"What has my lord done?" Iris asked, hating the way the words 'my lord' made her feel when talking about the man who had bought her. Yes, he was a lord and yes, it was the correct term when addressing or speaking about him, but once you had been sold as a slave bride, it seemed to hold an entirely new meaning.
"Did Lord Perivale not explain to you your circumstances?" the man asked, looming over her like a tall tree.
"I...no," Iris shook her head and pursed her lips. The tears were beginning to creep back into her eyes and her feet were so sore that she felt as though she might collapse at any moment. She was struggling not to hop from one foot to the other.
"Lord Perivale wagered your hand in marriage this evening and he lost you," the man explained.
"And you and your lord are?" Iris asked. She tried to make herself seem unperturbed by the news, keeping an unreadable expression while turmoil reigned inside, but it was almost impossible.
"Oh, forgive me, Miss," the man gasped and dropped down into a bow once more, "I am Filton."
Filton? I've never heard of you. Then again, coming from a small town on the east coast of the Spring Isle, that wasn't surprising.
"And my lord and master is the King of the Spring Isle," Filton announced, and Iris's knees finally buckled. Her shock drove her to her knees. They jarred painfully against the ground before Filton or any one of the guards that surrounded the courtyard could grab her.
"Filton!" A booming, authoritative voice echoed off the marble pillars of the courtyard, and tension crackled between Filton and the guards. "What is my lady doing on her knees?"
Iris brushed back the curtain of auburn hair that had fallen around her face. Standing in the grand archway that appeared to lead into the very side of the mountain, at the top of a set of tall marble steps, stood a fae like none Iris had ever seen before. His skin was so creamy white that it seemed to glisten in the early morning sun, and his shock of rose red hair blazed like fire in the dawn.
Though he was some distance away, his dark eyes were piercing, and they fixed on Iris, pinning her into place even as Filton and the guards all dropped into low, respectful bows.
"My king!" Filton gasped, and Iris's heart skipped a beat.
That is King Ember! She gasped even as the fae at the top of the stairs fluttered his wings and glided down the steps, his feet barely brushing the marble. She could instantly see how he had gotten his name. Though his wings were jet black, flecks of red and amber sparked in their depths, almost like stars in the night sky.
In mere seconds he hovered above her, and against her better judgement, she found herself craning her neck to look up at him. His piercing black eyes had never left hers and they continued to glare down at her now. His expression was unreadable, but she could feel him examining her closely.
Then, with a grunt, he dropped down onto his feet in front of her and folded his magnificent wings behind him.
As if sense had suddenly returned to him, Filton dropped down beside Iris and began to help her up, but the king quickly gestured him away.
"Allow me," King Ember said, offering her an outstretched hand.
Just like everything else about him, his hand was perfect, masculine yet well maintained. His skin looked as smooth as a baby's bottom, and when Iris laid her palm against his, she realized that her eyes had not deceived her.
A spark of warmth and electricity spiked through her palm and shot up her arm before pooling in her chest.
No, don't allow yourself to be dazzled by him! she scolded herself even as she allowed the king to help her to her feet. He is just like the rest of them.
Fae noblemen, and most men besides, were all the same. Beautiful on the outside, but beneath the surface hid a writhing mass of snakes ready to strike at the merest of triggers.
"Come. I shall personally show you to your room," the king offered, though Iris knew that it was not really an offer but an order. She had learned long ago not to question men. She had taught herself to play the loyal and obedient daughter, girl, and even bride. Yet deep down inside, she had a snake of her own coiled and ready, waiting for the moment to strike and be free.
Even as she followed King Ember up the steps and into the mountainside, she vowed to herself just as she had when she had stood on Perivale's doorstep for the first time, I will not allow this man to break me.
Chapter 2 - Ember
The moment he laid eyes on her, Ember could see why the lords of the Spring Isle had been so willing to part with their worldly possessions.
Her fiery auburn hair was a mass of long, glossy curls that cascaded all around her as she crouched on the floor before Filton. It was so long, in fact, that it covered more of her than the single slip of sheer material that could barely be called a nightgown.
Perivale, you dog! Ember thought grimly, sure that the gown she wore was one requested by the disgusting noble. Even beneath the white material, Ember could see dark patches of skin on her otherwise lily pale body. His teeth clenched at the evidence of the brutality she must have endured before arriving in his care.
He had swept down the steps of the palace entryway, unable to take his eyes off her. As if she had felt the same way, her striking blue eyes that sparkled with splashes of purple, followed him. Her wings, a deep purple, hung limply behind her as though she did not have the energy to hold them up.
Though she had appeared in a pitiful state, Ember was sure that she was the most beautiful fae he had ever laid eyes upon. Having taken many fae ladies and courtesans to bed, he could say without a doubt that he had seen them in all shapes and sizes. Yet none like her.
Even as he led her through the mountain hallways, he could not stop himself from glancing at her. Every so often, she would sense him watching and he would quickly turn his gaze away.