Page 7 of Brutal Fae King
She’s more… slight than I would have imagined from the tales.
I reach forward and grab her by the jaw, forcing her head back and forth, surveying her face.Yes… very slight.Almost waif-like.
The woman snarls like a beast in my hand, and as I twist her face again, she spits at me. I feel the thick glob hit my face, warm and thick.
“Sire!”
The warden swings at the back of her head. She snarls in pain as he does. For a moment, I’m frozen in the sheer audacity of her. Then, I start laughing and look up at the door.
“Lock this one up more securely than the others,” I order. “The witch will be here to see her first.”
“Yes, Sire,” he says.
I begin walking away. As I do, I snarl to myself:Fine. Enjoy your little rebellion, as small as it is. We shall see who wins in the end.
Chapter 3 - Ebelor
I yank at my wrist, but the iron shackle is locked tight around it. I brace my foot against the wall and pull as hard as I can. A dull throbbing pain starts spreading up my arm from my hand. But I need to get out of here now! Maribelle needs me! She has to rest if she’s going to recover from the Weeping Fever, and if I’m not there to do things for her, she’ll have to go out into the cold!
Because sheisgoing to recover—shehasto!
She can’t… sh-she can’t… Not whilst I’m gone…Please!
Angry tears start rolling down my face as I yank hard on my metal binds.
“Oh, stop,please!” A begging voice startles me. “You’ll break your hand!”
“I don’t care!” I snarl, tears still falling down my face. “I need to get back to my sister! She’s very sick!”
Another voice calls, much more bitter this time:
“That doesn’t matter now. You’re not getting out. None of us are.”
I stop tugging at it and look around. There are many other women in these cells, a few of them cowering, but the two who spoke to me are standing by the edge of their own cell. One of them looks worried, and the other is sneering—it’s easy to tell who is who.
“Who are you people?” I ask. “What is this place?”
They exchange a look.
“You mean you don’t know?” the worried one asks.
“How can you not know?” the sneering one adds.
I just stare at them both.
“You’re in Eyston Keep, dear,” the concerned one says.
“Eyston?” I ask. “Why did the raid take us to the royal city?”
“They always do,” the bitter one snarls. “They always take the kidnapped women here. How did you not know this?!”
I shrug moodily. My parents died before I was old enough to tell me about these kinds of horrors, and thanks to my outcast status in Thawallow, no one else would take the time to tell me. But I don’t want to tell them that.
“What are they going to do to us?” I ask. “I heard them say something about a witch?”
The women look between each other again. The sour-faced one gives a dry laugh. The nicer one just winces at me.
“I’m so sorry,” she says.
