Join me in night painted with crimson and black.

Lord Vern’ese couldn’t shake the deep, creeping fear.

Lorian sat by the ornamental desk in his audience room. His posture was relaxed, showing no sign of anger – but in his eyes, there was a deadly amusement, a silent promise of worse things to come.

After all, Kolerial’s wife had been captured by the palace guard, sentenced for treason. How long would it take for Lorian to spread this ruin over him and his family? Deep beneath his skin, Vern’ese knew that Astra had made a grave mistake in trying to pull the strings of that slave woman.

Lorian was always patient, always waiting to deliver the most devastating blow, even if it took time. He never acted on a whim. And Vern’ese knew exactly what he was capable of.

Lorian leaned back in his seat, one leg resting over his knee.

“We live in intriguing times, Kolerial,” he mused, still piercing him with his black gaze. “New lands have been added to Ain’asel. Some of the still-opposing races may think our realm is unbalanced… weak. If we allow the order of things to be disrupted.”

“I tried to stop her, Your Majesty,” Lord Vern’ese made one last desperate attempt. “Surely, someone must have manipulated her. She has never craved the throne before. I swear, had I seen the danger sooner, I would have acted at once – to protect Ain’asel.”

Lorian raised a brow. His smile was kind, but his tone was cold as ice.

“Please, do not insult my intelligence, Kolerial. I heard every word your wife uttered. Not only was she not manipulated-” his voice sharpened, “-she relished speaking them aloud.”

Vern’ese knew this, of course. He had heard Astra himself. Passionate. Deadly. Almost unhealthy.

“A noble lord such as yourself surely understands the weight of an admission,” Lorian continued, tapping a finger idly against his knee. “Astra refuses to acknowledge her crimes. And I do not intend to waste my time… convincing her otherwise.”

Vern’ese felt the shift. Kolerial’s thoughts – frantic, desperate… fearful. Trying to grasp at any means of protecting himself from punishment. Ah, the fairy kind… so selfish.

“But you,” Lorian’s grin turned predatory, “you acknowledge yours, don’t you?”

A chill ran through Vern’ese as fear slithered deeper into his veins. Why was he here, then? Lorian knew everything. Knew he had stayed loyal. Knew he had not participated. Yet…

“Your house has become a breeding ground for dangerous ideas,” Lorian mused. “And yet, I know you remained stubbornly faithful. You did not stray.”

Then why was he here?

The answer struck him like a blade to the gut. That human woman… she had been closer to Lorian than he could have ever imagined.

She had told him everything.

“Your Majesty—”

“We are at an impasse, Kolerial. Someone like your wife cannot simply die a traitor’s death. It weakens faith in nobility and undermines the great houses – one of which, unfortunately, she also represents.”

Vern’ese remained silent. He knew there was nothing he could say in Astra’s defense.

“I am offering her a peaceful death,” Lorian continued mercilessly, his shadows shifting around him in a slow, trance-like dance. “Public executions are… entertaining, I admit. But I do not enjoy turning suffering into spectacle. Silent deaths… have a certain beauty to them. A calmness.”

Vern’ese swallowed. “Why am I here, Your Majesty? If you know I have never spoken against you or the Ain’Dal line?”

Lorian chuckled. A chill crept over Vern’ese’s skin. Who laughs while sentencing someone to death?

“I thought we had already agreed that your innocence is… questionable,” Lorian mused. “A good noble – and I am certain that you are one – would have come to me much sooner. If you had, your wife would have been stopped before she sank so deeply into treason.”

“How could I have-” Kolerial’s breath caught. His eyes widened.

So much rage, dark need of revenge, hidden behind this fear. Something Kolerial doesn’t even recognize… yet. But they all were of same race. Only fear would be… not true to Vern’ese blue blood.

“But now,” Lorian went on, “we have a problem. How can I trust you? How can I allow you to remain in my palace, knowing you have hidden such crucial information?”

Lord Vern’ese knew exactly where this was going. Lorian knew him far too well.

“Will you ask for my life as well, Your Majesty?” He met Lorian’s pitch-black gaze.

“You forget one thing, Kolerial,” Lorian replied, his stare burning – intense as a dying star. “You may think of me as ruthless. I will kill your wife, after all. But…”

The shadows gathered, swirling, reaching for Lord Vern’ese.

“…I am not a monster.”

*

Nymre played with her necklace, watching as Lorian conversed with two courtiers—their faces serious and focused. The chamber was filled with the court’s most important members. Some were loyal – Lorian knew their thoughts, and they truly were. But some…

Lorian treated them as nothing more than an amusing break from boredom.

Either he had a plan that would wipe all his enemies from the face of Ain’asel… or he really did see it as a game. Both were possible, knowing him.

And perhaps both were true.

Lorian laughed – a quiet, tempting laugh. He knew how to gain followers. The fact that he could read their minds, uncovering their most secret dreams and fears, was both convenient and dangerous… for them.

Some of them feared him. That was good too.

But Nymre couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was hiding more than just the secret of his sullen moods.

She had to try—until she knew… everything.

Her most powerful light spell, the truth, floated toward Lorian. She hadn’t held high hopes, and her doubts proved valid. The spell sank into the darkness of Lorian’s aura and was swallowed whole, vanishing without a trace.

No explanation. No reaction.

He didn’t seem to acknowledge it, but she knew him. She was no fool. Part of her wanted him to feel her magic—to force him to open up.

She worried. She craved honesty.

You knew who you took as a lover.

Perhaps. But that didn’t make her fears any smaller.

Maybe it even made them worse.

What could he possibly be hiding – something he had never shared with her, even though they had once shared everything?

She caught herself pressing the thin thread of her necklace deep into her skin. She stopped. She didn’t need another mark – another thing she’d have to hide.

Lorian dismissed the Fae. Their stern faces betrayed no real emotion. She suspected they worked for him—only slightly, but the thought gnawed at her. Her obsession was becoming unbearable. If they were spies, it would be unfortunate – because she should have been included. Yet again, something he was keeping from her. Or maybe… maybe this was a test. A call. Perhaps he wanted her to see through his game, to confront him directly.

The idea of simply asking him, instead of playing his own game, was tempting.

Long ago, he had told her he would never read her mind against her will. Maybe he still kept that promise.

She wouldn’t even mind if he broke it – if it meant he knew her fears. Maybe he was calling her, and she simply lacked the will to understand it.

She saw him approaching, his smile still perfect – like a rising dawn. Or a cruel twilight.

And she knew both were true. That contradiction was one of the things she loved about him.

The chamber murmured with conversation, and Nymre caught herself straining to listen to too many voices at once. She sighed. She was exhausted.

Last night, she had woken to find Lorian beside her in bed, awake, drenched in sweat, his shadowed hair clinging to his forehead as if he had just stepped from a bath. It made true rest impossible.

She sat on a bench, surrounded by flowers. The scent of jasmine enveloped her – soon to be interrupted by the delicate trace of violets.

Lorian sat beside her, one arm draped over the back of the bench, his posture casual, his eyes never ceasing their watch over the room.

Then he turned to her – his face open, unreadable, impossibly beautiful. Yet she knew how many lies lay beneath the surface. He wouldn’t be a king if they didn’t.

“What bothers my cruel raven?” he whispered into her ear.

Nymre shook her head.

“Maybe… you.”

He chuckled, almost disarming her.

Almost.

“That would break my heart – if I didn’t know you better.”

She scoffed. He was always so perfectly confident. Even when he had no right to be.

“You’ve been difficult to understand lately. That scares me.”

“My charm is boundless, then.”

She shook her head, irritated. That was not what she wanted to hear.

“Nymre…” He hesitated, as if he were about to say something – about to cut himself open for her, pour out the truth. His expression darkened, troubled—a rare sight.

But the moment passed, severed like a thread beneath a dagger.

And her worries only deepened.

She was losing Fae spies.

Summoning a spell, she wove a thin, gossamer-like barrier around them – a protective bubble of magic, silent and invisible to all but her.

And him.

“One of my best spies hasn’t returned.”

Lorian traced slow circles over her arm, and despite herself, Nymre leaned into his touch.

Curse you.

“Spies… are not irreplaceable,” he murmured. “That is the nature of their hard and cruel profession. But we both know what happens to those who fall into our own eager hands…”

“If she breaks under their pressure, she may reveal what we already know.”

“They’ll try,” Lorian admitted, voice smooth. “Would that be so bad, Nymre? Your people know only fragments of what we do. We—who are tangled in a web of truths.”

“You sound very sure that they will only try.”

His grin was infuriatingly charming.

“I know your spies.” A pause, then, amused, “I even have the most fascinating conversations with them. I enter their minds. They let me, so eagerly.”

“Then they won’t break.” Her voice was tight. You put your shadows inside their minds. She almost hated herself for not asking him to do the same for hers. Perhaps she still had a conscience, unlike him.

His voice dropped, velvety, unshaken.

“What a beautiful justice…”

Nymre sighed. Maybe she shouldn’t even bother guessing what he planned, what he hid. Maybe she should just stand by his side and support him.

But that wasn’t in her nature. It wasn’t who she was.

And Lorian knew that. He loved her for that.

Just as she loved him – among many reasons – for his infuriating confidence and his ability to win against all odds.

Maybe she was worrying too much.

But something still crept into her soul, like a dreadful vine. A root with a sharp end. A cruel stalk of soul-eating grass.

Did he still feel the same about her?

Crises happened. But they had been together for so long – so intensely long –  was almost beyond comprehension. Their relationship had not always been kind to them. They had their ups and downs. Light, insignificant ones. And cruel ones, too – ones that shattered their hearts into pieces.

She could only hope this was temporary. That, as always… it would pass.

She would trade her immortality to read minds like he did—to know all his pain, his thoughts, his plans. Maybe then she could understand this new face of his.

She reached for him, her fingers brushing his arm. She wanted to tell him. At last. Ask. Just ask. No matter if he could already read her thoughts or not.

She sensed pain. A lot of pain. And even more determination.

That’s why, in the end, she didn’t ask.

She cursed herself for it – because somehow, she knew that if she had… he would have opened up. Maybe not now. But eventually.

Her hand tightened on his arm, as if trying to keep him from slipping away.

Riddles, puzzles, labyrinths. That was Lorian.

And she was more eager than ever to solve him.

“Lady Vern’ese decided to betray me,” Lorian murmured, leaning in, his lips brushing her ear. “My generosity was touching, though.”

That was no surprise. The Vern’ese family was old, their roots stretching back to the third Summer King. And what she admired in Lorian… others feared.

Maybe Lady Vern’ese had seen her chance.

Nymre turned her gaze to him, a silent question in her eyes.

He didn’t need to read her mind to know.

“She was granted the mercy of a moderately quick death,” Lorian said, a slight smile on his lips. “Isn’t that touching, in the end?”

Truly. Truly, indeed.

But the words he had left unspoken still hung between them.

“Nymre…” A call for her? Or just a whisper of guilt?

*

Kolerial Vern’ese… If he weren’t capable of reading his mind so deeply, he would have allowed him to join his wife—to let him experience the taste of his disappointment. Nymre would call him reckless, but he liked to see how far his puppets could go, how deep they could dig.

Vern’ese was an autumnal relic – something that any sensible Winter King would remove from his court as soon as they started to grow fallen leaves between walls made of ice. Lorian, though… was curious.

Kolerial’s mind was now swarming with fear, but also budding rage. How far could this take him? Would the final delight be sweeter if he allowed him to mature into his failure?

Killing all lords who were insolent was not an option, anyway. No noble Fae would feel safe in Dal’coler, and Lorian preferred to place pawns where he wanted them rather than allow them to make their own decisions.

He could almost hear Nymre’s displeased reaction. Her hand was swift.

Lorian’s talons slowly closed around his victim’s throat. They boiled, slowly, in hot water – unaware they were being cooked.

Kolerial had already entered the pot, dipping his toes into the searing heat.

“That was… delicious” he heard a purr in his ear and felt the airy scent of his raven by his side. She moved noisessly, as her feet didn’t touch the ground. “Good that you sent that slave with the girl. She will lull her to sleep with her soft presence.”

Ah, Nymre.

He watched his subjects return to enjoying the ball. Their auras again spread widely, he felt as the air filled with magic and tension. He enjoyed it, muting it never was pleasant for the fey, like shutting a vital part of them into a cage with thorned bars.

Yet he ordered them.

The human girl sensed much more than she should, she felt his enchantment, his glamour, she even started to hate him, felt his intention. That was… interesting. Human younglings usually could feel the magic more, just like wild cubs. But these they were, unshaped by life, following instincts of fear and basic needs. Fairy children were taught to be lords from a very early age. It was depending on them, if they manage to be them, or not. Human children were never purposefully exposed to anything that could harm their young minds. Held under a blanket, loved and cared for, they were unprepared and soft. And they – felt much more. They have seen much more, their inner eye surprisingly open, until the hard life won’t take its toll. Until something slit the throat of their trust with a sharp knife.

Humans were so different from the fae. So easy to break but so absorbing and… bendable. Ready to be shaped, emotions pulsing in their open minds.

“I think you drift again with your thoughts, my busy lord. Buried deep in your plans, neglecting your mate” he heard an amused voice again and smiled. So impatient. But he loved that, her hot temper, her fire. Her blazing flame, that nothing could quench through all these years.

Trust. An issue. He knew that she was worried. He knew she would never go against him. But her spells that were sinking in his darkness started to cause him to choose own spies, own ways. He has the right to have own secrets, just as she had the right to hers – that’s why he never entered her mind against her.

Perhaps one day he will need to.

But not today.

“I thought about possibilities,” he smiled at her, charmingly, disarming her. “You are aware that kindness, once sown, once taken care of and fed with water, sprouts into belief. Into trust.”

Nymre’s eyes opened more. She had eyes as big as the sun during winter noon.

Ready to swallow him like pale portals.

“You want her to trust you? I think she already had given it all to never trust you again… and why? To keep the boy you need in shackles, I assume. To bind his hands even more.”

“Her brother soon will enter Ain’asel. To drag him here is one thing. To keep him, to force him to stay and give his soul to me, willingly, beautifully, is another thing. If this girl will trust me… it will be so much easier. She will be useful in making him more… eager.  I need him eager and open like a lover.”

“You want to play with her like a toy” smiled Nymre, her features lighting up.

“An useful toy, that keeps a child occupied, until adults finish their tasks.”

“And you think that she will… allow you? I feel her, she is strong. I felt that as soon as she appeared in Dal’coler.”

Lorian’s smile became slightly predatory.

“Her mind is observant yet very receptive. And nothing makes one trust the savior than a promise of violence… a hint of darkness… a threat that overshadows his shadow. Something vile that will bind her in a net of gratittude towards the one who simply stopped it.”

Nymre seemed to gleam, her gossamer aura pulsing with badly concealed excitement. She wanted to say more, but someone interrupted.

A Fae approached, his stride fast and cat-like. His long dark brown hair smooth like silk, and his white robe reminiscent of a summer morn.

Alnam.

His smile could be taken for granted, his aura muted like he was giving honors, but his bow almost nonexistent.

But Lorian knew what hides in this mind. He knew his hatred, his scorn, his… resentment and anger. And it was filling him, Alnam’s hate causing almost touchable pleasure.

His raven will have his heart in her fingers, sooner or later. Maybe they will bite through it together.

“My lord… I came to ask about… small worrying disturbence.”

Lorian waved and allowed Alnam. The fae lord made a content nod, his eyes joyful, pleased.

“Disturbence on the ball? I thought you are supposed to enjoy yourself, after all, it’s the night of dancing and music” Lorian grinned lightly.

Alnam’s eyes this time showed calculated caution.

“I am afraid that a human child entered the ball and stole too much of your attention, Yout Majesty… that was… amusing, I – and so many of us – of course enjoyed… but some ears heard, or at least thought they heard, that the ball was dedicated to her.”

Oh, the open minds, so easy to delve into. How delicious to bring them up.

“The false ears were already cut and executed” Lorian’s aura strengthened, his shadows creeping slightly from behind him. His smile is even more charming than before. “Those who brought you lies – as I cherish your wellbeing and right to have access to truth – will never speak again.”

Alnam’s face would become paler, if not perfect self control the lord had. He was old enough to keep his reactions on a leash.

“Excuse me for being wrong, Your Majesty” this time his tone was serious, sharp and hard like stone, yet his lips forming a perfect smile. “Maybe I should listen to truthful tongues only. I am sure that we don’t lack those around us.”

Nymre wanted to slap him in the face, leaving talon marks.

Lorian though, as always composed and calm. He needs to share that confidence with her. She admired that… and it annoyed her to no end.

“More tongues to be proven of being false or true” Lorian chuckled. “Sifting the grain from the tailings always is more than rewarding. So many little details, exposed before one’s eyes.”

Alnam face was a mask of perfect calm, controlled and reserved. Lorian felt his thoughts, washing over him with pure darkness, with clear night. His mind took it and absorbed, like a wave of sweet liquor.

“I will mind to never listen to those who come with too obvious lie. Your reminder was most needed, Your Majesty. I don’t plan to make any further mistakes.”

He did know what Alnam wanted to achieve with that – he liked it. As any fey, he enjoyed trying to win without causing a war. Pushing the dagger in a place where it won’t bleed. Attacking without attack, his void sending tendrils of despise Lorian’s way, to check where it hurts the most. He saw that in his thoughts, in his pained mind, still lit by dull anger, even now, even with so many yearss – and it was admirable, in an own, desperate way. Alnam was an owner of personal army, he was assuming he can allow himself for that, that Lorian won’t risk losing his followers. Yet, didn’t know so many things, still – like the fact that Lorian’s power grew, fed by god’s blood. By god’s pain.

And that Lorian didn’t become his ruler because he was just unpredictable or cruel.

In Alnam’s eyes he was a self-centered child, who got the crown, and uses it at a whim.

Let him think so. He wouldn’t be able to prove otherwise, either way.

Alnam was as simple in his hatred, as complicated in his way of thinking. Part of him was still unknown… and part – an open book.

Combined, he was making a thrilling enemy. Lorian enjoyed this game more than he would admit to Nymre – who would just kill him, removing all threat. And adding a war between the Unseelie to the plot.

But putting him on his knees will be delightful. With all the importance, with all his power, with all his hatred, Alnam was best exercise to Lorian’s brain that his court would provide.

After all, they both were braiding a net of lies and truths, which was to capture the other. Yet… Alnam had small black hating dot on his iris. And that blind spot in his eye will be his doom.

One drop.

One pull.

Overwhelming.

Curse it.

Like a star opening in his body.

The fire slowly started to creep into Lorian’s veins. Licking his insides with tongues made of white flames, starting to slowly liquify him, burning holes in his flesh, which would drip with molten tendons if visible .

His face showed not indication of the beginning of the daily horror. His smile impecable, his pose aloof.

Yet… it was a reminder. Reminder he can’t lose.

Leira felt surprising conflict, looking at Mina.

Her thoughts swirled around what happened in the ballroom. As Lorian’s personal servant, she had access to all gatherings, in case her Lord needed her. And she was definitely ready for all what happened, even without knowing Lorian’s plans. A human girl on fae ball was as peculiar as a bird invited on the meeting of the wild cats. Leira waited until something cruel happens.

But now, the girl was forced to stay forever in a fey realm. With such willing heart, with such joy from tasting the core fruit, Mina won’t be able to leave Ain’asel even freed by Lorian himself.

She ate that apple too, long long ago, all slaves with servant status had to do it. She ate it willingly, without spell or magic working on her mind. She preferred agreeing on it, rather than being forced by enchantment, she preferred being sober and conscious, not dazed and lost. She still remembered the texture of the flesh, the thick blood, which tasted like a summer dream. She didn’t regret it. After all, the human world is lost now. She wouldn’t have any places to go anymore, no friends, no family, no lovers…

Here, she was safer than she would be in the deep snow, waiting until a decaying beast devoured her in its eternal hunger.

Mina almost flew through her arms, when Leira supported her, taking her to the room from which she came. Leira would feel bad for her, for the spell that drilled her mind with long and insistent tendrils. But she knew Lorian always had a reason. She knew him long enough. She was almost afraid of the fact that she knew him but also didn’t know him at all.

But wanted to know him. Even against his laws and rules, against usual fairy scorn for humans. Against all what divided them, her cruel past and his actions. She wanted to know that feeling, when you abandon yourself in something forbidden.

And – to her surprise – she felt him better than she even felt her human lover. Who she killed at Lorian’s order.

Do not lie to yourself, at least.

Of course, Lorian’s reason for playing with this human child could be boredom. But… she felt it’s not the case. Mina was not a toy. If she was, why feed her a core apple? Toys lived very short and never were fed with blood.

Mina moaned, when she tripped and almost pulled Leira with herself.

Her big brown child’s eyes, hazy and lost, landed on Leira’s face.

She was so young. Leira rarely has seen young fey children, as most of them were growing up far from Dal’coler, far from the beating heart of darkness. But each human child she saw in the fae palace was reminding her how cruel this place was. Mina’s young face, her small form, everything screamed of not belonging here. But Lorian either way needed her and will do as he pleases with her.

Fae never felt sentiments, never considered anyone too young. They lived for thousands of years, and every human was just a falling star passing the vast sky for them.

And humans were nothing more than a flesh from which they sculpted an enchanted prison of souls.

Mina stumbled again.

Leira’s graps tighter, allowing the girl to lean on her more. Mina hanged on her dress and pulled, she supported her head on her side. Her thick brown hair scattered around her head like a halo.

“Come” she decided to speak, to just break the silence and took her over the steep stairs, leading to a columned corridor. Here, the spellbound atmosphere was lighter, muted like in the ballroom. Here, was the room of this girl.

Leira still felt undecipherable, raw emotion under her heart. The sight of Mina was both wrong and strangely pure in its morbid way. Bloodied hands, and dress, empty eyes and an innocent face. Long gone emotions ran through her.

But her heart long ago stopped pumping human blood. She could feel pity for Mina, misplaced, weak… but she knew the rules of Dal’coler, which she grasped fast and mercilessly. She was never like Mina. She was never like anyone. Scary, fascinating realization.

Enchanted child in  the enchanted castle, learning magic, to shatter her own shackles.

If Mina ever knew how humans can change here… maybe she will change as well. Or die, if she won’t.

The girl’s room was spatial, but not enormous. The High Fae chambers were much bigger. But it had a typical design of the Unseelie interior – stained glass scenes, which the fey were fond of, sculptures – obscure and grotesque in their stunning and dangerous beauty… and above it all, it held the sense of something hiding behind your back, that stayed with you, even after all those years.

Perhaps there were things behind her back. After all, magic drifted in these rooms, and passages, filling them with disturbing presence.

Leira laid Mina on the bed. The girl sighed and immediately curled in the fetal position. Leira felt that leaving her in a bloodstained dress was cruel, but disrobing her and leaving her in nothing – she wasn’t given fresh clothes – seemed somehow wrong for Leira.

Mina instinctively captured the hand of Leira, and Leira quickly withdrew it.

This girl is lost already. And you will live here for hundreds of years. You will forget this child, and you will become cold on the pain of her likes.

Leira, through the mist, remembered her homeland. South of Avras. Large woods and murmuring rivers. A sad and empty – yet wealthy – life of a daughter of a sad and empty – and very rich – landowner. She had someone who was important to her, in another life. But she couldn’t remember his face anymore.

Not that it was relevant, he died. Died, buried deep under the snow of her memory. She killed him. It was her own choice.

And it was not the faery cruelty which terrified her more, but her own desire to live – at every cost. Her swift hand, when she slit her lover’s throat, to stop Lorian’s torment.

They had the upper hand, playing with her soul and body, but she had still her will. And it was stronger than fae spells.

She was better here, even if among darkness and shadows, where she had protection. And she learned how to be useful and needed. How to share the secrets of Dal’coler with him.

Time passed and nothing changed. Lorian looked at her with the same attentive interest, which she started to feel in her bones and veins.

She learned how to be more than a human.

Or less.

She stared at the Mina peacefully falling asleep. So peacefully. Her hands and half of face hidden under a smooth and light sheets. Leira, slowly, withdrew and just as slowly, noiselessly, left the room, allowing the stained glass figures gaze morbidly as she slept – and strange sculptures to lean over her, looking just into her face.

Eyes set on her closed ones.

Open mouth, like surprised by her innocence.

Outstretched hands, frozen in time, wanting her soul, but never being able to steal it.

Oosel led her into the glittering darkness of Dal’coler. It was the second time she traveled the vast corridors filled with alive lights and monumental columns, looming over her like predatory beasts. The dense, thick atmosphere of magic, which was filling the capital of the fairy realm, again took a hold on her throat. In her secluded room, it seemed less oppressive… more gentle. If she didn’t pay too much attention to the glass creatures that were looking at her from windows and sculptures hanging over her head when she slept.

The small fairy was this time dressed in a perfectly black dress, with gashes on the sides – still no shoes, but her wings were adorned with a tiny spider web made of silver, which gleamed when Oosel was making even the slightest move. Her hair, still untruly and wild, held small orbs which were making strange sounds, when brushing over her untamed tangles.

This time they didn’t give her an eyeball dress. Her attire was modest, light and golden, covering her arms, legs and even neck. She was especially grateful for that. She was scared and any part of her body exposed in a chamber filled with predators was the last thing she needed to start screaming.

She felt the music more than heard.

It rang in her mind and spread with mute terror over her tendons, veins and flesh. So inside. So visceral. The sound was not necessarily unpleasant, but strange, uncanny and alien. Not distorted, but dangerously brushing over the most extreme kind of it.

Mina swallowed and focused on Oosel, trying to not think about what awaits her in the ballroom.

“Ah, here we are!” laughed the small fairy suddenly and Mina almost jumped, that sudden it was. The widely open door before they stood, wasn’t here just a second ago. Mina would think she lost her mind, if not Oosel, a reminder, where she actually is.

“But… this room is empty” she managed to say, looking into a completely abandoned, old and dusty interior; high ceiling supporting itself heavy over a time-bitten columns.

“Because she is not inside, silly child” giggled Oosel. “What would be the point of a ballroom, if all could see it, even those who are not welcome there?”

That was the kind of logic that Mina was not ready to embrace.

Oosel took her by the hand; Mina shivered – the fey’s hand was cold, like a touch of winter in the highest mountains.

“She should make the first step” Oosel looked at her mischievously. “That way, the surprise will be even more exciting.”

Mina doubted it. Her heart raced, her pulse beating frantically in her veins. The music embraced her, coming from nowhere, it seemed like resounding in the walls of the lost chamber she was facing.

Suddenly Oosel pushed her.

Mina tripped. Fell forward.

And found herself in the room. Room taken not from nightmares though. But frantic and wishful dreams.

The ballroom was lit by millions of lights, both candles and small orbs drifting slowly in the air. The walls were embraced by beautifully crafted sculpts and paintings, created by masters of the craft. Nothing showed the bloodthirsty scenes she was expecting. The fae on the walls and cailing danced and laughed and if you dared to touch them, you could almost feel the wind in between the painted trees and hear the songs of the night birds, welcoming dusk.

But… Oosel was not with her.

And slowly, very slowly, all eyes, all eyes of hundreds of fae in the chamber, turned at her. Their eyes empty like hollow haunted castles, their expressions… wanting. Yes, wanting… craving.

They didn’t approach. They didn’t attack her. But they were staring at her in perfect silence, even the strange music ceased. Their presence was like a storm cloud looking just at her, looming over her with vile intent.

Mina panicked. First time in all the time she was here, even if she has seen much more cruel sights. She took the hems of her dress and ran by the wall, trying to find any room where she could hide. Oosel left her, like a goat prepared to trap the wolf with.

Oh goddess, she left her to be eaten by these hungry eyes.

The fae behind started to whisper, some beautiful laughter could be heard, but Mina didn’t care. As long as no one was after her. She managed to find a darker corner, blooming with black roses. She thought it was roses, but she never saw a black rose before. She was aware how childish it was. She was in their palace, and they could just come for her anytime they wished. A false cure for the sickness of this place, but she couldn’t stand being there, just in the center of attention, looking up, like a meat on the shop window…

Please, allow me to disappear, gracious goddess.

She sat in the darkness, but no one was going after her, and nothing was happening. Only the resounding music became calm, more silent… like her entrance caused them to lower the magical influence. But she still felt that… radiating from all the fae, repressed need, to love them and fear them – very mute, but still there, dragging itself over her soul, like a knife over a fresh wound.

She was sure – no she knew – that they all just played with her. Preparing a good joke for them – and a painful reality for her.

Tiyan. You shouldn’t come, but I would do everything to have you here, by my side.

She was sitting in the gloomy corner, surrounded by flowers, and she started to feel like she sits there an eternity. No one cared for her. It was… good. But, at the other hand, it prolonged the inevitable, when the fey start their games.

She felt lost, lost, afraid and lonely, and even if she was aware, deep inside, that the fae won’t kill her until they need Tiyan, they can hurt her in many other ways. She hoped, so much, that they want Tiyan to find her alive and well.

The fey laughed and danced and talked, in their own melodic language. Somehow, she understood them, but when she wanted to bring the conversation on mind, she couldn’t. A veil separated her from her kidnappers. Like she sat in a bubble. Observing, taking everything in but… not understanding the sense of it. Sometimes she was catching fae looking at her. Their eyes sliding over her, a smile, a beautiful smile on their faces, and she felt the mock in them, but no one disturbed her, like she didn’t matter at all. Like she was as important as a lonely candle in a daylit room. Her fear from already strong, paradoxically became overwhelming.

“Oh goddess…” she didn’t know, but repeating it, was soothing her soul. The goddess, a protector of humankind. Why did she leave them, though? Allowing the darkness to swallow the land of her children? Why did she allow the fae to hunt on them, unraveling their cruelty more and more? Why were humans disappearing and then, if coming back, were mad, and wounded inside?

Perhaps the goddess left them. Maybe they disappointed her and this was her punishment.

Or, Mina thought with bitterness, maybe she lost humankind to fae gods, on some twisted godly dice game.

“Maybe the goddess never existed” she heard a deep, calm voice. “But gods not existing are safer. No one can think up a worse fate to anyone, than a hungry god.”

Mina swiftly, fearfully looked up.

Oh no.

Lorian gracefully sat near to her, his black eyes gleaming with stars in the candlelit chamber. His pose was relaxed and almost content, and his smile – promising many things that Mina could want – but she better not wording them out. Never.

Because they would be twisted in the wrong way.

Lorian leaned slightly to her; she backed off, but Lorian summed it with only a light laughter.

“It seemed that I made a very wrong impression on you.”

“I–” Mina really didn’t know how to react or what to say. His aura, very repressed, muted, but she felt it, how it pushes her to just obey him. That was terrible. She didn’t want to feel that way. She still remembered him wanting to eat the apple. His commanding tone and a threat hidden behind his voice.

Yes, you didn’t make a good impression, she thought, and Lorian grinned.

“Maybe making a good impression on humans isn’t one of my uttermost skills. A thought of a pure youngling never is false, after all.”

Oh by the sake of it all, he knew what she was thinking!

She felt a strong urge to hide under the bench. Childish, so childish. Better – so the earth swallowed her and took her from here, where all things were beautiful and sick.

“Allow me to be honest” said Lorian and leaned back, to leave her a bit of safe space. “You eating the apple would make things easier. But your brother will come, one way or another. And I doubt he realizes how beautiful and dangerous his blood is. And how deep my mark is burned in his body – and soul. These two things are contradicting. Me against the gods. Fire against the ice. A cold wind agaist the flaming void.”

I don’t understand, why you tell me this, ran through Mina’s head, involuntarily.

“You don’t need to,” smiled Lorian.

“You won’t force me to eat it” Mina decided to be bold. Do not be the prey.

“Only if you will want to eat it. Force would be so primitive, don’t you think?” Lorian’s face lit up by some ill gleam.

She hated him already. She hated his riddles and dangerous aura. She hated him, surprised by the strenght of her own feelings.

Lorian slowly stood up and Mina instinctively threw back, so deep into the bench. But Lorian only bowed before her, a cursty she would never expect.

“We are on a ball. And I truly want to dance with you” he reached to her with his hand, still half-bowed, like he really cared for convenanses. Of course, a lie. A lie which was worse than cruel reality.

Mina buried herself into the seat, she felt like agreeing was breaking a final seal. Hidden monstrosities escaping the closed box, so far guarded by her will and slowly shattering courage.

And suddenly, she found herself in his arms, and that made her almost lose all composure she still had.

“Will you allow me?” he spoke, his voice so calm, sweet. So sweet that she felt like it melts in her head, like a candle that dripped with wax from the high walls.

“Do I have a choice?”

“It’s the only choice you still have” he chuckled charmingly.

Mina’s heart sank.

“I will allow,” she whispered. Because she knew, she didn’t have that choice, at all.

When they bit into the crowd of the High Fae, all eyes were on them. Some looked at them with joy, some with hunger, some – with curiosity. And some, with anger and hate. A human in the ballroom, dancing with the fae lord. A tresspaser.

She didn’t read in their minds, but… she knew what they thought. You shouldn’t be here. You should suffer. A mere toy. Only a human.

She closed her eyes. Do not be prey, even if they all see it in you. Even if you feel like one.

Lorian didn’t pull her close, didn’t do anything wrong. But his presence was enough. She felt even more exposed before all those eyes looking at her, than before.

Lorian’s grin almost kind, if not something under it, a threat which she knew is there. Which she saw by the corner of the eye.

Mad, this is mad. Do not agree, do not allow.

“My lady” Lorian squeezed her hand, a warm touch. Not like Oosel’s. His voice tainted though with mocking note, which told her more than any of his gestures.

He knew he can do anything with her. And she hated him for this knowledge and for a false, amused kindness he was dripping with.

But he was here, holding her in light grasp…

… and he took her into the enchanted world of fairy gleams and darkness creeping from every concealed nook and every shadowed corner.

The dance was slow, so slow and not similar to anything that she even witnessed, but somehow she knew the steps, she knew it all. The music slowly resumed to be louder, drowning her in an absence of light. It drifted through her veins, like the dance she was dragged into was causing it to overwhelm her easier, like the mere knowing the steps was enough to become more like the fae. Still not fitting, but buried more into the heart of this place.

Lorian never took his eyes from hers and she realized that she drowns in them, a spell working into her mind and making itself a guest in her brain. Even if the steps were most natural, easy, pleasant, it was not just a dance – it was magic. Lorian swirled her. Pulled closer. Eventually. She was looking at him and couldn’t decide who he was – a fae lord or a creature of the night, made of black smoke and shadows. His eyes, dark as bottomless wells, were reminding her that he is not here to fulfill her dreams.

She slowly, very slowly started to love it, dancing on the ballroom floor, surrounded by distorted faces, by eternal hunger of those who never age. Her arms landed on Lorian’s hips. This was filling her with joy, which relentlessly entered her like an open vessel for the disturbing notes that ranged in the chamber.

It was wild. So wild, in calculated, beautiful way.

A passages in the vast gardens, sunken in young rays of the sun. The cold water soothing her feet as she walks by the river shore, evening painting the sky with orange and vermillion.

Her feet carried her through the room, mirroring Lorian’s moves. Her lifted her up, high and she felt as joy brims in her chest, unwanted, forbidden.

The fae started to blur around her and the music found a place in her soul. Wormed into it and released tendrils and spores, intoxicating it with sweet delirium.

Cat on her window, when the scent of freshly baked bread promises a feast. Blooming phloxes, roses red as setting sun. A dog welcoming her when she comes back home from a day spent in the woods, his soft tongues on her face.

She laughed. Honestly, carefree, enjoying every second of the dance. It was sweet like a summer wine. Like a celebration of life.

And she wanted to sink her teeth into the heart of this place and pull out the beating strings.

Deep down, she was screaming though, trapped into a cage with bars made of enchantment.

You are made to become like us, crawled into her mind and she knew it was true. She wanted it, she wanted to stay here forever, if only Lorian always danced with her, and the music always was stealing her soul.

She couldn’t place when that happened. But soon, her fingers were dripping with thick blood and her mouth was filled with it too. She had to look stunning, with a bloodstained face. Like a goddess of war, taking in the horrors of her element.

Please no.

Please, it can’t happen.

But she was biting into the flesh of the core apple, relishing on it. So sweet. So tasty. Like the liquid midnight.

And deep in her, she knew it was her fall.

Yet she still ate it. She wanted it, so badly. She wanted to eat it, which was exactly what they desired.

She heard the laughters, cruel, and filled with true joy. Amused by her crimson-touched skin. Mocking her weak will.

She slowly, very slowly, slid on the floor. Many, many eyes dug in her, like trying to pull her very being from her. And before she lost her consciousness, a pure shadow stared at her, a pure night, with too many gods pulsing in his chest.

Her white hair fell cascade over her shoulders, when her feathered collar sprouted around her neck, like touched by magic. Her wings adorned thin silver chains, and her body closed in a dress made from finest black silk. She was surrounded by tiny fairy lights, but most of them drifted around Lorian, attracted by his dark aura.

She still was unsure of all of this. Lorian was determined to just push the human girl on the ballroom floor and let the charm do the rest. She was sure that he could succeed. That it will make her eager enough to swallow each drop of the apple blood. But at the same time… Lorian so far was keeping incoming godly genocide in a perfect secret, known only to her. And even then, she sensed he never told her full truth.

Which annoyed her. She sent her spies to Natsel’sorl and ordered them to force out the truth from the Changelings. But they refused to speak. Refused so hard, that she knew Lorian gave special orders, even against her.

Frustrating. He was hiding something that was involving the death of many fey. Hers too. Ah, how frustrating.

Lorian told her about the gods long ago. The bitter and dangerous truth of the elemental creatures absorbing fae magic, leaving them to agonizing death. It was known to his father and Lorian was given this knowledge when he ascended. He read so much about the gods and when he realized the time of massacre was coming, he started to put his plans in motion.

She was at first trying to pull more from him, but forcing Lorian was like forcing a storm cloud.

Not that she didn’t trust him.

She was worried.

Not only of her own life, but also his.

She reminded herself about his empty eyes, back in the night, when he loved her. Something was going the wrong way. And she found a weak mind that was easy to manipulate enough to break the silence of the Changelings. She knew he wouldn’t be pleased if he found out. When he finds out. He rarely was resorting to invading her mind, not against her will. But if she tries to go and use her own ways, it will be a matter of days, he penetrates her head.

She knew he may be very displeased. But she loved him and she knew he loved her too.

There should not be any secrets between them, not when their lives were in danger.

She gazed at Lorian, who was waiting for her, small smile on his lips.

“I think we should starve her further” her brows furrowed, noticing his carefree and relaxed pose.

Lorian supported his chin on his hand and smiled wider.

“She is so eager to dance and laugh with us.”

“Do not joke, Lorian.”

He sighed, his smile fading, when he slowly stood up from his seat and approached her. She looked at the mirror. Her face and body reflected in it, showing everything. That meant, also their magical forms, flickering against their real reflection. Nymre form glistened with raven feathers, beak and eyes like falling snow, white, glittering like galaxies. Lorian’s – a shadow, pure, beautiful and tempting. His aura, dark, and alluring and her – strikingly pale, like gossamer and early morn.

“I thought you believed more in my methods,” he said, with a low tone.

“I do. But you said, we have less and less time.”

His chin on her arm. His shadows brushed her hair, mingling with her slightly lilac tangles.

“Especially since we have less time. If she decided to prolong it… we can’t risk losing her. She is the only thread that binds the vessel with Ain’asel. I like seeing her alive… just as I like seeing us live. When we finish with her though, I will dispose of her as any other human.”

Like Leira. Her mind brought the image of Lorian’s slave. Such pleasant obedience. Such devotion. Such beautiful face.

“I don’t doubt your enchantment will work. But others will start pondering while we make a ball for a human girl. Why you dance with a human girl.”

“Dancing with a human girl is not forbidden.”

“Oh, Lorian, you know what I mean.”

“Humor me, please.”

“Your enemies” scoffed Nymre. “You know you have them. They crawl from the stones under the foundations of Dal’coler.”

“Enemies… yes. Numerous, even. Dangerous, if someone isn’t aware what’s in their minds. I give them sweet illusion of being able to hide” Lorian laughed lightly, like nothing happened. Ever. “They crawl and writhe, my cruel raven. Until my boot stops them to move at all.”

“You joke too much tonight, my lord” she teased him, but her tone was serious. Alnam was someone they all should keep their eyes on. Lorian didn’t want to kill him, back then, as he still was too important. Now she would squeeze his soul between her fingers. Even at risk of losing his followers. But Lorian seemed to control everything, in his own way. “Alnam tempts me to open his chest and pull his heart out.”

“One day maybe I will offer you his heart, still pulsing, dripping off blood” he purred. “Keeping a watchful eye on him is one of my prerogatives. Yet…”

“Yet?”

“His mind is better guarded than most of the High Fae. Which means, of course I can enter it, but he may keep something hidden, deep in the deepest shelf of his own mental library” Lorian took a lock of her hair and pulled it over her ear. “But…”

Nymre moved impatiently.

“But, for that we have spies” he chuckled, light, airy laughter. “And one of them does his job even better than one could predict.”

Nymre’s face lit up.

“Ah, so you say that…”

“Yes, my raven.”

“They should come with this to me, Lorian. I am the spymaster.”

“I wouldn’t claim otherwise. This one was told to bring me news as fast as he can.”

Nymre lifted her hand and touched his face. The raven in the mirror delved into shadowed form behind her.

“Please, share everything with me. When the ball ends.”

Lorian grinned at her in a beautiful way. Heart-melting.

“I will mind uncovering everything before you.”

Nymre relaxed. He didn’t suspect her own steps towards the case of the gods. She really hoped that he would forgive her. But… she had to know what torments him, what causes his face to be so tense and why his eyes become darker than black could withstand.

“Come then, my stubborn lord. To try the magic and glamour” her wings brushed over his shadowed form, reflected in the mirror and she felt, really felt, how the night surrounded them and licked with black flames.

His eyes in the mirror looked at her intensely. She could almost see his future disappointment in them.

What one doesn’t do for love, though?

Mina was starving.

The food they gave her barely kept her on her feet. They all waited for her to eat the apple, which she refused every time a small fey called Oosel brought it to her. She suspected that if she tried, something bad would happen. Something irreversible, something that would make not only her but also Tiyan suffer. She still didn’t know what they wanted from Tiyan, but they were desperate to force him here, using her as bait. And that gave her a little hope that they would not kill her. And not do something really terrible to her.

More terrible than being hungry. Worse than the nights in this place.

Nights. The first one she spent in the Fae palace, almost unconscious, but the second one is etched in her mind forever. The first two were just as terrible, but the second one, when she suspected nothing, was the worst.

For every night she was torn from her sleep to dance in the empty halls, to pass through the ghastly, lonely corridors filled with wind and nothingness. They seemed to have been made just for her, to make her legs tremble and her mind whirl in a vicious jig.

The Hall of Mirrors, where her reflections tore at her robes, laughed at her, their eyes empty and white.

The chamber where the walls pulsed with veins, reaching for her with horrible tendrils of flesh, ready to devour her.

Many rooms, many corridors, filled with horrible things, and wind, so much wind, gusts dancing in her hair, making her look like a water nymph, with tangles spreading in all directions, wild, untamed and touched by pure magic.

And it was no dream. Her feet were always covered with dirt when she woke up in the morning. Oosel came with the sunburned apple and asked if she liked their hospitality. Mina was always left alone, afraid, but not any closer to eating the fruit.

She remembered the nursery rhyme.

She remembered the blood dripping from the apple as Lorian squeezed it with his blackened claws.

She always wondered why they even bothered to ask her to eat it. They had all the power they needed to make her do it. Some unpleasant thoughts came to her, some that promised an even worse fate if she finally gave in and took the apple.

On the tenth night something changed. She was no longer alone. The distorted faces were looking at her, smiling at her, inviting her to join them in that strangely seductive place behind the curtains. Again, cat eyes, but so much death in them, and so much forbidden beauty… she woke up in her room – her prison – with her chest heaving, fear engulfing her, a promise of something that would change her perception… and shatter her free will.

Oosel came in with a good portion of meat, vegetables and bread, and Mina didn’t know whether to throw herself at it, as hungry as she was, or to watch the little Fae as she prepared it for her.

“You really want to feed me?” Mina finally said, not liking Oosel’s gaze, which passed over her with a certain amount of curiosity and badly suppressed malicious enjoyment.

“Oh, why does she even ask?” smiled Oosel, her tiny teeth showing. “She can’t be so thin… so hungry. It speaks ill of Lord Lorian and the way he treats his guests.”

You didn’t care so far, Mina thought.

But she was still cautious. Who knew what else they might try to stuff her with without her even knowing what she was putting in her mouth. But she was exhausted, tired… she knew that one day she would eat whatever they gave her, as Lorian said. She preferred that to apples, which were a much more obvious threat.

She sat on her bed and Oosel – kindly – offered her the meat with bread.

Mina stuck a small fork into the meat – nothing happened. No eyes popped out of the plate. No blood even. It might have been very raw, barely cooked, but she had eaten almost rotten animals before. Nothing was too raw for her. She took the bite and, looking carefully at Oosel, bit into it.

The feeling of eating meat, normal meat, would be enough to make her cry with joy. But this… it was better, so much better than anything she had ever eaten. Ever. It tasted like dancing in the hay at midday in summer. Like a Midsummer’s Eve celebration, with the whole family and a blazing fire in the fireplace. It was good, and it washed her with memories she never had.

“Oh, the human girl likes the nhihdira meat,” Oosel laughed. “Good, yes? Hunger doesn’t torture her anymore?”

Mina choked a little and took another mouthful as she drank water from the cup. If she were to die now, she would die full.

Don’t even think about it. It’s the first step to falling to your knees.

Oosel looked at her like a scarecrow in the fields of the Vennklan valley, with her wild hair, her sharp teeth and her empty eyes, indifferent as the force of nature. Mina slowed down.

It was so unreal, so frightening, that she almost lost all sense of right and wrong. She would hide in the corner of the room if it would help, but it wouldn’t. She felt that in this world, if you act like a prey, they will prey on you. If you show yourself to be vulnerable, they will feed on your fear and desperation. This reality numbed her. No need to hide if you can’t hide.

And questions can hurt, but they can also help. She preferred knowing to oblivion.

“Why did you give me so much food?” she wanted to know. “Am I to be sacrificed and do you need me fat?”

“Oh, but then why should we starve her?” grinned Oosel bluntly. “She’s going to the ball, of course! Must look better than a thin leaf in the cruel winter. She must look beautiful. A star that has fallen from the sky to grace us with her radiance.”

Mina immediately thought of the eyeball dress. Oosel, as if to confirm her fears, patted her cheek and grinned so broadly that her lips parted unnaturally. Mina was past the point of being scared, but this scared her. It really did.

“We will dress her like a beautiful lady and give her into the good hands of Lord Lorian. He will show her everything. From up to bottom.”

Mina swallowed, and she almost heard the meat pass down her throat, a last morsel, heavy and hard. She did not even ask if she could go. She knew that nothing depended on her here. And the way Oosel painted her made her scream inside.

“Why are you doing this?” she dared to ask. “Why do you want me to eat the apples and keep me here and… as if nothing had happened, you ask me to go to the ball?”

“Sweet child…” Oosel looked like a cat who had discovered a very frightened and very exposed mouse. “Would you rather be kept in a dungeon?”

“No, of course not, but…”

“Wonderful!” Oosel beamed with genuine joy and clapped her hands. “The ball will bring out her inner charm. Why sit here, lonely, when she can enjoy herself?”

Mina already knew she would not be enjoying herself. But she was sure the Fae would.

Oh, they will.

From up to bottom.