Chapter 3; Deceptive Like Roses

As consciousness slowly seeped back into my senses, I was met with the biting sting of pain radiating from the cut at the base of my neck. Groaning, I struggled to open my eyes, the dim light of the dungeon flickering before me like distant memories. Sweat ran down every corner of my face sticking my long ruby hair to my neck in an uncomfortable manner.

Blinking away the haze, I surveyed my surroundings. The dungeon was devoid of windows, enveloped in darkness save for the flickering torch mounted on the stone wall. The air was thick with the musty scent of damp earth and decay, sending a shiver down my spine.

With each labored breath, I felt the weight of my predicament press down upon me like a suffocating blanket. Alone in this desolate chamber, I couldn't help but wonder about Edina, Father, and home. Were they safe? Did they mourn my absence, or had they already moved on, resigned to the fate I had chosen?

Thoughts of Edina's tear-streaked face and Father's solemn gaze tugged at my heartstrings, filling me with a sense of longing and regret. 

What was my fate now? I had condemned myself to an existence of perpetual suffering and torment until my dying breath. Yet, amidst the despair, a faint glimmer of solace lingered—I had hunted that doe for Edina and Father before my departure. It would sustain them until the return of the merchants, granting them respite in my absence. I prayed Father would seize the opportunity and secure their well-being.

Gingerly, my fingers brushed against the tender cut on my neck, eliciting a wince of pain. I needed to find herbs to soothe the wound before it worsened, potentially succumbing to infection. The physical sting of the injury paled in comparison to the ache in my heart, tears streaming down my cheeks unabated.

This dungeon was now my bleak abode. Here, I would exist—eating, breathing, and eventually succumbing to the embrace of death. And when my time came, my lifeless body would be discarded, making way for the next unfortunate daughter of Talerion to endure this wretched fate.

As I resigned myself to the grim reality of my new existence, the dungeon's oppressive silence was shattered by the faint sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor. My heart skipped a beat as two figures materialized from the darkness, their forms swathed in shadows. With skin as dark as midnight and pointed ears reminiscent of mythical beings, they slipped through the locked gates as effortlessly as shadows dancing in the moonlight.

I watched in stunned silence as they approached my cell, their movements fluid and graceful. Despite my attempts to speak, my voice caught in my throat, suffocated by a mixture of fear and curiosity.

Without a word spoken, the two mysterious women set to work, their movements deft and purposeful. With gentle hands, they began to disrobe me, their touch surprisingly tender against my skin. Despite my initial apprehension, I found myself surrendering to their ministrations, allowing them to cleanse away the grime and filth that clung to me like a second skin.

As they worked, I attempted to engage them in conversation, but my words fell upon deaf ears. The women remained silent, their expressions inscrutable as they tended to me with an otherworldly efficiency. From head to toe. From the top of my dark hair to the sole of my feet.

With each passing moment, I found myself drawn into their mysterious  presence. As the last vestiges of dirt were washed away, leaving me feeling strangely vulnerable yet oddly refreshed, I couldn't help but wonder what fate awaited me next. 

I stood there, vulnerable and exposed, as their scrutinizing gaze bore into me. Discomfort prickled along my skin, their eyes seeming to dissect every inch of my being—from the curve of my form to the strands of white-silver hair cascading down my back. 

Silently, one of the women thrust my old garments into my arms, wordlessly urging me to cover myself. With a sense of relief, I hastily dressed, their presence lingering only momentarily before they vanished into the shadows, their departure as swift and mysterious as their arrival—melding seamlessly into the darkness like fleeting specters in the dead of night.

As the echoes of their departure faded into the cavernous silence of the dungeon, I stood alone, grappling with the bewildering encounter. 

Before I could dwell any longer on their presence, the sound of footsteps reverberated through the corridor once more. My heart quickened as the visitor—clad in his regal attire—approached the iron bars of my cell.

"Hello Mae, it seems you've had quite the introduction to your new accommodations," he remarked, his tone dripping with mock sympathy.

I narrowed my eyes at him, suppressing the urge to lash out. "What do you want?" I demanded, my voice edged with defiance.

His lips curled into a smug smile, oblivious to—or perhaps indifferent to—the gravity of my situation. "Straight to the point as before. I'm liking that about you," he replied, his tone irritatingly casual.

I gritted my teeth, struggling to maintain my composure in the face of his insufferable demeanor. "Cut the pleasantries. Why are you here?" I pressed, my patience wearing thin.

The visitor chuckled, a sound that grated on my nerves. "I'm here to take you to my High Lord, of course. He's been quite eager to make your acquaintance," he explained, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I scoffed incredulously. "And why, pray tell, would your Lord have any interest in me?" I retorted, my skepticism palpable. I was only here to be tortured for my ancestors sin not to be graced with anyone's presence.

His expression remained infuriatingly smug. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough. But for now, I will take you to your chambers. I suggest you prepare yourself. The Lord doesn't like his goods unkempt," he quipped, before turning on his heel and disappearing down the corridor, the door comes unlock mysteriously and I hastily step out eager to get away from the mucky smell and ignoring the fact that I was just called a good.

I quicken my pace until I'm right behind the visitor, my hands fidgeting with nervous energy as I navigate the dimly lit corridor. "What's your name?" I interject, breaking the oppressive silence that enveloped us.

"Why? Hoping to swoon over my undeniable charm?" he quipped with a smirk, his tone dripping with arrogance.

I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress a snort of derision. "You wish," I retorted dismissively, my irritation palpable.

He halted abruptly, turning to fix me with a scrutinizing gaze that sent a shiver down my spine. Despite my earlier jest, I couldn't deny the undeniable allure of his smoky grey eyes, chiseled features, and dark, tousled curls. An infuriatingly handsome facade that belied his despicable nature.

"Feisty," he remarked with a grin, his smugness only serving to fuel my irritation. "The Lord will find you quite entertaining," he added, his words sending a chill down my spine.

"I highly doubt that," I muttered under my breath, my heart pounding erratically against my ribcage.

He flashed me a mocking bow. "I'm Rhaenan, at your service," he declared with exaggerated formality before striding off down the corridor, leaving me seething with frustration and a newfound sense of foreboding.

"So, Rhaenan, why am I getting a chamber? I thought I was supposed to be a prisoner," I questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

He chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Oh, make no mistake, you are indeed a prisoner. You'll be confined to your quarters, obeying the Lord's every whim and command," Rhaenan explained, pausing before a wooden door that presumably led outside the dungeon.

"Well, you're certainly not what I imagined when my father warned me about Faes invading our town," I remarked, fixing my gaze on the back of his head, hoping to unnerve him.

"What were you expecting? Bony fingers, sunken eyes, and yellow skin? Humans are so easily deceived," he retorted, inserting a key into the lock and swinging the door open to reveal a courtyard adorned with an array of vibrant flowers.

I couldn't help but marvel at the sight under the moon's radiant glow and the twinkling stars. Flowers? I was expecting something more sinister. Perhaps barren trees swaying in the wind or a desolate wasteland with crumbling ruins and eerie creatures lurking about.

"This is... Beautiful." I breathe

Rhaenan smirked, his confidence palpable "I know I am. Thank you," he replied with a nod, earning a scowl from me.

"I was referring to the flowers," I clarified curtly.

Rhaenan scoffed incredulously. "Of course you were." 

It's a rose garden, all ablaze in red, beckoning me to bury my nose in their sweet scent. As we stroll along, my fingers dance across the velvety petals, eliciting giggles as they tickle my skin. Though I don't need to glance at Rhaenan to feel his gaze fixed on me, his voice breaks the tranquility.

"So, the Lord has a fondness for flowers."

"Hardly." Rhaenan halts by a fountain adorned with a blindfolded lady, her outstretched hands a curious sight. "This isn't his domain, and those blooms aren't mere decorations. I suggest you cleanse your hands before any indulgence."

A shiver runs down my spine as I hastily retract my hand from the plants. "What are they? They're stunning, though."

"They're Faeblooms. Deceptive like roses, but their petals, when ground and boiled, possess potent and lethal properties." Rhaenan brushes an imaginary speck from his coat before resuming our journey to destinations unknown. "Hurry along. Even snails move with more haste."

I shoot him a scowl but comply, trailing behind as we leave the garden behind. Once we're a safe distance from the dungeon, Rhaenan pauses, drawing a deep breath before turning to face me.

"How I detest walking."

"What?"

A mischievous grin spreads across his features as he steps closer, seizing my hand. I struggle against his grip, but when he finally releases me, the world has shifted. No longer do I stand amidst the Feyblooms, nor do I spy the dungeon in the distance. Instead, I find myself before a towering mansion, its dark silhouette shrouded in mystery yet exuding an undeniable allure.

"What have you done? We were just—"

"I winnowed," Rhaenan interjects.

"What?"

"I am a Faerie, Mae. We possess powers. Winnowing is akin to flying, but with the added benefit of arriving at your destination in the blink of an eye, as if you never exerted a muscle."

"So... You vanished?" I was dumbfounded by this revelation.

Rhaenan grimaced. "Cidron, no. That's a rather odd way to describe it. Winnowing is distinct."

"Then why didn't you simply winnow us out of the dungeon? Why walk? Why show me the Faeblooms?"

"Because," Rhaenan sighed, "the dungeon and its surroundings are hexed, preventing such a feat and to keep prisoners like you running away"

Before I could respond, a lady approached us, draped in sheer green fabric that revealed the contours of her body, including her nipples. Her form was unlike that of humans or even Rhaenan's; she had a light green complexion, with purple fingernails and lips. Silver hair adorned with cornrows framed her face, with hair artifices encircling two small horns protruding from her head. Were they truly horns? Was she also a Faerie but a different kind?

"Rhaenan," she greeted warmly yet authoritatively. "You've returned." Her gaze shifted to me. "And with the prisoner."

Uncertain of her intentions, I simply stared back, focusing on her face out of propriety, though in Ferngrove, such behavior would be deemed improper, punishable even by hanging for being perceived as a harlot.

"Hello, Calia. You're as charming as ever," Rhaenan said, taking her hand and bestowing a kiss upon it. "Any news?"

"He awaits you in the study. Go to him. I'll escort the prisoner to her chambers," Calia instructed, her gaze firm upon me.

Without a word, Rhaenan hurried off, leaving me under Calia's watchful eye. I narrowed my gaze at her as she turned away. "Follow me."

The back of her dress was as revealing as the front, outlining her form and leaving her back bare. I followed cautiously, particularly as she toyed with a dagger belted to her lean waist.