Melt

In the garden of good and evil, I am the serpent.

There is no atoning for that.

BEFORE

I was there that day. The day the queen of Mythlandria died. I saw what my mother did to her, the poison she used to stain her heart. And I saw the way she manipulated the queen’s young son, Adrius Thanduir of the Elyssium Court, into swearing an oath to her. A boy only a few years older than I was at the time, sworn into an allegiance he couldn’t possibly have understood in the face of such grief.

I didn’t understand it myself. I only knew I hated and feared my mother for it. For making the small boy weep so silently. So uncontrollably. For days on end, until they found him sobbing half-frozen tears, cold and covered with snow, curled up next to his dead mother.

She was responsible. My mother. Queen of the Witches. Only she wasn’t queen, not really. We were not granted any such powers in their realm. In a realm that was governed by the Elves, Witches were considered too dangerous and unpredictable by those in power. They forced us to exist on a small parcel of barren land.

My mother took their meager offerings and created a dynasty. In time, I grew to understand the many reasons why she did what she did. The oppression we were forced to live under. The animosity between our lands. The violence it sparked time and time again. I’d heard it enough to regurgitate every sour word in my sleep. And yet, standing there, almost the same age as that poor little boy, all I could do was weep for him. For his broken heart. For his incredible loss. And for the life he had inadvertently, through no fault of his own, chained himself to.

Mother only slapped me once that day. The slap was for questioning her actions when she boasted about her feat to the others in the coven. If she’d known I’d been there, beyond the icy walls of Noctria, so far from the safety of our home, there would have been several more slaps. Followed by a season’s worth of punishment. I shudder to think what that might have entailed. But I was careful not to get caught. Always was.

I was cautious as a child. And I am even more so now that I’ve turned an age where love potions and wishing spells have suddenly become of interest. The first day I went into the woods alone to seek the boy was no different. I knew he hunted there. I’d been watching him for years. Ever since that day he lost his mother.

Bad description. He didn’t lose her, she was taken from him. My mother killed her. That was the truth, and truth was sorely lacking in my world.

****

This day I feel brave, and I step out of the shadows. After a few awkward exchanges, he stops looking away and holds my gaze, fixing his olive eyes on my emerald ones. His gaze flickers down to my lips, which are widening into a grin.

“Have I seen you before?”

I angle my head to get a better look at him. All tall, lean-muscled, dark-tousled hair of him. He is Elfkind, from Mythlandria. That much is evident by his clothing. And he is a very long way from home. These forests are well guarded by his people, but this far north isn't the sort of place someone of his stature should wander. I glance around. Alone, no less. Curiosity fills me as he bows his head.

“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

My smile stretches wider. “Frighten me?” Magic courses through my veins, and he is worried he'll frightened me. If only he knew so very little did anymore. I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I just thought I was alone.” Well, that’s a lie.

“No one is ever truly alone in the wild. There are eyes everywhere. Even the trees will whisper your secrets if you tell them.”

“I'm not telling any. Not to you or the trees.”

He laughs. “Fair enough then. I am Adrius.” He clears his throat, looking uncomfortable for a moment before adding, “Prince Adrius.”

“A prince. Without his guards? This far from his home? Perhaps it is you who should be frightened.”

Another laugh. I am immediately struck by how incredible his laugh is. For hours that follow, I drown in his laughter and his gaze as we spend time together, talking and exploring the forest around us.

At the end of our time together, he says, “I would very much like to see you again, Isobel. Can I? Can I see you again?”

I twist a lock of hair around my finger and nibble my lip. This will not go over well with Mother. She hates the Elves. Detests everything they are. Just as Elves hate Witches. A relationship with this boy has no chance of survival.

Moments of silence tick by and I’m still unsure. Saying yes isn’t wise. And yet, as I untwine my finger from my hair and let it fall, I say, “I’ll meet you here tomorrow, at sunset.” The words fly out so quickly I have no time to reconsider them.

“Sunset,” he repeats, watching my lips.

I cannot help but purse them for effect. Adrius lowers his head to hide a smile. Turning, I walk calmly back toward my home. I can feel him watching me, and although it gives me a shiver, for the first time in a long time, I feel... warm.

It is in that very moment I fall in love with Adrius, Prince of Mythlandria.

****

Home alone, common sense washes over me. I shouldn’t have gone, not ever, but he fascinates me. Everything from the way his dark hair falls across his hazel eyes when he adjusts his arrow, to the flex of his arm muscles when he draws the arrow tight in the bow.

Those arrows would sail at light speed across the wind, striking their intended target with deathly precision. If only he’d honed that skill as a young boy. Perhaps... No. Those are not thoughts worth entertaining. I would not wish my mother’s life away to save his mother’s. I did not even know them. I don’t know any Elves. It has always been strictly forbidden. And I love my mother. In a way. She’s taught me everything I now know. Everything I now plan to use to get him to notice me.

Forbidden or not, there is something about him that won’t let me stay away. Every day, I sneak back into my room after sundown and vow it’s my last foray into his woods. And every day come sunrise, I trade that vow for just one more look. Just one more peek. Just one more chance.

I shake my head. Chance at what exactly? That he’ll notice me. Desire me? Court me? None of those are likely. Especially if he knew who I was. Who my mother is. He would want nothing to do with me at all, and who could blame him?

But those eyes. They saw so much and held such sadness and pain. I want to help him. I have to help him. And so, in my search for juniper berries for the love tonic, I stray down the long path that will lead me to his usual haunt.

Only when I arrive he isn’t there. No. The tall, swaggering being, cloaked all in black with long, flowing, shockingly silver hair, a steely gaze and angled cheekbones is not the boy I was seeking. He is something else entirely. Equally as handsome, but in a very different way. In a dangerous way. He oozes something that makes my insides feel strange. Good strange.

I inch closer. A twig snaps, and I freeze.

He pauses but doesn’t turn to look in my direction. Instead, he lifts his sword. Massively long and inscribed with all sorts of glowing markings, blue smoke swirls from the gleaming blade, and the air strangles in my lungs.

What to do? Turn and run? Try to hide? I have no chance to make a choice. His sword points toward where I’m crouched in the shrubs.

“I see you there, so you might as well come out,” he says.

His voice. Oh, that voice. Like the chill of ice water running down my spine.

I rise, slowly, still uncertain what this new being might or might not do.

“Hello,” I say, lifting my hands to show I’m not a threat, though I could become one if needed. He is the one armed to the hilt. All I carry are a few spells and incantations that would at best freeze him for a moment and buy me time to run away.

When he turns to face me directly, two massive, black-feathered wings open behind him. They flap twice and then fold behind him, disappearing from sight. As he stands watching me watch him, his silver hair darkens to nightshade.

I suck in a slow breath. Wow. A Shadow Faerie. He has to be. Only they lay claim to such wings and the ability to change their looks with powerful glamour.

He’s impressive. Dark and brooding in an entirely different way than Adrius is. Adrius’s aura is warm, buttery, and it makes me want to melt. This Faerie’s aura is cold, penetrating, turning my blood to ice in my veins.

He doesn’t answer me, but he does lower his sword. His cold eyes travel over me, beginning with my hair, sliding downward, and then slowly back up again. I want to hide, to shield myself from what feels like an invasion of my body and soul.

“And you are?” He speaks with a cool, slightly accented voice.

“Isobel,” I reply. But when his lips curl in a wicked half-grin, I regret it. Names are power to the Fey. Or so I’ve heard. It is difficult to even remember what I know of them, when he is standing there watching me with those eyes of stardust.

“Do you mind?” I finally say, partially shielding my eyes. “You’re being a little invasive, considering we don’t even know one another.”

His brows arch. He seems surprised. I suppose he’s not accustomed to being told what to do. They just do as they please. Must be nice, not to have to be accountable for your actions. I did not share that same luxury. Quite the opposite really. I was held accountable for every action, big or small, intended or not.

His smile grows as his full body scan eases off.

“Thank you,” I say, lowering my hand. “Are you going to tell me who you are, or am I meant to guess?”

He studies me for a moment then takes a few steps closer. “Why not come out into the clear, where we can have a civilized conversation?”

“Said the fox to the hen.” I pause, uncertain. It seems like a poor choice. The better one would be to run home and never return. But I’d tried that before, to no avail. My curiosity will inevitably be the death of me. So I step out of the shrubs, shoving back the thorny branches as they nip at my skin.

Again, he looks me over, but this time there’s a different feel to it. I gesture for him to go ahead. “Your name?”

“You may call me Zanthiel. Knight of the Shadow court.” He dips his head slightly.

I inhale sharply. So, he IS a Shadow Faerie. I knew he had to be dangerous, but a Shadow Fey— This is another level of danger entirely. My very first encounter with a Fey and he’s from the darkest part of Faery. He’s trouble. I was taught to run from trouble. Certainly not to invite it. Yet somehow, I find him... extremely inviting.

“And I find you captivating,” he says, his eyes boring into mine.

Clever trick, reading minds. “Is that so, or is that just something you say to strange girls in the woods?”

“I cannot lie, so it has to be true.” He shrugs with his body, leaning casually against the tree.

My nose wrinkles. “It must be awful to not be able to lie. The truth is always better with a handful of glitter thrown over it. Dress it up a little. Make it shine. I adore lying. In fact, fabricating fiction is what’s kept me alive this long.” I shake my head and laugh, noticing the way he’s looking at me. Noticing it and liking it. “Truly. If I couldn't think fast and come up with a plausible story, just fantastical enough, but not too outlandish to be believable, then my mother’s punishments would be far more severe.”

“So, then, Isobel, I assume you are the trustworthy sort.” He smirks.

I like him from that moment on. Like him far more than I ought to. But there is something so poetic about a pathological liar connecting with someone who is genetically unable to tell a lie. That is Zanthiel. He baffles and thrills and frightens and dares, seduces and soothes with the stroke of a word. And no matter its outcome, you know without question that word is pure truth. With me, it is more likely to be pure fiction. In the moments together with him, I see a reason to be honest. A reason to want to tell the truth, to myself and to him.

“Isobel. I see you’ve met my friend.”

I spin around to face Adrius. My face flushes with heat. Embarrassed by how much I’ve enjoyed meeting his friend.

****

My heart belongs to Adrius. And so I wish I understood why, when Zanthiel offered to escort me home that night, I agreed to it. I wonder why I agreed to so many opportunities to be alone with him. Alone with both of them. I should have chosen one.

Before long, I found myself unable to give up either one of them. When the three of us are together, we have the time of our lives. And when I’m alone with either of them, they complete a different broken part of me.

I was whole with them both. It was foolish and selfish and utterly unrealistic to think that my actions would not have consequences. Dire ones.

In the months that would follow, I ought to have known…the battle, my death, even my reincarnation into pure evil…it all boiled down to the same single weakness, the same fatal mistake.

My inability to choose between them.

There was no way on this side of oblivion that Oberon, King of the Shadow Court, was my father.

Father.

My father.

The words bowled around my head like lead balls.

Oberon.

King of the Shadowworld.

Ruler of the Darkness.

My father—?

Impossible.

There had to be some sick and twisted mistake. Some faerie trickery. Some colossal otherworldly misunderstanding that led to the perfect storm of events that had me locked in this prison, face to face with the being insisting the impossible was true.

Oberon, the man I’d recently come to hate more than any other being in this realm, approached me. “I think you and I should speak.” He said it in the smooth, commanding voice meant to bend others to his will.

He needed to get one thing straight. I was not now, nor would I ever be, one of those others. “Well that’s unfortunate,” I replied, “because I have nothing to say to you.” I twisted my hair around my finger until it formed a perfect curl and tucked it neatly behind my ear. Then I rose to stand on the opposite side of my dining room, putting a small table between us.

I’d been locked in this dungeon—by dungeon, I mean lavish chambers in the tower he’d imprisoned me in—for days now. A cage is a cage. Regardless of how pretty the bars. I’d been trapped here, ever since the epic battle between yours truly and Lorelei. The battle he stopped with his oh-so-nauseating revelation, that she was my twin sister, and he... our beloved father.

Not my best day.

Oberon’s brow furrowed. “How can that be possible, Isobel, when we’ve so much to speak of?”

I raised my hand and turned away from him. “Do not call me that. Not ever.” Then I fixed him with a hard stare over my shoulder. “My name is Venus.”

“Your name is not Venus,” he growled, and his fist met with the hardwood table. The anger that rumbled in his words shook the rafters like thunderous waves crashing against the shore. Almost as quickly, he sighed. “However—” He paused to further reign in his fury, “—if that is the name you feel most comfortable wearing, then I shall use it. Provided you answer to it.”

“Good.” I had no other clever retort where my name was concerned. Isobel was dead. Did he have any idea how depressing it was being called by a dead girl’s name? It was infuriating that he’d meddled in my life to the extent that he had. Breaking the spell binding Adrius to my soul. Revealing that if I killed Lorelei, I would die also. Squelching my powers and locking me in a tower. He was nothing but bad news.

Oberon circled me until we were face to face. “This situation must all be rather difficult for you to assimilate.”

Playing the concerned parent. Truly this man has no shame. I shrugged casually. “Not in the least. Would you like to know why?” I lifted my face to his again, this time with full hatred burning through me. “Because none of it is real. It isn’t true.” I spat the words. “It isn’t happening. And it will be over soon.” It has to be over soon.

Oberon's gaze hardened. “You will always be my child. Lorelei will always be your sister. It will not ever be over, daughter, because this is your reality now.”

I wave a dismissive hand as I put more distance between us. “Listen. I can appreciate the fact that you, along with everyone else in this world, wants to serve and protect the angelic Lorelei from any harm. However, none of that is proof that I am, in some sick and twisted way, related to her.” I eyed him up and down and made a face. “Or you either.”

Oberon moved to the far side of the room. With the snap of his fingers a pitcher of water was curried in, along with two goblets and a platter of food.

I was ravenous, but I would never let on. I was a prisoner here. I was being held as one, so I would act as one.

Turning away, I inspected my fingernails. They were cracked and brittle. Yellowed from too much use. Too little life. Dead. Like the rest of me.

“You must be hungry.”

“Wrong again,” I lied. “You are on a roll though, aren’t you? Wrong at every turn.”

He didn’t reply, but when he lifted the domed silver lid, the most incredible scents wafted toward me. He’d arranged to have all my favorite foods delivered. Manipulative monster. I folded my arms. Stubborn pride made me want to refuse his food alongside his allegations, to spit both of them back at his smug face, but my stomach made the most unappealing plea to be fed. Why suffer more than I already am? I decided as I inched forward.

He pulled out a chair for me. “Please, do sit so we can be comfortable.”

I took the chair from him and moved it as far away from his as possible while still being in reach of the food causing excess saliva to fill my mouth. Then I sat down, grabbing a warm biscuit as I did. Taking three rapid bites, I sat back and watched him. This man. This king of the darkest part of the forest. This Shadow Faerie claiming to be my father. Ridiculous.

I chewed silently as I studied his features. His eyes were dark. Like hers. His soul was also dark. Like hers. They could be related. He and Lorelei. We... could not.

Oberon watched me chew like a wild animal for a time, then said, “You must have questions of me.”

I shook my head, cramming another mouthful of bread to make speaking difficult.

“I know that you do. Let me begin answering the ones I can read, until you are ready to voice them yourself.”

I sat and listened as he pulled thoughts from the recesses of my mind. Thoughts I’d all but buried in an unmarked grave in my head.

“You are questioning how any of this could be true, and Venus—” He leaned forward in earnest, “—it is true.” He leaned back and templed his fingers. “A part of you knows this.”

My gaze fell away. It was an odd sensation being pried into in such a fashion. The last faerie to do that to me was Zanthiel. No coincidence they were both of the same sort. Cold and calculating. Dark and depraved. Shadow Fey.

I snorted and continued to nibble on my bread, while reaching for a handful of berries. Yet every muscle inside me was clenched in... anticipation. Why was it so difficult not to care what this man was about to reveal? It was all a lie. Every word of it had to be.

Except, I knew that couldn’t be. Faeries were unable to lie. One of their sole redeeming qualities, if one considered honesty worthy of redemption. I personally thought it overrated, but nevertheless, facts were facts. My stomach soured a little as the realization set in. Everything he was going to say would be truth. My truth. And it made me want to shove this sourdough biscuit into his mouth to prevent him from uttering one single word of it.