These Twisted Bonds by Lexi Ryan

Book Preface

Beyond the castle gates, the sun rises and the birds sing, but the Golden Palace is draped in a veil of night. My night. My darkness. My power.

I throw out magic with abandon, trapping those who dare to chase me. Darkness trails behind me like the train on an elaborate wedding gown. But I’m not anyone’s bride.

I won’t let them fool me with their pretty lies and manipulations. Sebastian betrayed me. They all betrayed me, but his duplicity cuts the deepest. The male who was supposed to love me, supposed to protect me, used me to steal the Unseelie crown.

Rage floods my veins and feeds my power.

I run, even when the path beneath my bare feet turns rocky and sharp. I focus on the pain, welcome the sting of the gravel cutting into my soles. It’s the only thing that blocks out this other feeling—this anguish and frustration that belongs to the one I love. The male I’m bonded to forever. The one who lied to me, who betrayed me.

I don’t want to feel him. I don’t want to know that my departure is like a fracture down the center of his heart or that losing me has brought him to his knees. I don’t want to understand that he’s been trapped by his own duty or to comprehend the depths of his regrets. But I do. Through this bond between our souls, I do.

Sebastian betrayed me for the crown, and now he has what he wanted, while I have become that which I despised for so long. A faerie. An immortal.

Reason claws at me as I run.

I’m barefoot. In a sleeping gown. I won’t make it far like this, but I refuse to let them catch me.

I double back to the paddock, and when I push inside, the stable boy’s eyes go wide, his gaze fixed on the cresting wave of darkness looming behind me, ready to strike.

He’s young, with sandy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and pointed elven ears. I’ve seen him before, when getting a horse to ride around the palace grounds. Back when I thought I was safe here, when I believed Sebastian’s love was pure.

“Give me your boots,” I say, lifting my chin.

“My . . . my . . .” he stammers, his eyes darting toward the palace and the dark destruction I left in my path.

“Your boots! Now!”

He keeps his wide, worried eyes on me as he unlaces them and tosses them at my feet.

“Now a horse,” I command, stepping into the boy’s shoes. They’re a little too big, but they’ll do. I tighten the laces and secure them around my ankles.

His gaze darts back toward the palace again, and I throw out another burst of power, making the night beyond pulse with malice. His hands shake as he guides a white mare from her stable. “Wh-what’s happening, m-m-milady?”

I ignore the question and nod to the dark belt of knives buckled at his waist. “Your baldrick too.”

He unlatches it, letting it drop to the stable floor. Moving quickly, I snatch it by the buckle and wrap it around my waist, tightening the clasp before swinging up onto the horse.

“Thank you,” I say, but the boy is cowering, as if he expects me to end him with his own knives. His fear leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Is this who I’ve become?

This is who Sebastian made me.

I can’t think about it as I nudge my horse out of the stables, righting myself on the saddle before I feel a tug at the center of my chest. A sweet ache that begs me to turn back to the palace. Back to Sebastian.

Shouts carry across the lawn. With my new fae ears, I can make out the sounds of the chaos in the castle—the scrambling, the shouting, the pounding of feet running my way.

The shouts grow closer. My magic has slipped; my darkness has loosened its grip.

I drive my heels into the sides of the horse. She takes off, galloping at full speed while I hold on as tightly as I can.

Come back. I don’t hear the words so much as feel them, feel the ache that burns my chest and settles into my bones. I need you. Come back to me.

The reminder of my connection with Sebastian makes me ride harder. I don’t know if I can escape it, if I can mute his misery and heartache with distance alone, but I plan to try.

 

“I need a room for the night,” I tell the barmaid behind the counter at a run-down inn. My voice sounds like crushed glass, and every muscle in my body screams with exhaustion.

I don’t know where I am or how far I’ve ridden. All I know is that I raced away from the palace as fast as I could. I rode hard, passing through villages and farmlands until I couldn’t keep myself in the saddle any longer.  

I haven’t ridden much since I was a child, and I’ve never ridden for so many hours at once or through such mountainous terrain as I’ve encountered in the last few hours. By the time I handed my reins over to the inn’s stable hand, my legs were screaming in protest.

The female behind the bar has sharply pointed ears and pursed lips. Her cool blue eyes glitter with the kind of iciness people get from living a hard life. She looks me up and down, and I can imagine the mess she sees. My white sleeping gown is now the color of a dusty dirt road, and I’m sure my face doesn’t look much better. My jaw-length red hair is a dirty, tangled mess, and my lips are parched from thirst. “I don’t do charity,” she mutters, already turning away to serve a more promising customer.

I plop a bag of coins onto the counter. My old thieving ways are serving me well. This fae gold is courtesy of a drunken orc at a tavern an hour west from here, where I’d originally planned to stay for the night. The orc had spotted me heading to use the facilities and thought he’d catch me in there and put his hands on me. I may have been exhausted, but I wasn’t too tired to wrap him in darkness so deep he’d cried like a baby while he begged me to release him.

The barmaid opens the bag and peers inside, and her jaded eyes light up for a beat. Her lips curve in triumph before she schools her expression. “That’ll do,” she says, sliding a key across the counter. “Second floor, last door on the left. I’ll have the maid take up some wash water for you.”

I know nothing about faerie money—what it’s worth, what I can expect from one of their shining gold coins—but I’ve clearly handed over a significant amount, and she’s trying to play me for a fool. I arch a brow. “I’ll need dinner too.”

She nods quickly. “Of course.”

Too easy. “And some clothes. Pants and a shirt. No dresses.”

Those wrinkled lips twist in consideration. “I’m not in the business of selling clothes, and the tailor’s shop is closed for the night.” At my hard look, she sighs. “But . . .” She looks me over. “You could likely fit into something of mine. I’ll make it work.”

I nod my thanks and slide onto a stool, unsure whether my shaking legs can take another moment. “I’ll take my meal here.”

She tucks the bag away, then barks at a small child to get my dinner. He scampers off, his head down. When she turns her cold eyes back to me, they grow calculating. “Where are you from?” she asks.

I laugh, but I’m so tired it sounds more like a grunt. “You wouldn’t know the place.”

She arches a brow. “I know most places. Even spent some time in the shadow court during the war.”

I just shrug, figuring she wants those coins too much to insist on an answer. “Nowhere special.”

She sniffs, and I wonder what she smells. Do I still smell like a human despite being turned fae? Can she smell the palace on me? Faeries have impeccable senses, but in my short hours in this transformed body, I’ve only found the heightened awareness of every sound, sight, and smell distracting. It’s too overwhelming to do any good.

The child returns, noiselessly. The barmaid takes a bowl of stew and a plate of bread from him and slides it in front of me. “As long as you don’t bring trouble to my door, I don’t need to know nothing. Sometimes it’s better that way.” She ducks her head to catch my eyes. “You understand?”

I pause, the first spoonful of stew halfway to my lips. What does she think she knows about me? “Sure.”

She gives a sharp nod, then moves down the bar to help another customer.

I can hardly hold myself on the stool as I shovel the stew into my mouth. I shouldn’t be this tired, even considering the long day on horseback, but my body’s wrecked. As tempting as it is to ignore my stomach and go to my room, to climb into bed and surrender to sleep, I know I need to fuel myself for whatever’s next.

And what exactly is next?

I push away the question. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m going to do. I need to be away from the palace—away from Sebastian. I can’t think about the rest right now. Not about how unprepared I am to be alone in this strange land, and definitely not about how these pointed ears and this newly granted immortality mean I can never go home.

Never return to Elora.

Never visit my sister.

A heavy orc saunters up to the bar, takes the spot next to me. He’s over six feet tall with a flat nose, beady black eyes, and two big bottom teeth that curl onto each side of his upper lip. He’s massive, and solid muscle, as all orcs are, and his mere proximity makes me feel small and fragile. I bow my head, hoping not to catch his notice. After my encounter with one of his kind an hour ago, I’m not interested in getting this one’s attention.

“Ale?” the barmaid asks him, those pursed lips treating him to a smile.

“Aye. And a meal. Hell of a day.”

She pulls a tap handle and pours his drink. “Yeah?”

“The unclean ones have their powers back.”

Unclean ones?

The barmaid laughs. “Sure they do.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “It’s true.”

She shrugs. “If this means you can hurt them again, I’d think you’d be happy.” Her tone implies that she thinks he’s full of it.

“I’m not lyin’. Happened overnight at the children’s camp. Little fuckers killed ten of my men before we knew what was going on. The last eighteen hours have been complete chaos while we waited for the injections to arrive.”

The barmaid shudders. “I don’t know how you pump that poison into anyone.”

“Easy.” He mimes pushing the plunger on a syringe.

She shakes her head. “Got some stuck in me back during the war. Feels like death itself.”

When Jalek was prisoner in the golden palace, he was given injections that blocked his magic. Is that what they’re talking about? Are they injecting the children with the same thing?

When the barmaid turns to me and arches a brow, I realize I’m staring. I bow my head again.

“Rather kill ’em,” the orc says, “but we have our orders. She wants the little bastards alive.”

Children. He’s talking about the Unseelie children in her camps.

Rage simmers in my blood. I hate all of them. The fae are liars and manipulators. If it weren’t for their cruelty and political scheming, I could be home with Jas right now instead of here. Alone and aimless. Broken and stuck in this new, immortal body I never asked for.

But the children? They may be fae, but they’re innocent in all of this. Taken from their parents and locked away as part of an endless power struggle between two courts that already had too much power to begin with. It’s disgusting.

Maybe I was never imprisoned, but I spent my childhood caged by an unfair, exploitative contract. I know what it’s like to be an orphan, and I know what it’s like to have your choices stolen from you by those who have so much power they can’t see anything beyond their greed for more.

The barmaid slides a bowl in front of orc, shaking her head. “The curse is really broken, then?”

“Aye.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry to hear about your sentinels. Will you be needing a room?”

He shovels a heaping spoonful into his mouth and doesn’t bother to swallow before speaking again. “Yeah. Need a few hours of shut-eye before I go back.”

She grabs a key from the board behind her and drops it in front of him. “Careful tonight, ya hear?”

The orc grunts in response and returns to shoveling stew into his mouth.

My stomach is sour at the thought of children being injected with anti-magic toxin, at the thought of them being imprisoned at all. The unclean ones, he called them. Is that a term used for prisoners or for Unseelie? I think I already know the answer, and it makes anger steam in my blood.

I force myself to finish my dinner, because I’ll need the energy, but the bread feels like ash in my mouth and the stew sits heavy in my gut.

After the barmaid has cleared my dishes away, I nurse my water while the orc finishes his meal and gets seconds. Only when he’s finishing those and making satisfied noises do I drain my glass.

“Mind refilling this and letting me take it up?” I ask, hoisting my empty glass in the air.

The barkeep nods and uses her pitcher to refill it.

With one last glance toward the guard, I head for the stairwell. I hide in the shadows, wrapping them around me so none of the patrons see me as they pass. I wait in silence, my lids heavy as the shadows stroke my frayed nerves, my body begging for rest. I wait and wait until, finally, the orc appears in the stairwell and heads up.

Keeping to the shadows is easy in the candlelight, and the guard’s lumbering breaths mask any sound from my own steps. He stops on the second floor and heads to the door two down from mine. When he enters, the door swings into the hall and not into the room. Perfect.

Once he’s inside, I go to my own room. It’s small, dark, and musty, but there’s a bed and, as promised, clothes and a bucket of warm water for washing. I drain my glass and refill it with soapy water before returning to the hallway. I position the glass directly in front of the orc’s door so it will topple over when the door opens. I wish I could set a more elaborate trap with my magic, but I’m too unskilled and I don’t trust anything to hold while I sleep.

I’m exhausted and impatient, my instincts at war. Half of me wants to sleep forever while the other half wants to set out to help the Unseelie children right now. But I don’t have the first idea where to go or what I’d be walking into, and I need sleep desperately.

I return to my room, strip off my dirty gown, and scrub my skin until it tingles.

As I continue washing, I notice the emerald hanging between my breasts. Sebastian gave this to me for our bonding ceremony. It seemed like such a thoughtful gift—a piece of jewelry to match the dress my sister designed for me—but now it’s a cold reminder of his betrayal. I’m tempted to tear it off and toss it into the trash, but I resist. I don’t have any money, and I might need something I can sell down the road.

I swipe the washcloth over my breastbone, ignoring the rune inked into my skin, the sign of my life-bond with Sebastian, right above my heart.

It’s been only a day since I last bathed, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since I prepared myself for Sebastian and our bonding ceremony. I was filled with such joy and anticipation; now all I feel is the burning ache of betrayal, the steady lapping of his emotions through the bond, like waves against a crumbling seawall, threatening to overwhelm me.

Love you. Need you. Forgive me.

But forgiveness feels as distant and impossible as a return to my life in the human realm. Sebastian stole the last of my ability to trust when he bonded with me. He made me believe he wanted the bond because he loved me. I tied my soul to his so he could protect me from those who would end my life to steal the crown. And he let me. He let me bond with him, coaxed me into it while feeding me carefully selected bites of the truth paired with tidy, alluring lies. He took my bond even though he knew the curse and his Unseelie blood would kill me, even though he knew I’d have to take the potion and become fae to survive.

And he did it all for power. For the very crown he condemned Finn and Mordeus for pursuing.

Sebastian’s no better than the rest of them, and now I’m tied to him forever. For my entire immortal life. Now I can feel him, as if he’s part of me.

I push it all away. His feelings. Mine.

It’s too much. Too big. And yet too small all at the same time. There are whole camps of children being drugged and locked away for the queen’s nefarious purposes. Innocent children who have no more power over their circumstances than I had when I signed the contract with Madame V so Jas and I wouldn’t end up on the streets.

When I found out about the camps, I was sick. Finn told me that when the golden queen’s guard caught shadow fae in her territory, she’d separate the children from their parents and put them in camps, where she’d brainwash them—teach them that the Seelie were better, more worthy, and that the Unseelie should serve them.

Every instinct in my heart warned that those camps were a sign that I shouldn’t trust the golden fae, but I let Sebastian’s promise that he “opposed” the camps placate me. I won’t be a fool again. I won’t stoop to Sebastian’s level and obsess about my own problems when I’m capable of helping. I won’t be like him and turn a blind eye to his mother’s evil deeds. I will do whatever I can to help those children—if only because doing so will disrupt whatever Sebastian and his mother have planned.

I’m stuck here. I’m fae. But I am not powerless, and I will never be like them.

Exhaustion makes it easy to turn off my spiraling thoughts. I want to sleep like this, clean skin on clean sheets, but I make myself put the new clothes on. The moment that trap springs, I don’t want to waste time dressing. I need to be ready to go.

When I crawl into bed, I barely make it under the covers before I fall asleep.

 

I dream of darkness. Of gazing up at a comforting blanket of sparkling stars. Of Finn’s voice behind me.

Abriella, every star in that sky shines for you.

The flutter in my chest turns to flapping wings, and I’m flying, soaring through the dark night sky, a tiny hand squeezing mine. I’m not even surprised when I look over to see Lark’s silver eyes, her wide smile. Finn’s niece has come to me in my dreams before, usually to warn me about something or share some sort of cryptic prophecy. This is the first time, I realize, that doing so won’t shave days off her life. The golden queen’s curse was broken the moment her son took the Unseelie crown. Now the shadow fae can use their powers without sacrificing their immortality.

At least something good came of Sebastian’s betrayal.

The silver webbing on Lark’s forehead glows as we fly through the star-studded night sky, but then suddenly we swoop down and the peaceful night disappears. We’re in some sort of infirmary. The walls are lined with rows of beds occupied by sleeping children.

“They look so peaceful,” I whisper.

Lark twists her lips, considering. “There’s a certain peace in death, but unrest will follow if you allow it.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand what you’re telling me.” Lark’s gift is seeing the future, but she’s never shown me an image as precise as this.

“They’re looking for you,” she says, her eyes bright. “You need to come home. For the children. For the court.”

I shake my head. “I don’t have a home.” My sister is the only person who truly cares for me, and she’s in a realm I can no longer visit now that I’m fae. “Sebastian has the crown. I’m sorry.”

She presses a tiny finger to my lips and looks over her shoulder into the dark night. “Listen.” A shout echoes in the distance, from another world. “It’s time.”

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