Dark Queen

Chapter 4

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His heart hammered in his chest. Damon clenched his jaw, willing himself not to shift. But his magic called for blood. Smoke billowed out of his nose as his internal temperature rose. Damon ran his hands through his short-cut pale blond hair. He stared down at his arms, both covered in tattoos. The marks told his story, in a language spoken only by his people. The dark ink curled around itself creating not simply a story, but a beautiful piece of art. The only outward sign of what he was, was his eyes. Crimson red. Those eyes were what marked him as other, most assumed he was part Dark Pixie or a Witch's son. Damon was far more than that.

Damon pulled his cloak further over his head as he stepped back into the shadows of the seats. He had seen it. Seen all of it. He felt the subtle drop in temperature, seen the ice that crept out of the Faun's wound. He had also seen what the dark Princess was staring at before she killed the Faun. She had looked right at Clotho, the youngest of the Fates. And it was not curiosity on her face, but recognition. Damon growled, knowing the young Fate had interfered again. Not only when she saved what remained of his people from the King's wrath, but Clotho had something to do with the power that Princess Maeve suddenly had. 

Damon's throat tightened a bit at the thought of her dark ice shards that grew from the Faun's dying heart. The prophecy was only true if both daughters were heirs to the throne and to be an heir, you must possess magic. Without her magic, Maeve was not a threat. But now -- now it was all about to change.

He hated them, all of them. The Fae. The faeries who thought themselves better, calling themselves Seelie and those they deemed lesser Unseelie. He hated the royal family most of all. He wanted to run his claws down Princess Maeve's pretty little face. In the name of justice and peace, her father had ordered the deaths of thousands. The King was no less a monster than Damon was. King Dyron's orders had killed his family and most of his kind. Leaving only a few remaining, scattered and in hiding across the land. Damon would be glad to return the favor.

Since before he, or even his grandparents, were born the Faeries had been ruled by the Fae. The strongest of their kind. It was how the world worked, but the Shifters had not always been a part of it. They had once had their own kingdom, ruled by the strongest of them all -- his people. Now the Fae held all the power.

Damon spat at the ground. This arena had once hosted competitions and games. The strongest warriors would gather from all corners of the realm. They showed off their strengths and abilities. Now the sands were little more than a glorified execution block for anyone who dared to disagree with the King's laws.

They said after the death of his mate, King Dyron was driven mad by the grief and the loss of half of his soul. He blamed the Fates. The ones who had prophesied the destruction and death that the daughters of light and darkness would bring to their world. Attacking the kin of the Fates, he destroyed the Witches Leaders. Casting them out of high society and killing all that resisted.

His people were sworn protectors of the Fates. They dared to stand against him. It had cost them everything. For defending the Witches and the Fates, the Kingdom of the Wilds fell. For believing that the twins born of darkness and light would curse the land, bringing war and death, his people suffered. For believing that the twins would cause the realm to never again know true peace, his people were slaughtered and forgotten. Left as nothing more than myth and legends. 

A puff of smoke escaped from Damon's nose. Before he could turn to leave, a large green hand grasped tightly onto his shoulder. Damon's head drooped in dread for what was to come next.

"What is a Seelie like you doing down here," The Troll spat the insult at him. Gripping Damon's shoulder tightly, he forced Damon to turn and face him. The Troll, along with a few other Half-Giants and Ogres laughed as Damon was pushed back, into their circle. Damon glanced at a guard, but one look at Damon's red eyes made the guard turn and walk away, leaving Damon to fend for himself.

"Or maybe not Seelie at all," a Redcap who stood just outside the circle cackled. Damon let out a vicious growl at the small creature that made the Redcap take a step back. 

"What are you then?" the Troll demanded giving Damon another push on his shoulder. Damon snarled snapping at the Troll with fanged teeth.

"Why don't you come and find out" His eyes glowed with the words. The Troll reached for him again, but Damon grabbed him by the arm. In a fluid motion, he twisted it. The sickening sound of a bone snapping was followed by the Troll's scream. Damon smiled a fanged grin as he turned to face the Ogre now charging towards him. The bloodlust he had been trying so hard to force down was quickly taking over. Damon ducked, allowing the Ogre's momentum to carry him out of the fighting circle. A second troll landed a punch to Damon's jaw, sending him stumbling backward. The taste of blood filled his mouth. 

"Break it up!" A guard commanded, finally deciding to intervene in the fight. His iron-tipped spear was pointed at Damon's heart. Damon growled at the guard.

"You don't want to do that, boy," the guard sneered as he looked Damon over. It took every ounce of willpower he had to lower his eyes. To submit to the cocky guard. 

"Much better," The guard laughed. The tip of his iron spear pressing against Damon's shirt. To any other Faerie, it would have burned his skin. He had seen guards do it before to others. Seen how the helpless Faeries fell to their knees at the touch of iron. Damon snarled. His eyes glowing red. He was not so weak to be brought down by such a small amount of iron. 

Damon grabbed the spear by the wooden shaft. Yanking it from the guard's hands he broke it over his knee. Immediately, three more iron-tipped spears were aimed at him. Damon ducked under one, grabbing it he freed it from the guard's grasp. Using the spear he blocked the blow aimed for his side away. 

A ring of fire exploded from the ground around him. The guards jumped back and Damon snapped out of the bloodlust that had taken over. Damon threw the spear to the ground. By no means was he trapped, but he was in enough trouble as it was, he did not need more.

The fire died down and Damon did not resist as two guards quickly locked his wrists in iron chains. Damon faked a hiss of pain as the iron touched his bare skin. A golden-haired male stepped forward. His emerald green eyes sparkling with delight at his ability to stop the fight. A small part of Damon was glad he had stopped it. The result would have been three or more dead guards and his face on a wanted poster.

"Thank you, my Lord," one of the guards stammered to the male. Damon forced himself not to roll his eyes. 

A small Witch girl stood unnoticed by the stands. Dressed in tattered clothes almost too small for her, with bare feet, and her long black hair left unbound. The girl's unseeing white eyes seemed to somehow watch them as Damon was led away.