BEYOND THE FOREST — an extract

The whispered words from her dream woke her. 

      'Steady.'

      Though his voice was familiar now it did little to comfort her. Her gaze fell to the dark spaces between the trees. Nothing stirred in those shadows.  The faery retracted his hand from her shoulder and rolled back onto his heels, then moments later he offered her a steaming cup of tea. She accepted it quickly, cradling the warmth as she took long gulps. It helped stay off the chill, though not completely. She inched closer to the fire and watched as the rider stirred the porridge pot, the steam pluming in the crisp air.

      They'd woken earlier than usual, the first rays of dawn's light trickled through the branches. Something told her their journey was nearly over, intuition stirring in her gut.

      'Are we close?' she asked.

      The faery nodded, his death-black eyes holding her gaze. As if he was studying her, to see if she'd run again, would try to attempt another escape. Annora couldn't deny that the thought had crossed her mind but she wasn't that foolish, not this time. Not when it was so cold that her joints ached.

      They ate in silence and she watched as the morning light revealed the depths of the pine forest; surrounded by trunks, each direction looking the same, the rough ground covered in a dusting of snow, collecting in small patches where it had managed to break through the branch-ceiling. It had only snowed once in Stonegate, she'd been seven. The whiteness had blanketed the town and fields, trapping people within their homes. She'd chased Ansel around the garden, had dived into the drifts, had formed shapes and figures only to destroy them or watch them melt. It had lasted a day and had made her ill for a week.

      She knew this snow wouldn't fade as quickly, not this far north. Guessed that it would be the sun that made a rare appearance. She already missed the heat of it, the warmth of the evening sun on her face, on the grass. Missed watching the sunrise over the hills as she walked to the priory with Maeven.

      After a brief moment to freshen up, they were back in the saddle. The muted colours of the forest flashed past as the horse continued on its unseen path. The wind tore at them, rustled the pines and the drifts of snow, and each breath of cold air hurt her teeth, pulled the chill deeper within her. So Annora was grateful when the faery huddled closer, when he wrapped his arms around her body and lent her his warmth.

      It was midday when the forest finally spat them out, discarding them into a white tundra. Weeks they'd spent caged amongst those trunks but the relief she'd expected didn't come, instead her nerves grew. The horse paused for a moment, the rider leaving the saddle to adjust the creature's blinders and Annora found herself squinting.

      Dazzling whiteness spread out before her, covering everything except a river that cut through the landscape. The sky was heavy with clouds, blotting out the sun as even more snow fell. The harsh peaks of mountains rose up in the distance, their dark stone visible through the flurry and expanse of snow. Nestled against the belly of the rock rested a city, the dark brick and amber lights easily spotted in the colourless landscape. And above that city, set into the mountain itself, rested a fortress. Thick walls and spiked turrets protecting the castle behind it. There was nothing elegant or pretty about that building, it was nothing like the palaces she'd grown up visiting and attending court in. No bright colours or luxurious windows, just bone-white stone towers connected by walls. As bleak and deadly as the landscape; the Castle of Aelcrest.

      Dread crept through her, pressing down on her like hands.

      The rider lifted himself back into the saddle and once he was settled, though she already knew the answer, she asked, 'Is that it?'

      'Yes.'

      'How long until we get there?'

      'A few more hours.'

      Annora went silent, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. Behind those walls was the king that her family had traded her to. She could only imagine what kind of creature he would be if he had chosen this wasteland as his home. She wanted to beg the rider to tell her something, to glean even the smallest piece of information about the king but he spoke before she could.

      'I'm sorry.'

      Sorry? But before she could speak, he'd grabbed her. The rough fabric of a hood scrapped against her face as she struggled in his grip. It was futile. The ends were pulled shut and darkness surrounded her. The rider's arms circled her, binding her wrists together in well-practiced movement. When he was done, he spoke, his voice muffled through the hood.

      'I am sorry but these were my instructions.'

*

The hood wasn't removed. She saw nothing through the thick material, no light, not even shadows. She had no sense of time or place and could only assume that the rider had ridden across the vast expanse of snow to the castle resting in the mountains. The wind had freely assaulted them and Annora felt the snow cling to her body, melting and refreezing against the wools and furs. There had been no ceremony when they arrived, just noise and bustle. After weeks of travel the sound of people, of a busy household, crashed against her ears.

      She was lifted from the horse and carried. The rider's shoulder digging into her stomach, the pain of each stride knocking the breath from her. But that pain had been a welcomed distraction from the fear that coursed through her. He'd taken her straight to the king. Annora had heard music, lively and proud. Music for dancing to. It had floating down corridors, grew louder with each turn the rider took, until it blared in her ears. She'd smelt the heavy scents of perfumes, been surrounded by the warmth and rustle of bodies until there was a sharp command, hurried movement, the thud of heavy doors and then silence.

      The rider righted her, catching her when her legs threatened to give out after hours of hard ridding. There was a crash of metal, like coins in a pouch and then the king spoke.

      'Right on time. Well done, Rider.'

      That voice was deep and grating, almost feral. Fear pricked over Annora's skin at the sound of it.

      'Let me see her.'

Brightness overwhelmed Annora as the hood was ripped off. Blinking, a grand hall appeared around her, with white stone walls and dark-glass windows. Everything seemed to shimmer in the light of the hanging candelabras. A king and queen sat before her, their thrones raised off the marble floor. A lone prince stood where the rest of the royal family should of. They all gleamed with gold, as if it was woven into the fabric of their fine clothes.

      She'd never seen a king like him, wild and feral as if tamed only by the crown upon his head. He was very different from the woman at his side; he was white-skinned, silver-haired, with frosted eyes while his wife was warm, her skin brown, eyes a deep amber and her greying hair retaining its hues of red. The prince was an almost perfect blend of his parentage and equally as frightening. He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed somewhere else, eyes forward and face blank as if he was bored.

      This was who she'd been sold to. This was who owned her. Whose disposal she was at. Whose mercy.

      'Bring her closer,' the king said. The rider guided her forward, holding her still as she was inspected.

      'So this is the seventeenth daughter of the Ainsworth line. What is her name?'

      'Annora,' the rider answered for her. The king nodded.

      'Was your journey pleasant, girl?'

      Annora didn't respond and despite her fear, she held his gaze. Even as she felt the brush of his magic against her skin, as her cloak fell from her shoulders and revealed the shape of her. As her hair was freed from its plait, the copper-blonde waves falling around her in a dirty and tangled mane. She held his icy gaze even as his lips twisted in a wicked smile, revealing his points incisors.

      She knew what that smile meant, she knew what it meant to have no name and no voice amongst powerful men and kings but had never thought it would happen to her. Had never thought she'd helpless in a kingdom that didn't recognise her name and didn't care too.

      'Did she behave herself?'

      'For the most part.'

      The king lent forward, his eyes narrowing. 'Go on,' he said through tight lips.

      The rider paused for a moment, his hand twitching on her shoulder before answering. 'There was an incident on the second night. She waited until I was asleep and ran, she didn't get far. There was no issue after that.'

      The king stood, his eyes locked on Annora. 'Do you know what a blood-bargain is, girl?'

      Again, she didn't answer and he strode forward, taking her face in his hand. The rider stepped back with a bow, his lost presence reaffirming how vulnerable she was. The king sneered at her, baring his teeth like a wolf. Then pain flashed through her legs and her knees gave away. She let out a hiss as she struck the hard floor, her bound hands unable to catch her in time. The burn of his magic lingered in her long after the pain faded, the taste of it coating her tongue. Still, he held her face, forcing her head back to keep his gaze.

      'You belong to me, girl. I could do whatever I wished to you,' he lent closer, the musky scent of him filled her nostrils, 'I could tear you apart and stitch you back together, if I desire to. I -'

      'Father?'

      The king paused though his grip on Annora's face didn't relax as he straightened and turned to his son. A long moment passed between the king and the prince, Annora forced to stare at the ornate ceiling, the candle flame casting shadows against the plaster. Then the king released her. With deliberate steps he circled her, pausing behind her and twisted a hand through her hair.

      'I stand corrected, you belong to my sons. But my point still stands, if you run again your punishment will make you crave death.' Then he shoved her head forward, fingers delving deep within her knotted hair and cut a lock free with a blade from his waist. It was sudden and she resisted the urge to touch her scalp, to find the remains of her severed lock. Instead she watched as the king returned to his throne, her hair twisted around his fingers. She tried to suppress her revulsion as he lifted it to his nose and inhaled, smiling as he breathed in her scent. 'Your ancestors traded you for wealth and good-fortune, a trade bound by blood. There is nothing in this world that can break that contract, not even your death.'

      He didn't need to remind her that she was nothing, that she had no power and that even her will was not her own. She'd had weeks with the rider to come to terms with what that bargain had meant for her, though no amount of time had prepared her for the reality of it.

      'May I?' the prince asked.

      'Do I need to remind you of the bargain's conditions?' the king sneered. The prince shook his head. 'Then do with her what you will and when your brother returns, she will pass into his care. If you do not claim her first.'

      The prince bowed and then went to Annora. He lifted her to her feet with ease. With a hand on her elbow he took her away from the king, from the rider, and towards a servant's door. Other faeries were waiting behind it, their uniforms simple and clean, and at the prince's command they cut through the rope that held her hands together. He started walking without word and the servants followed, herding her with them.

      Annora observed the prince as they snaked through tight corridors and began to ascend twisting staircases. He was large, tall and broad, and if he'd been human, he would have been handsome with his wide and defined jaw, cropped chestnut hair and his lake-blue eyes. But they were the eyes of a faery, their colour unnaturally bright and danced when their magic rose. His pointed ears stuck out from under the small circlet that sat upon his head. She noticed that he wore a soldier's boot rather than a courtly shoe, as if like his father, he was trapped by a royal crown. But as they continued to climb her attention fell to the steps, her legs shaking with the strain, threatening to give way and send her toppling backwards.

      The stairs seemed endless, rising up and up, the tight stone walls brushing against her shoulders. The prince's pace didn't slow and Annora forced herself onwards, almost crawling to keep up, the servants presence pushing her onward. She was sweating when the stairs finally ended and they squeezed through a hidden door and onto a landing. A large set of double doors revealed the entrance to the prince's quarters. The doors opened with a hum of magic. It scratched at her skin as she was marched over the threshold.

      Everything was dimly lit, candles flickering amongst the shadows. They didn't linger in the curved foyer, and Annora briefly glimpsed the night's darkness and snow through the tall windows. She was taken to a washroom, the prince having vanished through another door, where the servants wasted no time in stripping her.

      The light from two candelabras revealed a bronze bathing-tub filled with water. There was no cotton lining, no steam or sweet-smelling soaps. With cold hands and blank faces, they forced her in. The icy water bit at her flesh, knocked the breath from her lungs as they pushed her to her knees and began their uncaring ministrations. They left no part of her untouched. Their coarse sponges scraped against her skin, their fine-toothed combs clawed at her scalp. Once they were satisfied, they wrapped her in a towel and took her to the prince.

      They knocked before entering.

      'Leave us,' he said to the servants. They did as commanded and closed the door behind them, trapping her. They'd brought her to his bedroom. It was elegantly decorated with tapestries, rugs and furs, all keeping away the chill. The fire blazed brightly, casting the room in an amber glow, and the bed in the room's centre.

      Fear quickened her pulse and she held the towel tighter. She hadn't expected this so soon; had expected a dungeon cell or a late-night visit. But not to be brought to his bed like a stolen bride. The prince said nothing as he moved through his room, as he opened draws and rummaged through them. Annora was aware of every scrape of wood, every rustle of material, fearing whatever he would produce. For him to reveal whatever desire he had for her, that he would inflict on her.

      He approached her with a neatly folded bundle.

      'Put these on,' he said.

      After a moment's hesitation she took the clothes and the prince turned away, busing himself with the fire. She waited a breath before inspecting the bundle, her nerves eating her from within. But the clothes he'd given her turned out to be woollen night-clothes, their cotton lining worn but still wearable. Not flimsy lace or soft satin but clothes designed to stay off the chill.

      Annora pulled them on quickly, ignoring the wave of gratitude that flooded her as the soft material clung to her body, trapping the heat that tried to escape. Ignored it as warmth returned to her after weeks of coldness. Draping the towel round her shoulders to catch the water still dripping from her hair, she told the prince she had dressed. He looked at her briefly, bright eyes holding her gaze for a moment before crossing the room and opening the door.

      'Come with me,' was all he said. She did as she was told. His chambers appeared to be empty, still shrouded in shadow and he led her down a curved corridor and to the room at its end. It was another bedroom, not a fine as his, and not as warm. A small fire burnt low behind a grate and he went to tend to it.

      'You will sleep here,' he said with his back to her. Once he was satisfied with the flames he retreated, pausing only to say, 'Someone will come for you in the morning.'

      'Wait,' she stammered as he crossed the threshold. He paused, watching her with curious eyes. But she couldn't find the words, couldn't bring herself to ask what he was going to do with her. Couldn't give sound to the dread growing inside her.

      He lingered a moment longer, reaching for the door handle. 'You should sleep, you must be tired.'

      But she needed to know, 'When will you come for me?' she blurted.

      His face twisted in disgust, his grip on the door handle tightening. Annora watched, waited, frozen like a hunter waiting for a deer to bolt. Through gritted teeth, he said, 'I have no interest in humans.'

      The door thudded shut behind him. She remained standing, rooted to the spot, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. She didn't believe him, wasn't foolish enough to let herself believe him. She knew how men thought, how they acted. Had heard plentily of tales to know how this was to play out, if not now but soon. It would be no different with this faery prince. But there was something in his voice that left room for doubt, that made her climb into the bed when her back and legs ached so badly she had to lay down. Something about him made her doubt everything. But in spite of it, she kept herself awake, even when her thoughts drifted and her body sang in relief, as the warmth tried to lull her to sleep.

      She knew it was only a matter of time. Knew that she was amongst monsters. She'd heard the stories, had grown up with them. Knew that their pretty faces and promises couldn't be trusted. Knew it all to be a façade for the cruelty that lived within them; their perverse need to torment and kill. She knew this was how they tricked you, with sweet foods, delicate flowers and luxurious comforts, and despite it all, exhaustion clawed at her. Her anxiety and dread faded just enough for sleep to claim her.