Away with the Faeries

Chapter Nineteen

 Marcel didn't flinch, not a single muscle in his body moved even as the knights around him drew closer with their weapons. "I kneel for no man," he gritted out.

As the words filled the hall rough hands grabbed my shoulders, snaking into my hair before jerking my head back, exposing my neck. Steadying my breath I felt the cold edge of a dagger as it pressed against my neck. I could feel Marcel's eyes bore into me as a thin line of crimson rolled down my skin.

"Kneel," the King ordered again; "or I'll slit her throat."

The old room came to a standstill as Marcel and the King faced one another, two powerful forces colliding. Marcel shifted, throwing a final glance towards me he sank to his knees, chains clinking. The knife fell from my neck as I was released. With bound wrists I lifted a shaky hand to my throat, wiping at the dripping blood. King Otis chuckled a throaty laugh before rising from his seat and walking to Marcel. The knights shifted, watching with unease.

"How disappointing," King Otis grumbled to the fallen Fae, "I take your precious wings and suddenly you're no fun. I hear you didn't even put up a fight coming in," the King waved his hand absently, "what happened to the Faery who killed kingdoms? Who sacrificed the innocent? Who sacrificed his own family? What happened to that man? Where are your monsters?"

Marcel remained there on his knees, taking in the lashing.

His silence only spurred the King into a rage; "Say something," he boomed.

This time Marcel met his eyes and without warning spit a mouthful of blood at the King's feet. Bloed knights swarmed, drawing forward and lifting their blades to Marcel's chest. A sullen laugh fell from his lips as his purpled eyes shifted up to the herculean wings hanging nailed to the wall, pain flashing across his face.

"You can't kill the dead," Marcel said, "trust me, old friend, I've tried."

King Otis was silent a moment; "I was going to have a game of breaking you," he said distastefully, "but it seems you're already broken."

With a final wave of his hand knights flanked back to Marcel and watched with drawn weapons until he pulled himself from the floor. As if afraid to get too close and awaken any remains of the dormant beast within. The King turned to me then his distant, golden eyes sending a shiver gripping my spine. But I was more concerned about Marcel who limped past me.

The French fell heavy onto my ears as he was escorted from the room; "You have the blood of a warrior Dame de la forêt. Don't forget that."

———

Marcel's words felt stuck to my skin, an infesting sensation I couldn't scrub off even as Princess Jinny had tended to my wounds and drawn me another bath hours later. I told her I already bathed, showing her my drenched hair as proof. Yet, she was insistent that I'd catch a cold in my current state and demanded that as her new Lady-in-waiting, I was to be at my very best. The entire prospect of the girl I was meant to be waiting on drawing a bath for me felt like some cruel trick.

Yet here I was, scraped knees hugged close to my chest as I soaked for the second time that day in scalding water. Tears stung my eyes as I stared absently at my reflection in the stilled water. To think it wasn't long ago I thought getting fired and returning home was the worst possible thing to happen to me. A tear fell from my eye, placing wet kisses on my nose before hitting the water. I missed my mom. Hugging my knees tighter to my chest a despondent laugh escaped me. Never did I think I would find myself thinking such a thought.

But now I missed her and the way she always smelled of cinnamon and lilies. I missed her rare laughs that sounded like foggy memories during happier days. I missed being an unproblematic kid and laying in her comforting arms mindlessly toying with the small gold cuff she wore at the tip of her ear. I always asked her why she wore that specific earring regardless of the occasion and always I'd come away with a different answer.

It belonged to your grandmother, she said once. It's like a wedding ring but for Faeries and I can still remember how she smiled saying that. As if proud to finally flaunt it. My father never wore a gold cuff on his ear. The thought made me shiver and I stood from the bath realizing then that I'd been alone with my thoughts for far too long. Maybe I didn't know my mother, not even a little, not even at all.