GOLDEN STRINGS

CHAPTER ONE

ILLYRIA

Kore was startled awake. The warmth of the fire was nonexistent, and yet her breasts were still heavy and there was an ache low in her belly. It was only a dream, she told herself, a nightmare, really. She had already forgotten the details as she was shaken awake by her eldest sibling.

A veil of darkness had fallen upon the earth and the stars atop Ramiel blinked down at the two Illyrian friends as they headed towards the workshop. The girls were deeply bundled, but the harsh wind between the sharp-edged mountains was still penetrating the many worn layers of cloaks.

Kore's eyelashes were nearly frozen by the time she shut the wooden door of the workshop, banishing the falling snowflakes outside. Even at this ungodly hour the workhouse was filled with idle chatter, the females taking advantage of the males' training, knowing that there would not be reprimand for their mary exchange of words or soft laughs.

The usual bench awaited Kore, and her pile of fabric unfinished from yesterday. Still more work would trickle inside the workshop throughout the day; males seeking their leather's patched, Lord's servants wishing for heavy blankets, scarfs and cloaks. By the time the first light filtered through the window, Kore's back was aching from the stiff position of her body, her fingers stiffened from the cold despite their endless labor.

"Kore," her friend nudged her softly until Kore lifted her dark head, "did you hear what Magdalene said?"

Kore shook her head, "No?"

"The High Lord arrived at first light."

Ariel looked flushed, and Kore rolled her eyes as she returned to her sowing.

"Not this nonsense again," she said flatly, "who cares what that bastard does and where he goes."

"Kore!"

"What?" Kore shrugged, her own cheeks reddening. "He does not care about our suffering. About how the children die in the cold every year. He only comes when he's in need of something."

"There is to be a war," Ariel whispered, "it's the fifth time he's come to Windhaven. He wants to see how hard the males are training, if they are prepared."

A war. If Kore had been a different sort of female, the concept would have rattled her. But she was an Illyrian at heart, at her very core, and that is who her people were. War had and never would scare off any Illyrians; her people were bred for the battlefields. They were born for them, and they perished on them. In the meantime, they fought on...they survived.

"Magdalene caught a glimpse of him from afar," Ariel continues, "she swears that he is insanely handsome."

"Handsome?" Kore scoffed. "Did Magdalene forget how he leveled the entire camp up North? He is vicious."

"Vicious? Come now, Kore. What else was he to do when the elders rebelled?" Ariel spoke in a rushed whisper, she leaned her dark head closer and her frozen breath tickled Kore's wings. "And do not speak of him in such a way, for all we know he can hear everyone's thoughts in the entire camp."

Kore wrinkled her nose at the possibility. "That seems extremely unlikely. He is only a High Lord, you make him out to be some sort of God."

Ariel scoffed, "And you'd risk his wrath, then? You just told me he was vicious."

Kore thought of the rumors she'd heard about the High Lord of the Night Court. Thought of spilled blood, ruby red against the white snow of Illyria. She blinked the image away and stood rapidly.

"Kore?"

"I have to pee."

No curious heads turned to watch her exit the workshop, but that was unsurprising to Kore. She was and always would be unimportant. She trudged through the heavy snow towards the back of the workshop, where she could relieve herself in a carefully placed bucket. Her feet were soaked through her shoes, thanks to the wet snow. Soon Kore stepped away from the bucket, straightening her skirts, until the metallic stench of blood reached her nose.

Kore slapped a hand over her mouth and nose, her head shaking in disbelief, as she leaned over to look inside the wooden bucket. No. No, this could not be.

Kore's hands shook as she struggled to lift her heavy layers of skirts, her hands trembled as she reached between her thighs. As she pulled them away, to her utter shock, they were stained red with blood.

Her breaths left her in great pants, as panic gripped her by the throat. Kore's legs started moving before she even had time to rethink her actions. Running through heavy snow was something she hadn't done since she'd been a child. As a young female she had run with her siblings among the campfires, she flew over puddles and frozen ice. In those times, the only thing that left her lips was laughter, soft and happy like a cloud.

At this very moment, she could only pray that Ramiel should spare her wings from the Clipping.

#

Despite her prayers, her recklessness was witnessed by several warriors in the training rings. Their nostrils flared as she passed them by, and the smell of fresh blood made them move quicker than lightning. They took to the skies with a snap of powerful wings.

Kore saw them at the corners of her eyes, despite their warnings and threats she refused to stand down. But something pulled at her core, an invisible golden string, and then she stumbled. Her teeth clattered upon the impact. Kore was still blinking the snow out of her eyes when two sets of rough hands pushed her down.

The males gripped her wings roughly and she shrieked. One of them struck her across the face, causing her lip to split. She struggled wildly against the violation of their hands on her precious wings, still underfed and weak as she was, Kore was no match for them, despite her fiery spirit.

Her wings were spread wide like a butterfly's. Kore kicked her legs, her body completely wet from the snow and now the cold sweat of fear. She thought she heard screaming, and yet she could not tell if it was her own or someone else's.

Kore had feared the Clipping since she was old enough to understand that it would one day be executed upon her person. She'd had countless nightmares about it; they were filled with blood and gore and pain. Such pain, that she woke up panting, completely convinced that she'd been about to die.

Yet, at the present, she realized that she felt no pain, even if the snow was covered in the identifiable scarlet color of blood. In fact, her hands and face and spine were decorated with the heavy drops of it.

As Kore twisted her head, still too shocked to cry or mourn, she spotted the familiar ebony smoothness of her right wing. The sight of her untouched wings barreled so hard into her that she vomited on the blood-soaked snow. She wiped her mouth as she twisted.

Kore gasped at the pain of her left ribs. She placed a soothing hand there in confusion, and looked up to witness the carnage before her.

The sound of footsteps on the wet ground stole her divided attention. Kore glanced up at the male standing over her, his ebony black hair and dark blue eyes that were almost violet.

Kore sucked in a breath at the realization of who - and what - he was.

Aidoneus Rhysand, the High Lord of Night Court.

Her mate.