Page 6 of Brutal Fae King
“I was there myself,” he replies. “There was no mistaking it. We are lucky she is unpracticed, or I wouldn’t have been able to deflect it. She could have taken out our entire team had she even had a small amount of experience. Fortunately, she issoinexperienced that after using her powers, she fell unconscious, so we didn’t need to fight too hard to capture her.”
My fists clench. My mind is buzzing in a numbing fury—I’m so enraged that I can’t even think for a few moments. I cannot believe it.
Prophecies, the damn things, have a tendency to be laden with metaphors and innuendos. Flowery language and riddling talk. But a human… wielding lighting…
It is as clear as prophecies come. This is the human woman who will steal the throne from me…
“Sire,” Gargamint says. “Is shethe one?”
“I believe so,” I growl.
“Shall we kill her?” he asks.
Every fiber of my being wants to say yes, but I pause long enough to consider it.
“Not yet,” I reply. “I must read through the prophecy again to ensure nothing will befall the kingdom if we kill her. Her being alive could be the key.”
“Understood,” My war chieftain grunts.
“But,” I continue, “we must send someone to consult the witch. We need her to perform some rituals on this woman andensure she is who we think she is. Perhaps the witch can offer us some clarity on the prophecy or read us a new one.”
“Yes, Sire,” Gargamint says. “I’ll send someone to fetch the witch at once.”
I nod.
“But I do want to meet her myself,” I growl, my tone darkening as I speak. “I want to see the wretch who’s supposedly fated to steal my kingdom from me with my own eyes.”
***
Seldom do I ever grace the dungeons with my presence. There are hardly any prisoners here most days—after all, if there are a lot of executions, there is usually a lot of space in the dungeons. Most of it remains the same. The stones are still dull grey, so dark that they appear to draw light in rather than give it out, and the echoing ring of dripping coming from somewhere indiscernible.
What is new is the screaming. There is a lot more present here than typical—a raid always leaves the dungeons laden with women. As I walk in, I scan my eyes through the barred cells, looking at the prisoners. They are as frightened animals, curled up, eyes wide, whimpering like dogs. Some hide their faces. Others sit or kneel, frozen like rabbits in the face of the dog. Many are weeping, and others are muttering.
They are right to be frightened. Most of them will not survive the ritual. All but the one who fulfills the prophecy won’t.
But it’s what’s needed. There’s nothing else for it.
That’s when a scream attracts my attention. It’s a screech, not of terror, but of rage:
“Unhand me! I have done nothing wrong—you cannot keep me here!”
A strange shiver runs through me at the sound of her voice.
Hm. Impressive.Not many are willing to raise their voice in such a way when they have been captured and taken to Eyston Keep. Most of these women are too scared to even utter a single word, and this woman is screaming profanities.
I hear the prison warden clap back: “Stop fighting, you ill-mannered girl!”
I approach the scene at hand, and I see her—long, flowing brown hair, thrown over her shoulders as she wrenches back and forth against the guard; gleaming green eyes, shining with rage as she fights against her bonds. A simple peasant’s dress, puffed and thick with endless wool, as is typical of humans living near the ice wall. When her leg reaches up, I see typical woolly boots before she plummets a kick into the leg of the warden.
She is fighting tooth and nail, yet no lightning is being thrown. I suppose she is supposed to be unpracticed with her powers, but still…Is this truly the woman set to steal my kingdom from under me?
I walk closer, and the prison warden flinches when I walk in.
“I-I—Sire!” he yelps.
I ignore the warden and approach the woman in his hands. She’s got her arms bent backward by the warden, bent down at the waist as he tries to heave her into a nearby open cell. I have to lean down to meet her eyes. Her eyes are fierce. Like emeralds whittled to a knife-sharp edge.
So… you’re the woman set to steal my kingdom from me, are you?
