Warhammer (CH5) (Patreon)

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“Stop scowling.” Morgaine said, glancing at Beatrice. They were seated across from each other in the carriage, drawn by two kelpies—shape-shifting creatures that could take the form of horses. Though they appeared docile and beautiful, they were extremely dangerous. The children were forbidden from nearing them on their own. “You have your father’s protection.” She continued. “And he’s the High King’s most favoured. Nothing will happen—long as you’re sensible.”

The girl didn’t answer, leaning her chin on her palm and staring wilfully out of the window. Her siblings were ignored too; the laughing and tittering twins, and Hawke, who looked at her as if he wanted to reassure her. The four of them had grown close with their blue-skinned little brother, worn down by his genuine nature and desire for family. There was some pity there too, since the children of the court kept their distance from him. For various complicated reasons.

It was past midnight when they arrived at the summer palace. His majesty Aranthir of the White Flame, ruler over the lands of Lyath’Belanore, would remain here until the start of fall, tending to his subjects. It was a traditional way of governing—tarrying in each of the four territories for a season.

Travelling through dimly-lit, twilight forests—somehow seeming to have captured the rays of the setting sun, despite it having long-since disappeared—they eventually arrived at the foot of the crystalline citadel. It floated in the sky, like something out of a dream, on the other side of a starry abyss. A gushing fountain, like a reverse waterfall, bridged the gap, the vaporous mist sparkling with the colours of the rainbow. It was a majestic sight, even for Annwyn, and one not many fae would ever get to see.

With no hesitation, the kelpies leapt into the waterfall, their legs morphing into long fins. They covered the distance so fast that the passengers barely had time to enjoy the view before the were inside the waterways. The flowing current snaked through ethereal gardens, leading into a tunnel of glimmering rock-salt, opaque and pinkish.

Coming to a stand-still next to a flight of carved, spiralling stairs, the carriage bobbed slowly in the water. The door swung open on its own and Morgaine got out, as indifferent as if she’d just gone for a ride around their estate. Hawke followed her, leaping deftly across the gap. He looked like he was forcing himself not to run off immediately to see the castle. They’d attended plenty of parties and balls, but it was their first time here and he was bound to be curious.

Thalion glanced over his shoulder, one foot on the stairs. He hadn’t ridden with them inside, but held the reigns, even though the kelpies were fine on their own. It was another of his kindnesses, Bee suspected. He knew there wouldn’t be much conversation with him present.

“His majesty is expecting me.” He said in his melodious voice. “Enjoy the ball.” He continued his ascent, his long legs carrying him effortlessly up the stairway. Moments later, his shadow vanished around the bend.

Morgaine stayed behind, giving the four a once-over. Apparently judging their appearances to not be too much of an embarrassment, she beckoned. “Follow me, my children.” She said, gliding over the stones like a spectre.

Beatrice begrudgingly acknowledged her haunting beauty. She stood out even among the fae, none of whom could be called plain, or even ugly. “I’m not your child.” She said, though quietly enough not to be overheard.

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Beatrice stood at the edge of the ballroom, a steadying hand placed against the wall, watching the dancers move and turn weightlessly. Her mind was overwhelmed by a whirl of sights, sounds and scents, so beautiful and intoxicating that it left her feeling dizzy. She was both drawn to and repulsed by it, afraid of succumbing to the beautiful nightmare of the faerie court.

“Let’s dance.” Licia whispered in her ear, ever the more excitable of the two. “We can take turns. You’ll keep an eye on me, and I’ll do the same.”

Beatrice glanced to where Belle stood, trailing after Morgaine. Their stepmother was looming over a group of fae, making polite conversation. Facing her, they all seemed a little cautious—perhaps even fearful, though none dared excuse themselves from her presence. Bee found a sadistic sort of pleasure in that.

She was about to refuse, but Licia grabbed her hand, pulling her forward. Annoyed but helpless, she watched her sister enjoy herself on the dancefloor, twirling around without a partner. Their lessons had seen to it that they wouldn’t embarrass themselves, despite being nowhere near as graceful as the other party-goers.

“They’re ridiculous.” Licia said suddenly.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bee saw her coming to a standstill. The two of them were looking in the same direction, she realized. “They’re not ridiculous. They’re awful.” She said, her gaze resting on a handful of highborn youths. If she and the twins hadn’t taken classes alongside them, she might’ve been as in love with them as everyone else.

Prince Alastor, third-born of the High King, and the absolute worst, strode across the floor. His three meanest, most pretentious and most loyal friends—Elric, Flynn and Maeve—followed after him. The crowd hushed, bowing and curtsying as they passed. As always, Alastor looked inhumanly beautiful with his white hair, marble complexion and silver eyes. The moniker ‘White Flame’, belonging to their bloodline, wasn’t without reason.

Soon, they drew too close for Beatrice and Licia to safely talk about them. The girls lowed their heads, paying their respects like the others. ‘Just ignore us.’ Bee thought, her jaw clenching involuntarily. ‘Don’t even look at us.’

For a moment, it seemed her fears wouldn’t come to pass, but then she heard a sharp intake of breath. Her head jerked upward, seeing Flynn standing next to Licia, having grabbed a fistful of her hair.

“You always stand out in a crowd.” He said, an easy smile on his face. “Nobody besides you three have such dull-coloured hair, such plain faces.”

Beatrice’s nails dug into her palms. Her instinct was to look for Morgaine, hoping their stepmother would intercede, but knew it was pointless. Unless something serious happened, the accursed woman would have them fight their own battles.

She realized Alastor was glaring at her from over his lackey’s shoulder. He held ger gaze for a long moment, his silver eyes burning into hers. “Flynn.” He snapped, his voice terse.

The other elf glanced from Licia to her, giving her a sharp-toothed smile. He yanked on her sister’s hair once before letting go, stuffing his hands in his jerkin’s pockets.

Stewing in helpless anger, Beatrice watched as they moved on, Alastor giving her a last inscrutable look. The four highborn then stopped next to a boy who hadn’t bowed. From his confused, glassy-eyed expression, she knew he hadn’t been disrespectful. He was just intoxicated. However, that wouldn’t save him from Alastor’s wrath.

She looked away when the winged child—appearing around Eli’s age, though likely older—crashed to the ground, cradling his broken arm to his chest. His pained groans attracted no-one’s sympathy. Instead, the courtiers pointed and whispered, hiding sadistic smiles behind their ornate fans. Even more disturbing was that the incident didn’t hold their attention for long. They soon returned to their revelry; singing and dancing, eating and drinking.

“Stop staring.” Bee said fiercely, shoving her nausea back down. She dragged her sister away from the floor. Fussing over her surreptitiously, she found her shaken but otherwise uninjured. “Don’t give them any more reason to bother you. Let’s just get out of here!”

Licia nodded numbly. They made their way to a corner of the ballroom where they sat, hiding behind a tall flower-arrangement. “Why did Alastor-… the prince, look at you like that?” The she asked when she’d regained her composure.

Beatrice pursed her lips. “I don’t know.” She said, careful not to be overheard. “Perhaps he was angry I met his eyes. He’d prefer I keep my head down like the rest of his sycophants, I suspect.”

Laughing nervously, Licia stretched her hand across the table. She carefully picked out a fruit—one that wasn’t harmful for humans to consume—and took a bite. The inside of her mouth quickly turned a florescent, orange colour. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m still glad I came.” She said, wiping juice from her chin with a napkin.

Meeting Belle’s eyes across the room and gesturing everything was fine—there was no way their sister would have missed the spectacle—Beatrice’s gaze returned to Licia. She sighed. “I’m tired of being powerless.” She whispered, feeling a faint sense of self-loathing. Years had passed, but she was no closer to shielding her siblings from this world’s dangers.

Licia shook her head. She pushed a decorated, porcelain dish across the table, stacked with delicacies. “Don’t be so serious. Eat something. You’ll feel better. Later, we’ll look around the palace—Hawke is probably doing just that.”

Beatrice nodded. She wasn’t hungry, but something tasty might take her mind off things. Not that she’d given up, but she knew the problem wouldn’t be solved this instant.

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That next morning, Eli soaked in his large, ornate bath, knees drawn to his chest. Despite the water’s temperature, his skin was unnaturally pale, his amber eyes staring vacantly into space. He seemed like he wasn’t quite there, but not in the sense of someone daydreaming. There was an ephemerality to him, as if he might suddenly vanish.

He didn’t even register when the bathroom door opened and closed, admitting a tall, graceful woman inky eyes and raven-black hair. Nor did he respond when she stood at his side and spoke his name. It was only when she circled to his front, turning her back to him while slowly disrobing, that he jerked awake. His cheeks slowly turned pink, taking in the sight of her smooth, alabaster skin. She was partially covered in black feathers, interlocking and laid flush, almost like scales.

Morgaine let her gauzy sleepwear fall to the ground. Covering her ample breasts with one arm, another between her thighs, she turned and stepped into the bath. She slowly lowered herself into the water.

An unwitting observer might believe he and his stepmother had some kind of ambiguous relationship, but that wasn’t the case. Fae were just… a tad weird when it came to nudity. It wasn’t that they were unashamed, nor were they indifferent to it, exactly. He didn’t really understand their attitude, truth be told.

What he did know is that Morgaine completely treated him like a kid. Aside from being rather blasé about showing herself to him—though, she never showed everything—her behaviour wasn’t inappropriate. She didn’t touch him, nor did she say anything that could be misunderstood. That didn’t mean she was oblivious to the effect she had, since his embarrassment was so obvious.

“Did you sleep well?” She asked, adjusting her legs so theirs wouldn’t touch.

Eli sunk deeper into the tub until his lips were barely above water. He stared at his own reflection, not saying a word. A collection of awful memories, fresh as a bloody wound, rushed to the forefront of his mind. He’d hoped that, as he got older, his nightmares would disappear. Instead, they’d gotten more frequent. And worse. Much worse.

It was a miracle he was even lucid during the day. If it were anyone else a few nights of that would’ve left them as a twitching, paranoid mess. Against all common-sense, he awoke every morning feeling strangely energized. Not well-rested, like he’d gotten a good night’s sleep; though he barely remembered how that felt. It was more like he was on some kind of drug.

It sounded odd, but he didn’t know how else to explain it. The feeling was similar to the amphetamine binges he’d gone on during college, to grind out a project or cram for a test. Like there was something in his system that forced him to be clear-headed. He looked fine too.

Morgaine cupped some water in her hands, splashing her face. Her hair hung backwards over the tub’s rim, avoiding getting it wet. “Shall I tell you about the ball?” She asked eventually, changing the subject. She’d taken his silence for the answer it was, and wasn’t the type to press the issue.

Over the years, he’d gotten used to how his stepmother, well… mothered him. In that sense, she did treat him differently, since she was a lot less affectionate toward his siblings—including Hawke. He had a pretty good guess as to why that was. Unlike them, he’d never been afraid of her.

Eli’s head lolled to one side, strands of red hair floating on the surface of the water. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the usual high-society nonsense. At the same time, he thought a distraction might do him good.

“Yes.” He said, the word coming out differently than he intended. It was almost a whisper, like someone in pain, forcing themselves to speak. “I bet it was interesting.” He continued, adding some strength to his voice. He didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily.

Morgaine gave him a look before her lips parted, speaking slowly. Ever a woman of few words, she recounted the important details in an unchanging tone. It wasn’t long before she finished, the room turning silent. The only sound that could be heard was the soft rippling of water.

Sitting there with his eyes closed, Eli found it very relaxing. By the time she spoke again, he realized he’d started dozing.

“Perhaps you should skip today’s lessons.” She said. “You’re ahead of the others as it is.”

It was tempting. Doubly so, since it wasn’t just him and his sisters. A few years ago, they’d begun their tutoring alongside some of the other courtiers’ children, including two of the royal siblings. He didn’t much enjoy it, since the lot were insufferable—almost without exception. But that was more of a reason to attend than otherwise. He couldn’t protect his sisters from their barbed words, but he hoped his presence would at least provide a kind of moral support.

“Thank you, but I’ll go.” He said eventually, not opening his eyes. “I’ll fall behind, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint you two.” His relationship with his new parents was pretty good, actually. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten what happened, nor had he really gotten over it. Rather, he felt there was no sense in becoming embittered.

All-in-all, they treated him well. Far better than he’d expected. He’d been suspicious at first, but over the years, he’d come to realize it wasn’t an act. Nor could he come up with an even remotely plausible reason why that’d be the case. Thalion had vowed to take care of them, and he had.

It might’ve sounded foolish, putting his trust in his parents’ killer, but promises were different for fae. It wasn’t that they couldn’t lie. They could, but it was extremely uncomfortable—an almost physical sensation. They often twisted their words, omitting things or presenting them in a deceptive way, but he’d never seen them go back on an explicit vow.

It went quiet for a while, Morgaine not commenting on what he’d said, before the door opened again. Someone entered, their soles clicking against the tiled floor. Eli wasn’t bothered. Aside from his sisters, nobody would find the situation that odd; even his stepfather—easily the most conservative faerie he’d met—wouldn’t do more than raise an eyebrow.

“Please enjoy, my lady.” A feminine voice said, followed by the sound of metal-against-metal.

Eli recognized Nissa’s voice; Morgaine’s handmaiden. He could guess what she was doing here too. The mouth-watering aroma gave it away.

“You didn’t have dinner, I’m sure.” Morgaine said, talking to him. “And you were planning to skip breakfast. Eat something” Her tone made it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Slumped in the tub, Eli opened his eyes. He saw Nissa—pretty, despite her ice-cold demeanour—standing behind Morgaine, pointedly ignoring him. Like the rest of the servants, she didn’t approve of his presence, nor his sisters’. She was even less impressed by how attentive his stepmother was to his needs, not that she’d make it known.

“Thank you very much.” He said, reaching for the tray to their side. “And I apologize if it seemed I was ignoring you, mother. I was lost in thought for a moment.” He didn’t say it for Morgaine’s benefit, knowing she’d not misunderstood his silence. Instead, it was to appease Nissa, though he knew the handmaid would think him disrespectful no matter what he did.

He didn’t feel like he had much of an appetite, but when he started eating, he suddenly became ravenous. Before he knew it, he was staring at the tray dumbfoundedly, wondering where all the food had gone.

“The water’s getting cold.” Morgaine said suddenly, shattering his hopes that she’d send Nissa for seconds. “And I have matters to attend to.” Without waiting for him, she got out, stepping toward an opened towel, held by her servant. “Come, I’ll dry your hair.”

Eli obliged, though he was careful to preserve his modesty. When he his own towel was around his waist, he turned, finding his stepmother in front of the mirror. He took the seat next to her, trying his best to not let his eyes wander. She was very tall, and the towel not especially big. It barely contained her chest, and sitting down, almost didn’t reach her thighs.

It was probably his state-of-mind, but he suddenly wondered why he was holding himself back when it clearly didn’t bother her. His thirteenth birthday came and went, and with it, the start of puberty. With everything else going on in his life, wrestling with his self-control was frankly becoming exhausting.

If Morgaine noticed him looking, she didn’t show it. After drying his hair, she took an ivory comb from Nissa, running it through his coppery locks. They were straight and smooth, so she had little trouble getting the kinks out.

He almost jolted when he felt her scaled hand running down his back, her claws lightly trailing over his skin. “You’re thin.” She said scoldingly. “Have breakfast with us today. The other children hardly see you as it is. Reading is a fine pastime, but you’re taking it too far. The library won’t go anywhere.”

“I train too.” Eli replied, protesting for the sake of it. “For two hours at least, on top of our required practice.”

“You mean to say you’re unwilling?” She asked, an edge to her voice.

He capitulated immediately. “No… I’ll come.” It wasn’t that he feared punishment; she never even raised her voice at him. Rather, he knew she was right about him having ignored his family. With how wonderful all of them had been, the least he could do was spend some time with them.

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