CHAPTER ONE

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“Mmm,” I moan in protest as I sense his fingers gently glide over my exposed shoulder. I sink deeper into my pillow, burying my face in the soft silk. 

“Maeve.” A comforting warmth accompanies his breath, and he delicately brushes my ear with his teeth while whispering my name. “Come now. We need to wake up.” 

“Five more minutes.” I do not dare open my eyes as I feel a laugh shake his body. Pressing up against me, he envelops me with his large frame.

“Ah, but if I give you five more minutes, that five will turn into ten, and that ten will be twenty, and pretty soon, we will sleep the day away. I do not think our guests will forgive us for missing our own wedding.”

The wedding. How could I forget the wedding? I have been counting down the days for the past six months. My eyes open lazily, and a smile curves the corners of my mouth. I roll over under the blankets to face him and wrap my arms around his neck. 

I met Rian Doherty—the son of a wealthy merchant from the western sea territory of Tonnfórsca—on an unseasonably warm summer night five years ago when he arrived as an envoy with his father to meet with mine, King Cashel of Draíocoinnigh. I had been running in the gardens as the sun reached its lowest point in the sky during the White Night—the endless twilight of the summer months, when the sun only kisses the horizon, painting the sky blue and purple—chasing after will-o'-wisps with the cook's young daughter. He came bounding across the grass and frightened me as I took in the powerful physique of his arms and the scowl on his brutish yet handsome face. It was clear he was a sailor, with his salty blond hair and lean build, and I nearly hid behind a nearby tree as he cursed wildly in the forbidden language. When he turned and his eyes met mine, his expression immediately softened to something like remorse—perhaps fear. I watched his countenance curiously, and I realized he was only a young man, barely two or three years older than I—and I was just a girl of fifteen myself.

“I am sorry, Princess,” was all he managed. He made to move toward the entrance of the castle, where he had exited just moments before.

“Will you teach me?” I said as I took a step closer, and his brow cocked up on the right side quizzically. “The forbidden language,” I continued. “Teach me the forbidden language, and I will convince my father of anything yours asks in return.”

And so it was. As months passed and seasons changed, he would return to Caisleán Rialú to meet with my father—and to find me in secret. Five years later, his father had received every trade route he asked for, and I had grown to love Rian Doherty, even enough to accept his marriage proposal.

“Fine, I will get up—but only because we can't keep the entire kingdom waiting for us.”

His fingers run through my caramel-brown hair that falls to my waist; light dances through it as though illuminated by shooting stars. He smiles down at me and places his forehead against mine. “I get to call you mine in a few hours.”

“I thought you did that last night,” I whisper, and a smirk plays on his lips.

“Now, I get to tell the entire kingdom.”

“Don't tell them about last night.” I kiss his lips softly and then release him from my grip. I roll off the bed and leave him to lie under the soft, midnight blue blankets while I walk from the room.

* * *

“Maeve, I need you to hide!” Rian grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me hard, as if to snap me out of some sort of dream. The room is empty, but I can hear screaming from the halls just beyond the door, which Rian had pushed open when he ran through it just a moment before. There is a gash on his left cheek under his eye, a lump rising on his head near his hairline. He turns me around roughly and pushes me toward the monstrous fireplace at the far end of the room. 

“Climb up into the smoke chamber and wait there until dark. Do not come out, no matter what you hear. Once the house is quiet, you run as fast as you can out of Caisleán Rialú, as far away from this city—hell, away from Draíocoinnigh completely—until you get to the border. It doesn’t matter which. Watch for border guards. I'm not sure who we can trust, so don't tell them who you are. Just run and hide and don't look back. Do. You. Understand?”

I blink furiously as I try to make sense of his words. “Rian! What is hap–?”

“Maeve, we don't have time for this!” He cuts me off sharply and pushes me further into the cold firebox. “Climb! Stay hidden and run! I love you… I'm sorry.” 

He kisses me so hard, my teeth ache from the pressure of his lips against mine, but it is over long before it is time. He lifts me into the chimney, and I grasp the brick covered in soot, trying to find some sort of hold or traction. I work my way up into the claustrophobic space, and my gold and blue wedding dress, made of heavy lace and far too many skirts, catches and tears as I climb.  I pull it—and my waist-length hair—as close to my center as I can and wedge myself against the brick, my feet pressing into one corner and my back into another.

Rian acknowledges me with a nod and disappears from sight, the sound of his footsteps gradually fading as he exits the room.

“There's the Loverboy,” a raspy voice I do not recognize sounds from the hall. “Grab him too.”

The sound of leather soles sliding across the floor reach my ears, and a scuffle ensues as Rian’s voice grows louder in protest. I hear the faint sound of fists against flesh and bone, a muffled response following as Rian grunts in pain. I make to move but remember his words of warning; instead, I drag myself further up into the chimney. They are hurting my Rian, and there is nothing I can do. I cover my mouth and begin to sob silently in the darkness as the sounds of the strangers pummeling my beloved echo through the halls. 

“Take him to the others while I check the room,” a voice calls, and two pairs of heavy footsteps drag Rian off down the hall. The door creaks, slowly opening for the stranger, and I count his strides as he enters. “Hmm,” he steps forward as he speaks, “I wonder where his bride might…be.” 

The room goes so painfully silent, I can perceive my heartbeat reverberating softly off the smoke shelf. I pull my eyes shut and begin to pray to the gods—any of them who will listen—to save me. I hear nothing in response; not that I had expected anything. The gods care little for the people of this world. Slow, heavy footsteps shake the ground near the hearth. Another and another. I look down at the floor. 

Shit. The skirts of my dress have slipped from my lap and dangle down below me. I begin to pull them frantically back up and out of view, but a hand dives into the fireplace and catches them firmly in a set of grotesquely large fingers…and pulls.

“Hello, beautiful,” says the stranger with dirt-caked skin, a scarred face staring menacingly down at me as I hit the tile floor. “We've been looking for you.”

He grabs me, covering my face with a fabric bag before he flings me over his shoulder. I throw out my hands to fight, but it's no use. He has me by at least a hundred pounds; there is no way I’m going to free myself from his grip. The smell of body odor and urine emanate from him, and bile rises in my throat as the stench fills my nostrils. I cry out, beating my fists against the man's back, but he is undeterred as he makes his way through the halls of the castle. Completely blinded by the canvas sack tightly fastened over my head, I attempt to count his steps, but he moves unpredictably, alternating between left and right and left once more, seemingly aiming to disorient me. I’m getting kidnapped on my wedding day. The thought makes my heart pound heavily, and my breathing quickens to heaves. I hear the creaking of another door, and my captor takes two steps into a room. He bangs my body against the door frame as he enters, and I groan as my skull knocks against the hard ornamental door casing. 

“Found the last one,” the man says to someone in the room.

“Are you sure it's her?” another voice says. “No one outside the castle has seen her, other than the lover and his father.”

“She's wearing a wedding dress!” The first man sounds exasperated. He fists the ends of my hair and yanks it. “And her hair is shining like glitter bugs. Is that enough proof for you?”

There is silence for a moment, and then the second voice speaks, “Take her out with the others.”

The others? That means Rian wasn’t the only person captured. This is not a bid for a ransom from the king. No, this is worse—so much worse. We’re on the move again, but this time, it is only for a moment. Without warning, my captor stumbles stupidly through another doorway, and the unmistakable chill of outside and the light of the afternoon sun through the sack overwhelm me. The sound of my captor's footsteps change, turning hollow, as though he has gone from walking on stone flooring to wooden planks of some kind. A platform, perhaps. He drops me hard against something, grabbing my hands before I can react and securing them behind me with metal cuffs to a wooden pole. 

He walks away, and I listen hard, hearing a low murmur in the distance. I try to count the voices, but I give up in defeat when there are too many of them to count. Their excitement suggests a crowd of some sort eagerly awaits whatever is about to happen. Beside me, I perceive the light stroke of fingers against my bound hands and someone slumping towards my shoulder on my right.

“Maeve?” Rian whispers to my left. My breath catches in my throat, and I try to pull my hands free to reach for him, but the cuffs refuse to budge. “Maeve, why are you here? I told you to hide and then run!”

“I did hide!” I hiss back. “This damn dress is too long.” He swears under his breath. “Tell me what's going on!”

“There was some sort of coup against your father. This group of men burst in from the city, took out every guard as if they knew where they were stationed, and then rounded us all up, bringing us here. That's Faebond around your wrists, by the way.” He taps at the cuffs.

“Faebond?! So we cannot wield?” I feel the undeniable sting of pain as the cuffs dig into my skin. “Faebond is against the law unless they have been convicted of the four high crimes.”

“I know. Look, Maeve, I'm so sorry. I tried to…” He pauses, and I can hear him swallow dryly. “But they found you...” I feel Rian’s head coming to rest against my shoulder.

“Don't apologize. Ri, I–” I hesitate for a moment, knowing this will be our last goodbye. “Thank you for everything. I love you.”

Rian begins to speak, but as he does, the crowd roars and hollow footsteps thud against the wooden dais beneath us. I feel boots kick my knees as someone presses up against my sides, reaching toward the pole. I yank at my restraints so hard, it feels as though my thumbs might dislocate. The captors do not move to release my bonds, but I recognize the dragging of bodies and the screams of my brother, father, and mother rising up to meet the deafening roar of the crowd. I lean to my left, and Rian is gone. To my right, I find just empty space. I am helpless, alone and blindfolded. 

“Citizens of Draíocoinnigh,” a booming male voice shouts to the crowd, “I give you your king, your queen, and their heir.” The crowd responds with hisses and shrieks. “You have traveled from every corner of this kingdom to meet your ruler, and in a moment, you shall get your chance to show him exactly what you think of him and his reign, what we have been crying out for for years. His blood for his people. Today, we will take what we deserve!”

A struggle breaks out on the platform, and my mother's cries echo through the air as the crowd howls in delight. The low grunts of my brother tell me he is trying to fight off his captors. He would never go down without a fight—for honor, if for nothing else. Then, an abrupt silence steals the air from the space. They've bested him. Our captors, in their astuteness, foresaw his fight, besting him with the aid of the Faebond. The anticipation builds, delighted and sickening as a knife being pulled from a leather sheath sounds.

“For Draío! For Liberty! Iy Donn, d'anam!” 

For Donn, your soul. The forbidden language. I fight with all I have. It is utterly useless against the Faebond, but I have to try. This is my only chance—their only chance. I need to get to them, I need to do…something! My feet slip against the wood, finding no purchase, only able to lift myself an inch or two above the planks for just a moment before my feet slide out from beneath me. Then, the unmistakable wet slice of blade to skin drains all the color from my face. Once…twice… My ears ring loudly, my stomach souring as I pull once more against the Faebond and sob into the cloth covering my face. 

“You want them? Take them!” 

Amusement laces the man’s words, and something like a stampede overtakes the platform. Fabric tears, and the sound of punching and kicking, pulling and slicing, saps the last of my strength, and I fall back into the tethering pole as warm, sticky liquid flows slowly to my knees and puddles before me, drenching my skirts and skin.

I have no concept of time as the bedlam draws on. Has it been ten minutes? Twenty? An hour? I can't be sure. All I know is, my family fell silent much too long ago, and soon, I would too. Movement begins to slow, and the crowd calms from a booming cry to a dull chatter. The voice of the obvious leader cries out again.

“Now, for the girl!”

Immediately, large hands find my flesh, unlocking my binds and pulling me to my feet. I kick and shake, hoping against hope to break free, but the hands remain firm and walk me forward with ease, as if I am only a minor inconvenience. When we stop, the man pulls the cloth sack from over my head, and I am nearly blinded by the sun, which still sits high in the summer sky. I squint and stare out as the crowd rises in chants and cheers once more. Hundreds of people of every age—male and female—stand on the front lawn of Caisleán Rialú, their faces twisted in anger and hunger for more bloodshed. My hands tremble as I take in the crowd, and then I look down at my knees to find the entire front of my skirts dripping with the deep crimson of my father, mother, brother, and lover. Their bodies are nowhere to be seen—only red streaks of blood left behind from being dragged away by the crowd. 

The man beside me, a general from my father's army, the king's crest of midnight blue and gold and five stars on his shoulder, looks down at me and smirks before he speaks again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, behold: your princess!” Boos erupt around us. “Are you not pleased to lay eyes on her? She has remained locked away inside this castle for twenty years, and only those worthy—and the help—could glimpse her beautiful face.” He turns toward me and runs a calloused thumb across my cheek. “Princess, is it true you are the only person in the kingdom to wield the healing magic? That this hair of yours holds the power to keep you from all harm?” 

He surveys my bloodied wrists and releases the Faebond. My hands fall to my sides and, instantly, the wounds heal. “Interesting.” He looks me over once and then raises his hand, smacking me hard across my cheek with enough force to throw my head to the side. “Not even a mark. Tell me, does it sting?” 

He laughs, and the crowd mimics him with enthusiasm. They are enjoying this, savoring the humiliation of it all. “And what of this we have heard? King Cashel and the others finding healing in your blood? I'm told it only takes ingesting a tiny vial, and one is a picture of health. It’s not surprising the king has never endured even a minor injury; rumor has it, your brother has enough of it on him to be unbeatable in every battle.” 

He leans in close and grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger. I stare daggers back at him, my lips pressed firmly together, and deny him a response or a plea for mercy. “They have kept you like a cow to milk whenever they so desire. They squandered your power for their own means.”

The crowd becomes restless, and chants of “kill her” ring off the stone walls. The man lifts his hand, and the crowd silences once again.

“But why should you be the only one of us with such a gift from the gods? You don't even deserve it. You deserve nothing, Princess.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls forth a long razor blade extending past his fingertips. “A sacrifice, and then we shall see what they,” he eyes the crowd, “will do with you.” 

He lifts the blade to my scalp and drags it across my skin with ease. My hair falls to the wooden boards at my feet in devastatingly long clumps. Over and over, he tugs at my flesh as my tresses fall, and I sense my magic slowly depart from me. My body grows weak with each pass of the blade, and I tremble as hot tears roll down my cheeks.

He ensures not a single strand remains upon my head, and once he finishes, he forcefully throws me to the ground.

“To you brave ones, a tribute! Take her and do with her as you see fit.”

With no other comment, he turns and walks back into the castle as the crowds rush in on all sides. I try to pull myself to my feet to run, but there are hands all over me—dragging me, tearing at me, punching me. A fist collides with my jaw, another with my gut. Someone knocks the wind out of me, and as I buckle toward the wooden floor, another person takes the opportunity to grab my arm and yank me off the platform. I hit the ground with a hard thud, and the crowd begins to kick and stomp on me with all the malice they can muster. I lift my hands to cover my face, but someone kicks them away with such force, I cry out in pain. They repeatedly batter me with a relentless barrage of fury until every inch of me aches. 

Just kill me, my mind begs. Just let me die now so this will all end. 

I perceive the ground beneath me going damp, unable to discern if it’s from the torrent of blood or tears escaping me, but I imagine it is both as my pain and fear meld together. Then, I see a boot being raised above me, and I watch the black sole hover above my face for a moment that feels like an eternity. This will be the last blow, the last moment of life stamped out much too quickly and with little to show for it. I stare up at it, and a part of me waits in anticipation for what's to come. Then, as though the terrible foot of the gods themselves, it barrels down into me, and the world disappears into darkness.