Month: June 2024

Corvel never felt so lost in any place. Dal’coler was dark, overwhelming and monumental – traits he wasn’t accustomed with. Devlonmere was different, light, sun licking white curtains and entering white walls behind white curtains. His family was bound with the white, since he remembered. White – like snow. Like winter. Even if his father seemed to hold autumn in his heart, also since he remembered. Corvel never knew king Marnsul, a companion to his father, good one. Yet Marnsul gave life, when the forest chose his son.

Corvel Devlon – his name meant that he had lord’s status, yet he never grasped the subtleties of commanding, acting like the world belonged to him. Self-confidence. He grew up in a secluded place, where he was loved. Adored, without needing to give orders.  He was aware this kind of upbringing is not common among High Fae. Most of fey didn’t bond with their children that much. He knew his family was unique.

But Corvel wanted to taste life in the palace. Far from safety. Far from the warmth of his manor. Something dark bloomed in his heart for some time. His father would say that he grew up, that his claws became sharper. He thought that he needed the change to see how others live. Compare, drown in night, and return. Maybe bolder.

Father always was telling him that love can command just as well as fear. Even illusion of love. Even a lie.  But among High Fae fear-inducing was more respected. That, Corvel wanted to see as well.

Darkness was… tempting. Somehow… less polished to shine, but beaming with timeless power. Father said once that it was the matter of time that blossomed in him. Corvel was as much wanting it, as he was afraid.

But the want was stronger.

When he at last traversed the dark and shadowed passages of Dal’coler, he felt the ages in them. Whispering ghosts of the blood which was spilled here through ages. It spoke about power, relentless, hungry and unstoppable. Every young fae would be moved.

And Corvel was very moved.

Each of the stones here had its own history. He would love to know each one of them.

The lesser fairy with black wings and antlers growing from her thick copper hair led him through a richly ornamented corridor; the scenes carved on walls depicted things which Corvel didn’t see well and couldn’t decipher their meaning. As the fey stated at the beginning – they were aiming the private quarters of the lords. Far from the throne room, but placed in a circle around the royal chambers. Corvel stopped to admire the art and spatial build of the capital, even expressing his curiosity a few times. The fairy’s voice was melodic and silent, when she explained to him with a low tone, that she was ordered to show him his rooms and only that. By the king. And his order had to be fulfilled in every detail.

“Why is my father not with us?” he tried to sound as commanding as he was able.

“Your father was invited for a supper with King Lorian, my lord” the fairy smiled meekly. But Corvel could swear that he saw a wild gleam in her burgundy eyes.

“Will he visit me here… or?”

“Please forgive me for my impertinence, my lord. But I do not know. I am only a messenger.”

This sounded reasonable.

“I was accepted to the court. How will my day look from now on?” he was really curious.

“How you wish, my lord. You still don’t have duties in the palace, so your day will be filled with pleasures. You can do whatever you want. Whatever your heart desires.”

The possibilities… that sounded a bit… frightening. He didn’t know anyone here, yet he was given a free hand in everything. Possibly he could get to know other lords, with time. But they were winter fae, and he was raised as an autumn child. How will they react to him?

How will the lords and ladies react to his lack of sophistication?

Maybe they have books here. For sure they have. But then, he doubted many High Fae here liked to read.

“Can you send someone to my room?”

“A woman?” her eyes gleamed.

“Someone who can show me around here, that is.”

“Of course. But allow me graciously to give you advice, my lord. Do not ask servants if they can do something for you. Other lords…’ ‘ she shook her head, her copper hair falling on her forehead, in a very wild way. “Command. You have the right to do so.”

That sounded like the advice his father would give him. Something, which would allow him to not sound like an autumnal child in the winter court. Alnam knew how to command. He led armies to battle. He many times did this against his own beliefs, because he had to. But he knew how to lead faeries, who always were more selfish than loyal. He could be ruthless if needed.

Corvel still didn’t have that in him. But he hoped that it would bloom in him, just like he imagined in Devlonmere. He wanted power, he wanted darkness, even against his own nature. He wanted to be like Alnam, yes.

He wanted to be like Lorian Ain’Dal.

He heard about the power of the king. He possessed rare shadow magic and it was so strong. Stronger than in any other winter king. When he met him, he felt it, pushing under his skin.

When he met him…

and…

HER.

Face hidden behind the raven mask, which was almost blending with her skin. A nonchalant smile on her lips, like everything around her, was boring to her. Her aura was so similar to his own, light, but strong. He felt that she had more power in her small finger than he in his whole body.

Perfect temptation. Perfect trap.

And he fell into it, willingly.

Lady Nymre, the king’s consort.

Oh, he heard about her too. But nothing prepared him for seeing her.

She was allure incarnate.

And she belonged to the king of Ain’asel.

His chances were nonexistent. Trying anything, he would doom himself.

*

Alnam watched as Lorian lifted the cup with wine and sipped from it slowly, his dark eyes set on him above the rim. Nymre was sitting between them, like a dam between their mutual dislike. Alnam always thought that Nymre was clever, but vain. Intelligent but very selfish, A fae woman in every aspect. Someone who he always had to take into consideration, while traveling to Dal’coler.

Lorian was aware of that. Nymre was not his weakness, though. She was his weapon, just as she was his lover.

Corvel made a bad first impression, yes. Nymre seemed lazily amused by his attention, He hoped Lorian thought the same. It would be unfortunate, if Corvel became a sliver, which he would want to remove. Given that he thought of Alnam as a bother, it would be a good excuse to send Corvel back to Devlonmere, without giving him a chance.

“So…” the cup was put on the table and Lorian smiled. A slight mock behind it, yet not enough to call it an offense. “The young boy wants to taste the flavors of Dal’coler.”

“He is here exactly for that, Your Majesty. My son is not used to life on the court, though. He is very young.”

Lorian’s smile cracked into something darker.

“Many young fae are not ready. But the circumstances make them willingly open before possibilities.”

Alnam’s brow drifted higher.

“Corvel is very excited, my lord. I do not ask for special favors for him, though.”

“Oh, but he will get them,” Lorian’s gaze slid over Alnam slowly. “A son of my father’s most trusted companion must receive… my most special attention.”

“I hope this won’t bother Your Majesty” Alnam’s serious expression hid his thought inside his head, where no one could gaze into.

“On the contrary! I will adore to offer him the right treatment.”

Nymre’s piercing eyes laid on Alnam. He could swear she tried to dig into his mind and pull his thoughts out.

“Your son is very fine,” she mused. “And he has a taste for beautiful things.”

Lorian sipped the wine again.

“He will see many beautiful things here. But he must be aware that some of them hide claws and sharp teeth. A predatory plants in disguise.” his eyes gleamed with stars. “As you know well.”

Nymre took a small piece of meat on the fork. A small droplet of blood fell from the morsel, just on the plate.

“I can promise you that I will keep a watchful eye on your son” Lorian tapped the surface of the table with his fingers. “And do not allow him to fall prey to dangers of Dal’coler. That is the least I can do to my loyal general.”

Alnam was sure that it was true.

Lorian may not like him, but he would not harm Corvel, just to prove his point. He was not petty, cruel, yes, but not petty. At least that he knew well.

Why did he feel that it all went wrong?

“Is life in Devlonmere treating you well?” Lorian seemed to offer him real attention on the subject. “Narlia… it was too long since I had delight to see her.”

“Narlia perceives pleasures of solitude very personally. They soothe her soul… just as mine.”

“We all sometimes long for loneliness… even if surrounded by miracles and beautiful nightmares.”

Nymre chuckled silently, kindly… but enjoying these words, like she knew some dangerous secrets. Lorian and Nymre… the shadows over Ain’asel… yet never step too far, never crossing boundaries. Deadly. And unpredictable.

His own skills will be very useful here. Lorian looked amused by Corvel’s purity.

And maybe, he involuntarily helps him to grow a stronger spine.

“Who is he?”

The inner garden swallowed them, separating them from the bloodstained chamber, from the tall arches and columns, from… everything. Lorian’s personal garden, which he gave a long time ago to Nymre, so she could keep her ravens here, and rest from the noise of the palace. Filled with rarest flowers, which usually bloomed only in spring – now they bloomed for his winter. Black roses, ashen hellebores, sweetest narials, cruel voarnlons.

Nymre liked the peace of this place. Where she could chew on her worry and feel it even more. Sometimes, she was sure that this place was her personal torment, her beautiful torture chamber.

But now, she felt only the scent of flowers, which Lorian stained with eternity. They were immortal, blooming all the time, the same ones through long years. Lorian liked taking life. And giving it on a whim.

But now, Nymre wasn’t ready to think about those Lorian graced with immortality.

She wanted to know what enemy could stand between their immortality and them.

Possibly many of them. She wondered about which of them Lorian would tell her. She would want all of it. But she knew that he never, ever showed anyone all he knew. To her, in the long gone past, but he changed. She changed. For better and for worse.

Lorian’s lips and hands were still stained with slave’s blood. Her robes, fastly pulled on her body, also were crimson. Somehow this reminded her first visit to Dal’coler, after Lorian claimed the throne. They were so much younger… and she was so drunk with the possibility of the fey king turning his attention on her. Lorian always was different from his father. She never met anyone like him. He was so filled with fire. He took her on the table in his chamber, her skin dripping with wine, which they spilled in reckless passion. So red.

Like blood.

In which they loved to bathe the world.

They reached the bench made of black wood from Harlorn forest, near Shadowlands. The trees there were so filled with magic, that no one used it to build furniture from it. Lorian though, always was different.

He sat on the bench, one foot on the knee, his gaze playful and filled with small glittering stars.

At least not with the void. She hated the void. Especially if it was swallowing him, leaving an empty shell.

“The silence after the sound of death is quite… intoxicating” he mused. She crossed her arms, she didn’t sit. He would again play on her body like on a harp, making her willing. And she wanted information. “I see” he chuckled, and leaned over the back of the bench. “Strong. Determined. I love that, Nymre. Even if it’s turned against me.”

She sighed.

“The Saru spy… a pawn, but well trained by his superiors. Not only a warrior, not only a spy. An assassin” he commented charmingly. Curse you, Lorian Ain’Dal. “He was of course not ordered to kill me. He was ordered to kill the vessel. Quite suicidal target. If he was killed, nothing would stop the first ones from drinking souls half of the Saru in existence. But they preferred to kill half of their people, to only take us with them.”

That was not only suicidal. Mad. Born in the depths of a doomed mind.

Lorian still smiled, like it was nothing. And she read her mind. For trivial thing. But she allowed. Of course he did it.

“You would think that water folk don’t have darkness in them. But they have it, another kind of night. Night that puts one’s head under a blade, to save its companions. A desperate darkness of a martyr. A cruel soul chopping the hand of the executioner, who does the killing blow, even when their head already rolls on the ground.”

“Human terms…”

“Perhaps. But so fitting, my cruel raven. The Saru are used. Used by the ones who want to fill themselves with us. And they will feed on Saru too. But… they prefer death over being our property.”

“Fools.”

Lorian laughed. It was bitter laughter, which she rarely was hearing from him. Filled with ages of unknown pain and struggles. Maybe now it was the time to ask him. To… try her chances. When you started to fear the reply of your own lover?

“I wouldn’t say so, my nymph of blood. Water is a free element. And prefers to drown in its own vastness than allow the dam that would stop it from flowing. And maybe… only maybe… this is what I can use against them.”

“You won’t kill this assassin.”

“I would not go that far,” he chuckled. “What is a spy, what is an assassin, without one, very important trait?”

Nymre lifted her brow. Of course.

“Loyalty” she whispered.

Of course. Yes.

Lorian nodded. His gaze even more playful than before.

“I can put any loyalty into his mind. Since no one knows what I am capable of, no one will suspect him of being beautifully… indoctrinated. His trusted company, his faithful rulers… a hope in eclipse, a parasite inside the womb of everything.”

She released the air that she held in her lungs for too long. She would do the same, if she had his power. She many times relied on double spies. But with Lorian’s ability… it was undetectable, and his loyalty will be completely belonging to Lorian.

Beautiful indeed, in its simplicity.

“Lorian…”

He raised his brow. She approached him, slowly, her wings embraced him, like wanting to hold him forever in her presence. Do not slip away. She looked into his dark eyes, night and shadows incarnate, his power emanating from him, strong, pleasant in taste, beautiful. She shook her head. She had to ask.

“Lorian… I know…” she felt the weight of these words. Heavy like an iron axe pushing through the air between them. When you started to feel that way? His secrets. His mysteries. His all. “I know you suffer.”

His gaze drilled her through. Endless and deep like caverns under the mountains. He loves you. He loves you more than anything. He has the whole world, but it’s you who he wants most. But he suffers. Something is not right. No matter what his lies tell, she knows. They have been together for more than two hundred years. And she feels him more than before, he is already part of her like an iron sliver in her heart, painful but shining with unearthly light. Beautiful like a dying star. Deadly as a wolf’s claw tearing one’s throat.

Hers.

And his own.

He still looked at her, an undeciphered expression, darker than ever. His shadows pulsated around him. Purest dark. Unadulterated. The air around them became thick, so thick she could slice it. Muted, dim. Threatening.

“Lorian… do not…”

She blinked.

His eyes again black void, killing all light around him, leaving black and all-swallowing debris.

“Yes.”

Yes. He said it. He said it for the woods’ sake.

“So tell me. Why. Tell me, or I will move all stones in Dal’coler to find out. I will bury this palace under the snow, if I had to.”

He laughed. Casually, so lightly, like it was a joke, like he always was doing.  But it  sounded too similar to an incoming storm, ready to wipe the whole world. A preparation for a fall. A last blow given to a dying sky.

“Something that shreds my apart, Nymre” his voice low, well-controlled, but deep down, a hate, deep hate for the force that causes him pain… but also hunger for it. She could feel it, as clear as she was seeing his face. “I am dying so I could live.”

“Your mysteries stopped being tempting” her voice was dull and tense. “And became scary. When it stops? Whatever is tormenting you… does it have such power over you? When, Lorian.”

“When my victory is full. When I drink the last drop from their open throats. Last sunlit drop of the golden blood.”

She exhaled. Golden blood. The gods. Something with these cursed gods, who are trapped under the mountain. She didn’t have to ask more. The doom wasn’t coming, even if it was prophecied in those books Lorian dug in the temple. The doom, which should have come long time ago. Lorian really did something vile. Vile for himself, vile for any sensible fae.

He is dying so he could live.

Curse you!

And this was strangely reminding her of the Saru spy. Lorian was ready to bathe the world in blood. But also himself, to only get what he wanted.

She hoped it is worth it.

The flowers around them started to slowly open, attracted by the lies. By the heavy air of the mysteries. They were feeling Lorian’s darkness and his secrets. And they loved it. Now she knew part of it… but she was not happier than before. Less suspicious,  yes, but angrier.

What he was probably doing was sick and mad.

“I won’t stop you, if that was what you thought I will do” her light aura bubbling over his skin. Her anger. Her love. Her. All of her. Her desire and her fear. “Trust me more, for the forest’s sake. I am not one of your slaves, good for bed, but not for sharing anything with them. My eternity is entwined with yours. I hope you didn’t forget, you beautiful bastard.”

Lorian’s gaze drowned in inner shadows, but his smile again present. Maybe some kind of relief in it… or maybe she wanted it be there. Maybe he still hid hundreds of secrets.

But she wanted them all. A burden, but needed one. The angrier she was getting, the more flame she was seeing in Lorian’s eyes. Fierce, warming, pleasing. She felt his black gaze deep in her veins, burning her, filling her… so much.

He always knew ho to fill her.

“It won’t kill me. As long as my power can hold the balance. But the moment will come, when the vessel arrives. It will be very delicate process. They will awake fully – and I will need to hold them down.”

“What do you want to do?” she already knew she won’t find the answer neither satisfactory or relieving.

“I will drink the fire” his grin held an ominous gleam. “I will drink the flame from his veins. To kill the god, one needs to be one of them. I need to be their equal, Nymre. And I know we both won’t like how it will be done.”

His teeth reached her neck and sunk in her flesh, her bloodstained body pressing against him, taking him in, squeezing his shadows out of him straight into herself. He felt every tensed muscle, every drop of sweat over her body. The screams stopped some time ago, replaced by the sounds of his subjects, enjoying the night.

The court was drunk with lust and wine. His beautiful, dangerous court of collarbones and phalanges, of honey and blood. The forest whispered his name, silently, when he climaxed, taking Nymre with himself. His release pushed more shadows into her womb and made her finish too.

“Curse you, Lorian” she murmured into his mouth, when he left a wound on her neck in peace and offered her a shadowed kiss. Deeper than his tongue could reach.

He chuckled into her lips and responded with fire. Once more.

He would abandon himself in her again, if not a noise in the corridors, leading to the ballroom. The fae’s eyes drifted there, as always alert, ready for danger. Ready to respond with even more of it.

His court of death’s hellebores and frozen trees.

And now they all bathed in the spark he ignited.

Nymre raised her hazy eyes, turning her head to the entrance, her whole body crimson. The murmur of the fae sounded like a whisper of the forest as well. Leaves and traveling roots. Rain soaked moss… and falling snow.

Whoever it was, they liked tension. Or were just stupid.

When Lorian thought he would have to drag them by himself into the feasting chamber, the door opened. Wings. Massive, raven-like, black as coal. Slender body, beautiful but in an uncanny, not obvious way. And eyes like green orbs, too big to be beautiful, adding even more unnatural charm to their owner’s features. Light aura repressed, the scent of a stone warmed by the sun in the noon.

Bean Sidhe. Her wings torn in so many places, her skin as well, showing patches of burnt flesh.

Lady Avel.

Sent by him with Nymre’s ravens to have an eye on the vessel.

And she barely made it.

Dragging a tall faery on a silver leash, his eyes white like snow, his body also stained with blood, but wounds not as numerous as Avel’s.

“My lord…” Bean Sidhe coughed and small drops of blue blood left her mouth, dripping down her chin. Just on the not less blood-stained floor.

Lorian looked at her lazily. His one brow lifted with a well-repressed curiosity.

The faery whom Avel brought before him, was tossed mercilessly on the stones. Just over a torn and tormented body of a human Lorian offered to his court. The white eyed looked at it with badly hidden disgust, mixed with fear. Good.

“Yes?” Lorian’s silent voice filled the chamber. Cold like snow in an unknown fairy’s eyes. Nymre smiled at Avel and the faery, running her fingers through Lorian’s hair.

His court looked in no less lazy way at the white eyed one, considering if he is worthy of being interested in or not.

“Your Majesty” Avel eventually reminded herself of her position and fell on one knee, even if her wounds wailed. “The Saru warrior. From Nor’learl. A spy, all the same.”

“How curious…” Lorian’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “And how unfortunate for him.”

Saru lifted his heated gaze at the throne, at Lorian, Nymre, and embraced the court with utter contempt. So bold. And so stupid. Lorian kissed Nymre in the neck, catching a few blue droplets trickling from her wound.

“Is your wish for me to interrogate him, Your Majesty?” Avel pulled the leash, causing the spy to fall back. Nymre looked at him with her ideal, blue eyes, like she wanted to carve a soul from him.

Lorian clicked with his tongue.

“The court is in the mood, Avel. Maybe we should leave this for tomorrow. Tonight, this sweet fool would not survive an hour, not less an amount of time needed to pull information from him.”

One eye of the battered body under Saru’s feet opened. The human slave moaned, his nerves and tendons visible, moving in agony. His mouth catching breath, hopelessly. The spy opened his eyes wider.

Lorian smiled kindly at the Saru warrior. The court around him smelled of blood and dark desire. Like a predatory animal just before attacking its prey. Like a calm before the storm. It had a delicious scent, and he knew that Saru would not survive longer than the flesh which was lying under his feet, mutely begging anyone to end his suffering.

“We are good hosts,” mused Lorian, his fingers digging into Nymre’s exposed skin. “And during the celebration of the New Lunar Year we should be even kinder. Even to a spy, who wanted to know our secrets so badly that risked reaching Dal’coler. I must admit, I am impressed.”

Saru’s gaze filled with both despair and fear… and some kind of bold determination. So beautiful, with a beauty that Lorian was fond of. Harder to break, but the process more fascinating as well.

“Lift him up” Lorian ordered, and Avel obliged. The silver thread around the prisoner’s neck became even tighter., digging hard into his skin “Your boldness is intriguing. I would love to reach deep into the core of it.”

His smile became predatory. Nymre ‘s fingers dragging slowly over his chest, her lips touching his face, her hand delving between his legs – her knowledge how to punctuate his words was flawless… His power trembled around them and shifted, making the air thicker… filled with violets and night. Saru’s eyes now beamed, he had to feel it too.

“Take him somewhere where he can think more about his own courage. Maybe even plan how to use it against me. It will be such a rapture to see how it all fails.”

The fae around him looked at the spy intensely, curious of him. Saru. The race of the morning dew and the starlit ponds. Ain’asel swallowed their realm years ago, but the water folk were amusingly resistant.

“I won’t scream” a melodious voice reached all of them, a rippling of a stream, a sensual touch of a rain over skin. “I may fear and feel pain… but won’t scream.”

Nymre laughed. Like bluebells on the wind.

“Maybe we don’t want to make you scream.”

Lorian’s hand closed over her tight. She growled, approvingly.

“Screams… are beautiful” he smiled, his most tempting smile. “But not needed. Some things are better left for imagination.”

Lorian’s smile was hunger incarnate, when Nymre’s leg rubbed against him, just in the right place. He felt as he becomes hard again, as she was looking with scorn at the the spy, caressing Lorian’s chest, in slow, deliberate way.

Avel pulled the leash and bowing before Lorian again, she dragged the spy to an entrance. Nymre’s eyes narrowed. Her body still heated, but her worries slightly overcoming the heat.

“Saru, Lorian. Here?”

“Oh yes, my raven. It was the matter of time.”

“How did he harm Avel so much?” she didn’t let go.

“So many things to unravel” he purred into her ear. “With him and in him. And in you.”

Nymre sighed again, when his hand closed around her breast, and trailed a path around her nipple.

“You are careless, my lord.”

“On the contrary. Today is a day of victory. But I delved into his thoughts. I know who he is.”

“And?” Nymre’s body pressed against his chest, her hands over his back.

“I will tell you, when having less ears around us’ ‘ he kissed her behind her ear, making her slightly shiver. “Maybe, in the end, we can retreat and disappear… like hunters after a good pursue.”

Her eyes glimmered.

“Allow me to steal you, my raven” he sighed into her hair, inhaling the scent of leaves and moss.

“Always” her lips tasted his, tasted violets and jasmine, tasted his eternal hunger.

And his lies.

His shadows.

His everything.

And she knew that this time, she would know everything.