The Savage and the Swan

by Ella Fields

  When I imagined it’d been Fang’s cruel yet sensuous mouth to grace my skin, and his fingers so delicate at the arch of my ear.

  Opening my eyes, unsure when I’d closed them, I folded the mended cloak in my lap and leaned my head against the glass window. I wondered what Fang was doing, what his beastly king might have him do on a daily basis, and if he’d been amongst the murderers in the village town and Spring Forest.

  Two attacks. Both brutal and swift and close together.

  A thud on the door interrupted my fear-spiked thoughts, followed by another. I climbed down and sped across the room, knowing the scent on the other side did not belong to my parents nor any of our staff.

  “Good evening,” the prince said, fine lines deepening around his eyes and his hair finger-worn. “I do hope it’s not too late, but I’ve come for my cloak.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  He nodded, his gaze never quite meeting mine. “Yes, it was foolish to come in times such as these.” A wan smile wriggled his lips. “My mother always chides me for being too curious for my own good. An adventurous spirit.”

  I could empathize, so I smiled and handed his cloak to him. “I’ve repaired it.”

  The prince nodded once more, unfolding the cloak to look for where the tear had been while I leaned against the wood and studied him beneath the glow of the flames in the sconces on either side of the door. His low lashes shadowed his cheeks, mouth pressing into a thin line. “It probably isn’t wise, as I’m sure my father has told you, to be leaving—”

  The prince’s eyes jumped from the mended tear to mine, wide and dark. “Gold.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He tapped a nail upon the tear, and we both heard the tiny clink before he shook the cloak at me, blinking fast. “The stitching, your stitching, it’s…” He gulped. “It’s gold.”

  No.

  I could feel my face drain as I snatched the cloak and fumbled for what I’d done.

  But there it was. Each perfect stitch was thick, woven gold.

  Shit. I swallowed down the shock, the shame, the scared little youngling I’d once been that tried to resurface. “It would seem I chose the wrong color,” I muttered, hoping he’d buy the excuse.

  Scowl deepening, he fastened his eyes upon the cloak, evidently unsure.

  “Excuse me while I see if I can have this undone.” I could undo it myself, but I raced past him and down the stairs in search of my mother in the tower opposite mine.

  Down the shadowed hall and up the stairs I flew, the heavy skirt of my tulle gown catching on the stones, causing me to stub my bare toes. Opening the door, I found their chambers empty and backed into the small entryway, my heart a lump of un-beating fear in my chest.

  My father caught me as I descended and rounded the last of the stairs, eyes bright as they drank me in and sensed what I couldn’t say. Gazing behind him, he then tugged me to a nearby cleaning chamber, tucked away from the meager light.

  “Look at me, honey bee. Watch.” I did, as I always had, while he made his eyes change from a deep green to gold and then to brown. Such antics had me in fits of giggles as a youngling, and as I’d grown, they had helped temper the storm inside me. The wild that awaited and sometimes insisted on release. His presence alone—the time he’d spend with me regardless of the reason—was usually enough to distract me.

  It wouldn’t work now. We both knew it, and after minutes of feeling my breathing quake, breaking over my lips, he released me and stepped back. “Go. Run.”

  So I dropped the cloak, and I did.

  It wasn’t safe to be leaving the castle right now. I knew that, and so did he. But I had to. The alternative, according to him and my mother, was far worse.

  Racing out of the kitchen’s exit once more, I then checked for soldiers on patrol and waited until their torches faded before taking off through the vegetable garden and into the fields beyond.

  Gold.

  The look of awestruck horror on the prince’s face. The consequence of releasing such a secret into our world… I ran faster, harder, my blood pressing at every vein, each muscle tightening and bending.

  It had first happened when I was young. I’d been mending my mother’s favorite plum gown, the silken one she’d said had been my brother’s favorite, and with images of her serene smile, the portraits of them together, it had just… happened.

  I’d been excited, so sure she’d be pleased by what I’d somehow managed to do, but she and my father had looked at one another with fear-bright eyes and had then warned me to never speak of it.

  To never do so again.

  For years, I hadn’t been permitted to mend a thing until one day, I’d done so against their wishes—proving to them that indeed it wouldn’t happen again.

  They hadn’t seemed to believe me, but once satisfied that no sign of gold was amongst the thread, they’d nodded and said to confine any mending I did to my quarters.

  It was in our blood, a part of our souls, to heal and build and repair and create and amplify growth. We could seldom keep it contained to nature. It was a song in our hearts, and when that song demanded freedom, it was painful to ignore its call. Just as it grew painful now to ignore the pounding rhythm inside me that begged to be set free.

  I ignored it—I had to as I rushed through the forest, bounding over the familiar path and around each well-known boulder and snare.

  I knew before I ducked under the small opening and crawled to my feet inside the cave that he wasn’t here.

  Still, I climbed through the tree to sit atop it, and there, I saw what had the townsfolk boarding up their shops and homes.

  Blood.

  Starlight twinkled over the water’s dark surface, highlighting the darker strands marring it that wove along it like slithering snakes in search of a never-ending feast.

  He wasn’t here. He wouldn’t be coming.

  And instead of thinking about every horrific reason, I allowed the current inside me to pull me down.

  And inside that darkness, I let go.

  Mother was waiting in my rooms when I returned with the rising sun, her voice solemn. “Do you know what you have done?”

  I shook out my hair and dragged my fingers through it, the glimmering blue that hung from the twisting wooden posts of my bed shielding my mother’s expression.

  “Of course, she knows,” my father said from behind me, and I stumbled back into my bedchamber, taking in the weary lines of his face. “She’s sealed our fates.”

  Though his words struck through me like a dull blade, there was no anger to his tone, only soft resignation. Eyeing his armor and the sword at his side, I asked, “Where are you going?”

  “The prince and his men await us outside the city. We’re to escort them back to Errin.”

  “You can’t,” I said, panic scratching at my voice. “It’s not safe.”

  “Nowhere is safe,” he grumbled, then forced a smile into place when my face fell. Collecting me close, he murmured against my hair, “Look at me, honey bee.” Inhaling his scent, the blueberries I knew he kept tucked in a pouch upon his weapon holster, I met his tired green eyes. “Be brave.”

  My mother followed him out, leaving stifling worry in her wake. It clouded the room, my mind, and I was thankful when Linka entered to take me away from it. “Come, now. It’s just a quick journey south.”

  I nodded, my arm in hers. From the balcony of my parents’ rooms, Linka and I watched as my father, atop his midnight stallion, took flight with his soldiers and disappeared beyond the gathering dust.

  Dusk rolled over the hillside, dragging day into deep pinks and oranges to gift to the growing night.

  This time, he was there, and upon seeing the sword resting against the rocky wall of the cave, I paused, picked it up, and then I waited.

  “Sunshine,” he said with feigned cheer as if I was anything but a heavy rain cloud. His boots hit the tree with a mighty thump that shook the dirt above my head, his steps lazy yet quick as he approached
the mouth of the cave. “We need not train if you—”

  As soon as he entered, I leaped at him, and without enough warning to remove his weapon, he ducked just in time to avoid losing precious strands of that creamy blond hair. “Opal.”

  I ignored him, ignored the sound of my name on his lips that made it sound more than the simple thing it was. “Fight.”

  After staring at me for unbending, fracturing moments, his blue gaze darkened. Finally, he unsheathed his sword. “Did someone piss you off?”

  I didn’t want to talk. Doing so would only lead to more anguish, more anger, as his people continuously slaughtered my own as well as humans, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care that their hatred, their malice, their greed, and their cruelty had pulled my family apart and would soon have us begging at the feet of mortals for refuge.

  Refuge they now wouldn’t give because of me, because in their eyes, all of us were monsters, abominations not to be trusted.

  No, this crimson male didn’t care at all.

  I struck again, and our swords met in the air, moonlight flaying off the blades as they slid and then clashed between us. “Opal,” Fang said once more, but I didn’t take my eyes off his blade as I stepped back. “Fuck, what’s gotten into you?”

  I couldn’t talk to him. I shouldn’t have even been associating with him. No matter how innocent it seemed.

  “Sunshine?” A question containing a softness that could be mistaken for concern.

  I couldn’t kill him. Even if I could, I wasn’t ready to kill anyone, and we both knew it.

  So I dropped the sword, and this time, I was the one to leave without looking back.

  Guards were stationed on every corner outside the castle gates, many giving me disapproving glances as I moved through the bustling market quarter of the city toward the square.

  I deserved their disapproval, most certainly, but not for any reason they knew.

  They clearly thought it absurd that my mother would allow me to venture into the city streets, swallowed up by carriages and wagons ambling behind horses over the cobblestone and the vendor carts squatting before each alleyway.

  But my mother, who’d been confined to her rooms since my father had left, didn’t know.

  “We have enough seedlings to last through the winter, my princess,” Linka said beside me, her hands wrung tight around her empty shopping basket. “Herbs, too. Whatever else you might need, we can fetch for you.”

  I wasn’t here for any of those things, and she soon discovered that as we crossed the square and headed straight for a dark alley. We walked to its end, the creek whispering through gnarled bushes on the other side unable to mask the scent of aged wine and roses.

  I refrained from wrinkling my nose as we stood before the black-painted door pressed between a stone arch. The rock exterior was darker here, more of a creamy brown, some stones struck through with black rot and drooping, leafy vines. A stark comparison to the moonstone white and overflowing trellises throughout the rest of the city.

  The door knocker was shaped into the head of a serpent, a sun rising in the copper plaque behind it. Our royal crest. Although she was an entity larger than any royal framework, she’d served Sinshell for hundreds of years. Though the curious would wonder whom it was that truly gained from her line of work.

  I wrapped my hand through the metal, felt the rumored tingle right down to my fingertips, and then released it to thunk against the door.

  “Princess,” Linka hissed, belatedly realizing where we stood—whose door we stood before. “I forbid you to—”

  “Wait here,” I said and moved inside when the hinges creaked and the door opened on its own. Guilt punched at my stomach, but I’d needed an escort for the sentinels at the gates to so much as consider allowing me a brief absence from the castle, and though she’d protested, it had to be Linka.

  I couldn’t chance bringing anyone else.

  The door closed soundlessly behind me, candlelight flickering and climbing from the half dozen giant candles perched upon the book-lined walls. I took three steps forward to stand on a shaggy patch of emerald carpet.

  Wreathed in a fading patch of sunlight that cut through the red glass window to her left, the ruby-eyed female crossed her legs in the generous throne-styled chair behind her oversized desk.

  “Bright one,” the serpent sorceress crooned, the two glowing white snakes upon her shoulders stirring. “I’ve been waiting some time for you.”

  She’s sealed our fates.

  “Really?” Swallowing over the knot in my throat, I lifted the hood of my gray cloak from my head and tucked my hands within its folds to hide their trembling. “Then I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  The sorceress hummed as though she didn’t believe me. A plate of cherries sat before her, the snakes curled beneath her voluminous waves of burgundy hair growing still. “You’re too late.”

  I blinked, then frowned. “You said you’ve been waiting.”

  “Indeed, I was, but you kept me waiting too long.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” she purred and stabbed a cherry with a toothpick. “Someone paid me a visit before you, and now I no longer hold the cards to your fate.”

  “How?” I asked, all the while something nudged at my muddied mind, piecing my confusion into something that shot an arrow of fear into my heart.

  “You know how, little Princess. The creature who visited me?” Chewing the cherry, she grinned, the blood-ripe fruit staining her serpentine smile. “Well, your fates are intertwined.”

  Rocks pelted my stomach, roughening each slow breath.

  Knowing I’d get nothing else from her, I inclined my head and made to leave when the locks clicked into place over the door. “Payment.”

  “But I did not have my fate told,” I needlessly said, my fingers curling into my palms. Of course, she’d try to take something from me. No one stepped foot inside her den without leaving something of themselves behind.

  “But you did. It may just take you longer to understand what the stars have planned for you.”

  My eyes widened, then shut, and I was thankful my back was turned so she couldn’t see. “I’ll send you any coin you desire.”

  “You know it is not coin I desire, my bright flame. Ten drops should suffice.” I whirled to face her, my chest hollowing when she tapped the large black goblet upon her golden desk, then pushed the small knife toward me. “Ready when you are.”

  Tempted to close my eyes, I dug the point into the palm of my hand, ignoring the sting as I made a fist. The sorceress’s gaze was not upon the blood falling drop by drop into the goblet but on my face.

  Her head tilted when I caught her eyes, and her lips curved briefly, too brief to be considered a smile, her ruby eyes darkening a shade. “You look just like her.”

  Taken aback, I asked, “Who? My mother?”

  The sorceress snatched the goblet, and I was glad, for I’d lost count of how many drops I’d given it. “Do give her my warmest regards.” She rose and twisted away from her desk, the heads of her snakes lifting.

  Not wanting to see what she had planned for my blood, I hurried out of her hovel.

  “What in the stars has gotten into you?” Linka waited to whisper at me until we’d crossed back through the square, her once pink face now white. “You do realize who that was.”

  “Of course, I do.” I lifted my hand, the cut already healing, for emphasis.

  Stunned, Linka waited until we’d breached the waning crowds lining the street outside the shoe store. They were holding a sale—likely worried their creations would be spoiled should war creep closer to our doors and wanting to gather whatever coin they could. “Well, what did she say, then?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” she almost squeaked. “You do not visit the sorceress and leave with nothing.”

  Sighing, I blew some loose tendrils of hair from my face and righted the hood of my cloak. Even with it on, some still recogniz
ed me, but by the time they did, I was wading past them, too fast to chase down and greet or bow to. “She couldn’t tell me my fate,” I acquiesced. “She’s already handed it to someone else.”

  Linka’s arm tightened around mine as we climbed the small, steep hill to the castle gates, its moonstone rising high above the city and farms beyond. Another sun to blind us all. “Who would come looking for your fate?”

  “I don’t know, but probably no one,” I said, having already wondered the same thing myself. A nod to the guards, and they let us in. “Whoever it was merely came looking for their own.”

  Leaving her inside the foyer to tend to the rest of her duties, I wandered to the library on the second floor, hoping the crackling of the fire and the treasure trove of books with their worn lettered spines would calm the rising wave within me.

  I should’ve known it wouldn’t. Placing the ancient history text upon the marble table, I gazed at the silver gilded portrait of my father and mother with Joon, my late brother. Their lips were slightly curved, but all three sets of eyes were smiling.

  Another portrait, sans Joon and instead with a tiny me, sat upon the opposite wall.

  As I looked at the paintings, at our similar gold eyes and hair, I tried to ignore the empty gazes—the lack of smiling eyes other than my own—and counted back the hours since my father had left.

  The hollowing inside me yawned wider.

  Soon. He’d return soon. The journey to Errin was a two-day ride unless he’d chosen to travel through the human lands and deliver the prince and what remained of his entourage straight to the king and queen’s door.

  A thud came from upstairs, followed by the rare sound of my mother shouting at someone. Whispers sounded from down the hall, murmured concerns and demands between the staff.

  My eyes fell closed, the room suddenly too hot, too sweltering and small.

  “Not now,” I groaned between clenched teeth.

  It didn’t listen. I didn’t listen.

  I didn’t run. Determined to beat the instinct this time, I walked, and when I reached the northernmost woods, I realized too late that I couldn’t give in to it if I wanted to.