“Is this our special guest?” a simpering voice demanded from somewhere on the other side of the soldiers that accompanied him.
“Uh, it’s the Autumn prince that kidnapped Princess Ashe, sir,” one of the soldiers said uncertainly.
“Ah yes,” the voice replied as its owner strolled into Heath’s line of sight.
Heath felt a very small measure of relief.
The head of the dungeon would surely want to make a show of roughing up their fancy new prisoner. But this man was slight and sickly looking. He would be unlikely to do lasting damage. And didn’t look like he had the stamina for a prolonged session of chess, let alone torture.
“Prince Heath of the court of Autumn,” the man announced, walking slowly around him as the prisoners and soldiers watched. “A very important prisoner, indeed.”
The little man licked his thin lips.
Heath willed his skin not to crawl, unsuccessfully.
“Well, Your Majesty,” the man continued. “You won’t find any of your soft Autumn luxuries here. But if you keep quiet and do as you’re told, we might not have any trouble. Do I make myself clear, princeling?”
Heath’s blood boiled at the disrespect, but he kept his head down and did not acknowledge the hideous little man.
“Oh, I see. You think you’re very brave, don’t you?” the man asked. “You think you can steal our princess away, treat her roughly, and then come back here and be a big man?”
He nearly broke at the assertion that he had treated Willow roughly, but he managed to remain calm, willing his heart to slow.
“I will destroy you from the inside out, my pretty, pretty boy,” the man said softly. He held his hand out and one of the soldiers scrambled to hand him something.
Heath didn’t look up. Whatever it was it was no worse than knowing he was a prisoner.
The air whistled and he felt the first blow of the whip cut into his skin.
He managed not to wince. Barely.
“This is no fun at all,” the little man said. “Remove his clothing. He won’t feel like a prince without his royal garb. And I want to hear him scream for me.”
Heath set his jaw and did not struggle when the underlings stripped his garments from his body.
He stood, feet shoulder width apart and prepared for the worst.
The little man walked around him slowly, his horrible little hand trailing in the sweat around Heath’s abs as if he were enjoying this access to his naked form.
“You’re mine now, wretched boy,” he whispered. “Mine to do as I like with.”
At last he found a position he liked behind Heath and the crack of the whip whistled in the air again.
Heath closed his eyes and pictured Willow, ensconced safely in Ashe’s childhood rooms, safe and warm.
This little man could abuse his body, but Heath’s mind would be far away, untouchable. They could take his clothing, they could take his blood, but they could not take his dignity.
He was a prince of Autumn, and the master of himself.
17
Willow
Willow stood trembling before the huge double doors.
“Princess Ashe of the Winter Court,” a servant cried, throwing the doors open.
The room inside was as big as a basketball court, with a floor of gleaming marble and a ceiling so high it practically disappeared above her.
Chandeliers with thin white tapers caused the light to dance and waver as it reflected in the marble.
Somehow, the room even smelled cold.
At the far end of the great chamber, two narrow thrones sat atop a dais.
“Come, child,” a woman’s voice called, the words echoing in the cavernous room.
Willow moved forward, wiling herself to remain calm.
These are supposed to be my parents.
As a matter of fact, they were her biological parents.
But Willow felt no connection to the cold voice in the echoing room, no warmth at all from the two figures seated on the thrones.
“Daughter, you have returned,” the queen said crisply.
Willow was relieved to see nothing of herself in those patrician features, or the condescending expression.
The king nodded and Willow found herself gazing into dark eyes, like her own.
“That Autumn princeling kidnapped you. But now we have him in our custody,” the queen said with a horrible smile. “You will have your vengeance, my dear, for yourself and for your sister, Wynter.”
Tears blurred Willow’s vision for a moment.
“My dear, she is so pleased to see you,” the king said, misinterpreting her show of emotion, and sounding moved.
“You have not been the favorite in the past, Ashe,” the queen said sympathetically. “But Wynter’s loss is your gain.”
Willow was startled out of her upset by the heartlessness of the statement.
“Your mother has found you a husband,” the king confided fondly.
“A prince of the Spring Court,” the queen said lightly. “He’s not sharp. That whole court is soft-headed, if you ask me. But we will need the allegiance in our coming battle with Autumn. And you, my dear, will seal it with a quick marriage and a quick heir.”
Willow stared at them, horrified.
“I am told on good authority that he is attractive,” the king said mildly.
“Yes, yes, he’s a very pretty boy,” the queen said. “And more importantly, he understands what you may have suffered at the hands of Autumn, and he will have you anyway.”
Willow blinked at the queen, horrified.
“He’ll be coming along any moment now,” the queen continued. “Do close your mouth so he won’t think he has been betrothed to a fish, Ashe.”
But she was already betrothed, already carrying an heir.
Willow swallowed hard and looked down at her hands, safely hidden in the gloves Iona had so kindly provided.
For now.
“Prince Harland of the Spring Court,” the servant announced as the large doors opened again.
Willow turned and watched the man approach.
He was tall, with wide shoulders and the long hair she was coming to associate with the Fae princes. The king wasn’t wrong, the Spring prince was very attractive.
But Willow could only think of Heath, waiting in the dungeon for his family to claim him.
“Your Majesties,” Prince Harland said in a deep voice, giving a very gracious bow.
“Very good,” the king said to himself.
“We present Princess Ashe,” the queen said.
“It is an honor,” Prince Harland said, turning to Willow and bowing again.
“Likewise,” Willow said politely.
The prince smiled warmly.
Whatever his role in this, she had to remember that he had no idea what was really happening.
“The two of you shall have tea and discuss any preferences for the ceremony,” the queen said.
“Yes, get to know each other,” the king suggested. “The prince has been to the mortal realm - such charming stories.”
“You have?” Willow asked, turning to Harland.
This was interesting, and possibly helpful. If he knew how to get to her world, maybe he could bring her back home.
“Yes, Princess,” he said politely. “I’ve made a study of the mortal realm. I would be glad to tell you all about it at tea.”