He stirred, his mind not fully connecting. His limbs were dripping with blood. The moan that escaped his mouth was painful, but weak as a breeze from the forest. His body still burned with inner flames, his muscles aching.
He tried to move, but he was chained to the bed in an uncomfortable position, his back bent. The golden chain that bound him was stained with his own blood. He struggled weakly against his bonds, but only managed to tighten the collar around his neck. He had foreseen this. He wanted him to remain obedient in one place, like a good slave.
What did you think? That you would show up here, challenge the Fae? Take your sister and escape, like heroes in old books? That your flame would not be the capricious force it always was, helping you to defeat the enemy that subjugated your entire land?
This is reality. And reality never favours… … the weak.
His rear pulsed with pain, he felt it full of dry blood. He remembered how the shadows had entered him with Lorian. They ate the flesh inside him while the fey king fucked him. And Tiyan… begged for more, painfully, truly wanting all he was given.
You are a fool, Tiyan Markon. Your naivety has led you further into the maw of enchanted horror. Every minute, every hour, every day. Until it was too late… The chains rattled as he tried to sit down. Eventually it became impossible – he felt as if his whole backside was full of thorns, tearing him apart.
He felt so much hatred.
So much… disgust. Not just for the Fae. He was disgusted with himself.
For he longed for what had happened that night. And he hated both the Fae and his weakness. He didn’t know what was Lorian… and what was his own will. He couldn’t decipher his desires. He couldn’t decipher what he feared and what he craved for.
You cannot want this.
But you do.
With blood smeared all over his body, he had never felt so soiled. With his mind and will ravaged and taken from him, he had never felt more used.
With his body, he gave away his pride, everything he had left. He hated that feeling even more than he hated the sight of his mother being eaten by the Bean Sidhe. And he despised that too.
It made his skin crawl to think that it was only the first time and that this was the way his life would be from now on. But that was not what they needed him for. If Lorian wanted a fuck toy, he could take anyone – willing or not. He needed him for something Tiyan couldn’t understand.
And he sensed that it was nothing joyful.
Nothing beautiful.
His mouth was as dry as desert sand, but there was no food or water left for him. He wasn’t even hungry, but his thirst was immense, as if the flames he was burning with were evaporating all the water from him. His mind whirled in a manic dance. What if he was being held for entertainment, a cruel and very sophisticated game being played with a mortal with a strange power the Fae were interested in? What if… Mina was dead before he appeared here? What if Lorian – playful as all Fae are – chose him to drive him mad?
No. That couldn’t be true.
He had his power for a reason. But he still couldn’t know if he possessed it to save himself – or to fulfil the wishes of the Unseelie.
He wasn’t even washed after… that happened. But the fairies were so obsessed with him being washed in contact with their king that they would surely bring the hose back… and make sure it didn’t leave a stain.
To please even more.
Tiyan clenched his fists in an impotent gesture. He was powerless, yes. But he had to remember who he was. Tiyan Markon, son of Gravir and Alina. Brother of Mina. Nothing they could do would truly subdue him. But the fear was stronger than the anger. He couldn’t imagine what awaited him… and if he would be strong enough to stay sane afterwards.
Shadows… penetrating him… hardening him… licking him from the inside out, leaving wounds he adored…
The door opened. Tiyan tensed, his limbs turning hard as stone.
But it was not fairies.
A woman entered his room. With a bowl in her hand.
A human. A human woman.
But no. Her forehead was crowned with pale horns the color of her skin. And a tail, also pale, waving gently behind her.
Her steps were so smooth, as if she were floating in the air, almost as if she had invisible wings that carried her in his direction.
Tiyan crept back as she approached. Her laughter at his movement was both soft and sharp.
“Yes. I don’t look like one of us. That’s a reason to be afraid.”
She placed a bowl in front of him. Farther away than the chain would allow.
“Drink.”
Tiyan looked at her with a mixture of anger, shame and fear. Her ears were round, she was no Fae. But her voice was not that of a human prey. She enjoyed his helplessness.
“How,” he rasped.
“Be creative,” the woman’s lips curled into a broad smile. “I have been, all my life. Maybe you can live longer that way. Not as long as me. But… long enough.”
Tiyan felt his heart quicken.
He lowered his head to reach the dish. He stretched his arms, his neck, his whole body to reach it. It was only millimetres too far. He was thirsty, but not so much that he would hurt himself to reach the water.
After a few attempts he gave up.
“Lorian told me you were going to be spectacular,” she mused. “And you definitely are.”
“You’re here because he told you to torment me with the promise of water?” his voice was laced with irony mixed with resignation. Does it even matter?
“No, I am here because I have brought you a gift,” her hand reached for his face, and before he could protest, the fingers closed over his cheeks. The woman’s face came closer, very close. He felt his muscles tense even more, instinctively preparing for something cruel.
But the woman… only inhaled his scent. Her fingers cupped his cheeks. She seemed lost for a small moment, but Tiyan caught a glimpse of something in her… a tiny moment which revealed her suffering.
“You smell of vermilion, of late autumn. But your face is… a sound of hard rock, warmed by the sun, giving the water in the afternoon.”
Tiyan looked at her incredulously as she tugged the chain around his neck.
“Lorian wants me to give you a message,” her smile, on her round, full face, was somehow beautiful. As if it shone with inverted light, painted with well-concealed pain. “Your sister is alive…”
Tiyan still looked at her, petrified.
“… and is very keen to see you.”
“Where is she?” Tiyan lost his composure, staggered again, trying helplessly to reach the woman, but she moved away, quickly and delicately. Like a Fae.
“She is behind this door. I brought her here so you can see for yourself. She is very well fed and very happy that you are here, among us. No one has harmed her. My lord keeps his word.”
Tiyan’s gaze nearly shattered the door to his chamber.
He wanted so badly to see that all his worries were a lie of his own mind. That it was producing horrors and cruel visions.
The woman called her name, Mina’s name – he heard it for the first time in long months.
He wanted to see Mina, safe and unharmed.
He wanted to see her, hold her, tell her he had come to save her.
And he did.