Page 69 of The Maleficent Faerie
Ru Gallamet must have been glorious once. It still is, in a gloomy, terrifying way, but the pressure of the Void all around it has taken a toll. Nothing grows on the bare ebony rock. No wind stirs the black-and-gold pennants that hang limply from the spires. No horns or heralds announce the return of its master.
The gates part with a groan that echoes against the rocks before soaking into the soundless dark. Vandel and the Void King enter first on the massive chestnut mare. Her coat shines like amber fire beneath the smoky drapery of his wings.
The horses are all exhausted. Mine barely makes it up the cobbled slope of the road into the courtyard, and I slip from the saddle the moment we halt.
Everything in me wants to run to Malec. He’s my anchor in a world that has tumbled upside down.
But I hold myself back. Arms folded, I glare, and I wait, even though I want to scream,Why isn’t the healer out here? Why isn’t your king already being mended? Hurry, hurry, you idiots, you imbeciles, can’t you see that he’s dying?
I trap the screams of fury behind clenched teeth, and I wait.
The knights move around me, as if I’m a dark rock in a river of shadows. A few servants appear to greet them. They lead the horses to a stable, tend to the knights’ wounds, and carry the King into the castle out of my sight.
And I, the Crown Princess of Caennith, the treasure they’ve been seeking for decades—I stand alone. I might as well be invisible.
The gates have closed behind us. No chance of escape. Not that I would try to leave, and perhaps they all know that, somehow. Or maybe my expression keeps them at bay. If I had Malec’s magic, I would be producing thorns right now, creating walls around myself, so thick and impenetrable that no one could ever hurt me or help me again.
When I look up, all I can see is towers, the sharp tip of the Spindle, and the blackness of the Void, soaring above me. The Void to which I will soon be offered in sacrifice. It will come to feed on me, and when it does, Malec will spin it into magic, on a Spindle wet with my blood.
Whatever good he has done for me, he still intends to subject me to that horror.
My mind closes in on itself, my thoughts congealing into a kind of frozen dread. I feel somehow separate from my body—disconnected.
A servant approaches me—a round-shouldered woman with small antlers and a motherly face. She reminds me of Elsamel.
She speaks to me, but I can’t reply. I can only stare at the towers and the Void.
When she reaches for my hand, my body reacts automatically, my teeth bared in a vicious snarl. I can’t bear for her to touch me.
The woman’s eyes widen, and she backs away.
A man tries next. His black beard is streaked with gray, like the King of Caennith, my true father. When he grabs my wrist, I respond with a quick backstep, twisting his arm around, pinning it to his spine while he gasps with pain. It’s an automatic response, a move I’ve practiced countless times. A little more pressure, and the man’s wrist will snap—or I could pop his shoulder out of the socket.
“Princess.” Andras’s voice.
My consciousness links him with kindness. A little of my tension eases, and I feel my mind reconnecting with my body again.
“Yes?” My voice sounds distant, hollow.
“Come with me. You need food and rest.” He doesn’t try to touch me. He simply walks past me, calm and confident, as if he expects me to follow.
After a moment, I do.
Andras leads me into the castle. “They’re preparing a room for you now. I’ll take you to the parlor where you can eat and—”
“Where is he?”
Andras glances back at me. His shoulder and arm are wrapped in bandages, probably a temporary measure until the healer finishes with the Void King and can tend to him.
“His Majesty is in his chambers, at the foot of the central tower.”
“I need to see him.”
“He’s being healed—”
“Andras.” I stop walking in the middle of the stone hallway. The tapestries look as faded and frayed as my mind feels. I have not slept enough lately. I don’t think I can sleep, or eat, or be at peace until— “I need to see him.”
Andras turns, his blue skin faintly lavender in the orange light of the torch on the wall. “He’s weak right now, Highness. Vulnerable. Can I trust you to be with him?”
