud pessimist? Life cannot be so bad for a magical creature, even a cursed one.”
“Are you so sure of that?” Sighing, he lays back on the grass, clasping his hands behind his head.
Black hair forms a halo on the ground around him, like a puddle of spilled ink that I long to stain my fingers with.
I choke on an in-drawn breath. What a strange thought. Touching any part of this fae guard other than his wound would be foolish and dangerous.
“Talamh Cúig was once the most splendid city in all of Faery, but alas, my home slowly fades. With the heir to the crown weakened, the castle and its land are tethered to a dying magic. The royal family is cursed. The Court of Merits, our enemies, may rise against us at any time, taking advantage of our vulnerable condition. Only our High Mage’s wards protect us from them, for the current Prince of Five is in no position to do so.”
“Another cursed fae? It’s beginning to sound like more faeries are afflicted than not. Take me back to the human realm as soon as possible, please. Faery land is not so nice a place as many humans have dreamed.”
I pluck blue daisies from the grass and try not to admire the strong lines of Gade’s handsome face. No man or woman I’ve looked upon comes close to possessing the beauty of this fae. How did I fool myself, even for a moment, into believing he was human?
“You mention the prince, but what about the king and queen?”
Dirt crumbles as his hand claws into the earth beside him. “They’re deceased. Only a son and daughter survive them.”
“And this prince, will he help me return home?”
Glowing arrows of blue pierce through me. “Perhaps he will. Perhaps he won’t.”
I suppose that is fair. How could a palace guard predict the behavior of his kingdom’s ruler?
My stomach tightens as I think of my sister, Rose, then of Mother, huddled in her bed, in pain. Dread weaves through me at the thought I may never see either of them again.
Thunder growls in the distance, the rumble moving closer. “How did the king and queen die?” I ask.
“By the hand of evil,” he growls out. “That is all you need know and all I will say on the matter.”
“But, Gade—”
“Enough questions. Let me rest in peace.”
“Where I come from, we say that when someone has died, so if I were you, I wouldn’t use that turn of phrase and—”
Thunder booms, cutting me off, and the ground rolls beneath us. “What the devil is that?” I ask as lightning strikes the valley below, opening a chasm in the earth from which rocks and dirt explode.
Another blinding flash hits the ground to the left of us, and my companion makes a strangled sound. I leap to my feet, expecting to find the fae standing beside me. But instead, he’s still lying on the ground, now in an awkward position, legs twisted and an arm frozen in mid-air above his belt, as if in the act of reaching for his sword.
“Gade! What’s wrong?”
A terrible sound roars from the valley below, so loud my ears ache from the assault. It’s as if a group of wounded bears all groan in pain and misery together.
I blink three times, barely able to believe what I see. A creature has risen from the upturned turf and now strides with malevolent purpose up the grassy incline toward us.
It is at least seven feet tall and has the body of a well-muscled man, the angled face of a fae, only more twisted and grotesque. Drool coats its wolf-like snout, and from a mess of dark, bushy hair, an enormous pair of golden antlers sprout, strung with delicate crystals that glint in the light.
“Gade, please hurry. Why don’t you get up?” My eyes flick to the fae guard, finding him in the exact same position as the last time I looked, except for his eyes, which are wild with desperation and fixed on mine.
“That fae is no help to you, human,” rumbles a voice that pricks the hairs on my neck. “I have cast a paralysis spell over him, and your fate is in my hands.”
A wave of nausea spins my head. I face the creature and stare into a pair of yellow eyes. He’s now standing only a few paces away.
“Who are you?” I ask. My voice is clear and steady, even though I might pass out at any moment, and part of me wishes I would hurry up and do it.
“I am known as the Annlagh, young mortal. And that, is what you shall call me.”
An annlagh? I’ve never heard of such a thing. But whatever it might be, it’s disgusting, and I think it’s about to kill me.