Bringer of Winter- a M/M/M Epic Fantasy Romance

1- Innocence

*****All quotes and song lyrics belong to their original authors or copyright owners. They're not mine :)

Trigger warnings include sexual assault, rape, and violence. As always, I'll mention the sexual assault/rape parts before they happen, so you can skip over them if need be.

The idea for Cailleach Bheur I got from celtic mythology and stories. I just love celtic mythology, and I fell in love with the idea of a creepy winter witch. So enjoy!*****

PART ONE: SLAVE

HEATH—

The screams of dying Nibeans all around me, I had to fight the urge to pause, listen, and enjoy the chaos. I could feel the blood on my sword as if it coated my own body, as if I could feel it entering my soul. It took everything in me to move from room to room in the castle, my end goal in sight, almost in my hands.

I wanted her. Above all else, I wanted to see the Cailleach Bheur's soul leave her body as my hands ripped at her, tearing her apart with nothing but my fingers. My hatred for the Cailleach, for everything she stood for, ripped through me, pounding up my legs and into my heart with each step of my boots against the bloody floors.

The Pryn pirate captain knew of my hatred, knew of my need for the Cailleach's blood, and had given the warning that if any harmed her before I could get to her, they would meet a fate worse than death. The captain knew that without me, they never would have been able to get this far. Without me—the Nibean turned against his own people— they never would have been able to penetrate Rothart's seemingly impenetrable walls.

After a time and a great deal of patience, I reached one of the rooms I knew had to belong to the royal family— I could feel the old Cailleach's shay'yah rise up the doorway, wards and spells etched in it as thickly as the cracks ingrained in the wood. I knew that for centuries the room behind this door had housed and kept safe the Bheur children.

No longer, I thought with a great heave of relief.

I opened the door, met with no resistance, and moved into the room. All was silence except for the heavy breathing of a young woman who protected a wooden crib with only her small body. She was pretty, as servant girls went. Long golden hair framed a pale face, made even paler by her fear.

"Please," she whispered in Nibean when I stepped in, my bloodied sword bared. I stared at her, confused. Where was the Cailleach? Would she not be in the nursery, protecting her family? The plan had been to push the entire family into one place, to get them all together, and to slaughter them one-by-one, leaving the Cailleach for last so she saw the end of her family, of her mystical line, forever. And I would be the one to show her. To show her how it felt to watch as your family is slowly killed. Mercilessly killed right in front of your eyes.

"Please," the girl repeated when I simply watched her, my mind barely processing that she was there as I tried to figure where else the Cailleach would have been. "I know you probably can't understand, but please. This child is innocent. She is but a baby. Please spare her."

"I understand just fine," I answered in Nibean— my native tongue. "The child is of the Bheur family, and thus 'innocent' is not a word she will ever know. Step aside or die by her crib."

The girl straightened, her shoulders stiff with fear, and yet she stared into my eyes and narrowed her own. "A Nibean who kills his own. How disgraceful. Fine then, traitor. If you must, kill me. But I will die by her side, as is my duty and my privilege. Strike, monster."

I felt just a tinge of respect for the girl, but quickly snuffed it by digging my sword into her belly, visions of my mother in my mind as I carried out the revenge her soul cried out for. But the woman, a typical Nibean witch, smiled as the blade sunk into her, and gripped my wrist. I cried out, yanking away and dropping her from the grip of my sword. She immediately fell back against the crib but righted herself surprisingly quickly, reached into the crib, and grabbed a bundle of blankets. As I glared down at my hand— seared to the bone by flame and festering painfully— the girl jumped past me, the pile of blankets in her arms held tightly to her chest.