BEFORE
I was there that day. The day the queen of Mythlandria died. I saw what my mother did to her, the poison she used to stain her heart. And I saw the way she manipulated the queen’s young son, Adrius Thanduir of the Elyssium Court, into swearing an oath to her. A boy only a few years older than I was at the time, sworn into an allegiance he couldn’t possibly have understood in the face of such grief.
I didn’t understand it myself. I only knew I hated and feared my mother for it. For making the small boy weep so silently. So uncontrollably. For days on end, until they found him sobbing half-frozen tears, cold and covered with snow, curled up next to his dead mother.
She was responsible. My mother. Queen of the Witches. Only she wasn’t queen, not really. We were not granted any such powers in their realm. In a realm that was governed by the Elves, Witches were considered too dangerous and unpredictable by those in power. They forced us to exist on a small parcel of barren land.
My mother took their meager offerings and created a dynasty. In time, I grew to understand the many reasons why she did what she did. The oppression we were forced to live under. The animosity between our lands. The violence it sparked time and time again. I’d heard it enough to regurgitate every sour word in my sleep. And yet, standing there, almost the same age as that poor little boy, all I could do was weep for him. For his broken heart. For his incredible loss. And for the life he had inadvertently, through no fault of his own, chained himself to.
Mother only slapped me once that day. The slap was for questioning her actions when she boasted about her feat to the others in the coven. If she’d known I’d been there, beyond the icy walls of Noctria, so far from the safety of our home, there would have been several more slaps. Followed by a season’s worth of punishment. I shudder to think what that might have entailed. But I was careful not to get caught. Always was.
I was cautious as a child. And I am even more so now that I’ve turned an age where love potions and wishing spells have suddenly become of interest. The first day I went into the woods alone to seek the boy was no different. I knew he hunted there. I’d been watching him for years. Ever since that day he lost his mother.
Bad description. He didn’t lose her, she was taken from him. My mother killed her. That was the truth, and truth was sorely lacking in my world.
****
This day I feel brave, and I step out of the shadows. After a few awkward exchanges, he stops looking away and holds my gaze, fixing his olive eyes on my emerald ones. His gaze flickers down to my lips, which are widening into a grin.
“Have I seen you before?”
I angle my head to get a better look at him. All tall, lean-muscled, dark-tousled hair of him. He is Elfkind, from Mythlandria. That much is evident by his clothing. And he is a very long way from home. These forests are well guarded by his people, but this far north isn't the sort of place someone of his stature should wander. I glance around. Alone, no less. Curiosity fills me as he bows his head.
“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”
My smile stretches wider. “Frighten me?” Magic courses through my veins, and he is worried he'll frightened me. If only he knew so very little did anymore. I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I just thought I was alone.” Well, that’s a lie.
“No one is ever truly alone in the wild. There are eyes everywhere. Even the trees will whisper your secrets if you tell them.”
“I'm not telling any. Not to you or the trees.”
He laughs. “Fair enough then. I am Adrius.” He clears his throat, looking uncomfortable for a moment before adding, “Prince Adrius.”
“A prince. Without his guards? This far from his home? Perhaps it is you who should be frightened.”
Another laugh. I am immediately struck by how incredible his laugh is. For hours that follow, I drown in his laughter and his gaze as we spend time together, talking and exploring the forest around us.
At the end of our time together, he says, “I would very much like to see you again, Isobel. Can I? Can I see you again?”
I twist a lock of hair around my finger and nibble my lip. This will not go over well with Mother. She hates the Elves. Detests everything they are. Just as Elves hate Witches. A relationship with this boy has no chance of survival.
Moments of silence tick by and I’m still unsure. Saying yes isn’t wise. And yet, as I untwine my finger from my hair and let it fall, I say, “I’ll meet you here tomorrow, at sunset.” The words fly out so quickly I have no time to reconsider them.
“Sunset,” he repeats, watching my lips.
I cannot help but purse them for effect. Adrius lowers his head to hide a smile. Turning, I walk calmly back toward my home. I can feel him watching me, and although it gives me a shiver, for the first time in a long time, I feel . . . warm.
It is in that very moment I fall in love with Adrius, Prince of Mythlandria.
****
Home alone, common sense washes over me. I shouldn’t have gone, not ever, but he fascinates me. Everything from the way his dark hair falls across his hazel eyes when he adjusts his arrow, to the flex of his arm muscles when he draws the arrow tight in the bow.
Those arrows would sail at light speed across the wind, striking their intended target with deathly precision. If only he’d honed that skill as a young boy. Perhaps . . . No. Those are not thoughts worth entertaining. I would not wish my mother’s life away to save his mother’s. I did not even know them. I don’t know any Elves. It has always been strictly forbidden. And I love my mother. In a way. She’s taught me everything I now know. Everything I now plan to use to get him to notice me.
Forbidden or not, there is something about him that won’t let me stay away. Every day, I sneak back into my room after sundown and vow it’s my last foray into his woods. And every day come sunrise, I trade that vow for just one more look. Just one more peek. Just one more chance.
I shake my head. Chance at what exactly? That he’ll notice me. Desire me? Court me? None of those are likely. Especially if he knew who I am. Who my mother is. He would want nothing to do with me at all, and who could blame him?
But those eyes. They saw so much and held such sadness and pain. I want to help him. I have to help him. And so, in my search for juniper berries for the love tonic, I stray down the long path that will lead me to his usual haunt.
Only when I arrive he isn’t there. No. The tall, swaggering being, cloaked all in black with long, flowing, shockingly silver hair, a steely gaze and angled cheekbones is not the boy I was seeking. He is something else entirely. Equally as handsome, but in a totally different way. In a dangerous way. He oozes something that makes my insides feel strange. Good strange.
I inch closer. A twig snaps, and I freeze.
He pauses, but doesn’t turn to look in my direction. Instead, he lifts his sword. Massively long and inscribed with all sorts of glowing markings, blue smoke swirls from the gleaming blade, and the air strangles in my lungs.
What to do? Turn and run? Try to hide? I have no chance to make a choice. His sword points toward where I’m crouched in the shrubs.
“I see you there, so you might as well come out,” he says.
His voice. Oh, that voice. Like the chill of ice water running down my spine.
I rise, slowly, still uncertain what this new being might or might not do.
“Hello,” I say, lifting my hands to show I’m not a threat, though I could become one if needed. He is the one armed to the hilt. All I carry are a few spells and incantations that would at best freeze him for a moment and buy me time to run away.
When he turns to face me directly, two massive, black-feathered wings open behind him. They flap twice and then fold behind him, disappearing from sight. As he stands watching me watch him, his silver hair darkens to nightshade.
I suck in a slow breath. Wow. A Shadow Faerie. He has to be. Only they lay claim to such wings and the ability to change their looks with powerful glamour.
He’s impressive. Dark and brooding in an entirely different way than Adrius is. Adrius’s aura is warm, buttery, and it makes me want to melt. This Faerie’s aura is cold, penetrating, turning my blood to ice in my veins.
He doesn’t answer me, but he does lower his sword. His cold eyes travel over me, beginning with my hair, sliding downward, and then slowly back up again. I want to hide, to shield myself from what feels like an invasion of my body and soul.
“And you are?” He speaks with a cool, slightly accented voice.
“Isobel,” I reply. But when his lips curl in a wicked half-grin, I regret it. Names are power to the Fey. Or so I’ve heard. It is difficult to even remember what I know of them, when he is standing there watching me with those eyes of stardust.
“Do you mind?” I finally say, partially shielding my eyes. “You’re being a little invasive, considering we don’t even know one another.”
His brows arch. He seems surprised. I suppose he’s not accustomed to being told what to do. They just do as they please. Must be nice, not to have to be accountable for your actions. I did not share that same luxury. Quite the opposite really. I was held accountable for every action, big or small, intended or not.
His smile grows as his full body scan eases off.
“Thank you,” I say, lowering my hand. “Are you going to tell me who you are, or am I meant to guess?”
He studies me for a moment then takes a few steps closer. “Why not come out into the clear, where we can have a civilized conversation?”
“Said the fox to the hen.” I pause, uncertain. It seems like a poor choice. The better one would be to run home and never return. But I’d tried that before, to no avail. My curiosity will inevitably be the death of me. So I step out of the shrubs, shoving back the thorny branches as they nip at my skin.
Again, he looks me over, but this time there’s a different feel to it. I gesture for him to go ahead. “Your name?”
“You may call me Zanthiel. Knight of the Shadow court.” He dips his head slightly.
I inhale sharply. So, he IS a Shadow Faerie. I knew he had to be dangerous, but a Shadow Fey— This is another level of danger entirely. My very first encounter with a Fey and he’s from the darkest part of Faery. He’s trouble. I was taught to run from trouble. Certainly not to invite it. Yet somehow, I find him . . . extremely inviting.
“And I find you captivating,” he says, his eyes boring into mine.
Clever trick, reading minds. “Is that so, or is that just something you say to strange girls in the woods?”
“I cannot lie, so it has to be true.” He shrugs with his body, leaning casually against the tree.
My nose wrinkles. “It must be awful to not be able to lie. The truth is always better with a handful of glitter thrown over it. Dress it up a little. Make it shine. I adore lying. In fact, fabricating fiction is what’s kept me alive this long.” I shake my head and laugh, noticing the way he’s looking at me. Noticing it and liking it. “Truly. If I couldn't think fast and come up with a plausible story, just fantastical enough, but not too outlandish to be believable, then my mother’s punishments would be far more severe.”
“So, then, Isobel, I assume you are the trustworthy sort.” He smirks.
I like him from that moment on. Like him far more than I ought to. But there is something so poetic about a pathological liar connecting with someone who is genetically unable to tell a lie. That is Zanthiel. He baffles and thrills and frightens and dares, seduces and soothes with the stroke of a word. And no matter its outcome, you know without question that word is pure truth. With me, it is more likely to be pure fiction. In the moments together with him, I see a reason to be honest. A reason to want to tell the truth, to myself and to him.
“Isobel. I see you’ve met my friend.”
I spin around to face Adrius. My face flushes with heat. Embarrassed by how much I’ve enjoyed meeting his friend.
****
My heart belongs to Adrius. And so I wish I understood why, when Zanthiel offered to escort me home that night, I agreed to it. I wonder why I agreed to so many opportunities to be alone with him. Alone with both of them.
Before long, I found myself unable to give up either one of them. When the three of us are together, we have the time of our lives. And when I’m alone with either of them, they complete a different broken part of me.
I was whole with them both. It was foolish and selfish and utterly unrealistic to think that my actions would not have consequences. Dire ones.
In the months that would follow, I ought to have known…the battle, my death, even my reincarnation into pure evil , , , it all boiled down to the same single weakness, the same fatal mistake.
My inability to choose between them.
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