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The Troll Queen's Bride Eleleth's Heir
5,000 Years Later:Once upon a time, a dying father sold his child to the man of many names.Death is a judge, but he is also a lawyer, and he makes fit the scales of life to balance with his gall. Life for a life, blood for rain, and never a rose without a thorn. Stains of the earthly kind do not wash out, not when they are upon the soul, and the father’s girl was wine red. Born kicking and screaming with a birthmark in the shape of wings on her back. Her mother died in labor, for no one cheats the Reaper.The Devil always gets his due, and tithes to Hell named Janet end up betrothed to infernal Tam Lins. There is not much justice in fairytales, and Sam Hill takes all in time.Seven winters pass. She has the face of a starving angel. Her mother dies in labor in Bethlehem, one of the many Bethlehems that have sprung up since a mad messiah walked wild in the desert long ago with thorns and roses in his hair.The father does not remember his bargain.Each night, she has a visitor.“Daddy
The Troll Queen's Bride Hieros Gamos
Janet curses the corpse below her. Her back itches, where her blood tattoo is, like wings flexing. Like she is trying to flee the cage of her ribs. Were that she could shed her skin and let pinions poke through fierce and mighty, taking her aloft to the skies. There is nothing on the ground to tether Janet here anymore, not with her father gone.Janet’s mourning veil drifts in the stormy wind. The roses she carries wilt, white as the touch of death. Her breath mists like a ghost. She waits at the mausoleum’s steps.“I know you’re there,” she whispers.A crow caws in the dripping pine.She draws the china doll from her purse, her hands clad in calfskin gloves. The shadow takes it from her, his horror and agony brushing against her skin. His touch is like winter’s bone.“Such a fragile thing. How charming.” The thick shadows recede. They reveal the pale cold one. Sam Hill grins back at her. He holds the china doll, places it atop her father’s coffin. “We will bury her, but not yet. It is
The Troll Queen's Bride Alexandria
I suppose I have always known him.He is etched on my hands like indigo dye, the bright stained-glass blue of his iris embedded in my skin. I cannot look at my fingers without thinking of how his interlock with mine. It is a strange thing to know your flesh is haunted. When I look in the mirror, I see him, grinning arcanely back at me.I know that in the womb, he molded me to his will - I am as much his creation as God's, perhaps more so than the Lord lays claim to me. Like my old china doll, he crafted me, with pale skin and copper hair. He says I am delicate as a robin's egg, with eyes like silver coins to pay the ferryman across the Styx.My fate is inscribed on my palm in indecipherable lines. Only he can read them. What he utters ices the marrow of my bones: “I have written my memories into you.” He read stories from my hands in my youth, would tell me tales of a Paradise long lost. Whether that place is now dust or a graveyard, I do not know. Still, he longs to return to Gan Eden
The Troll Queen's Bride Malik
I rest my forearm atop his. Silent, we walk through cobblestone streets, jaywalking and dodging traffic. A bakery warms the wind with delicious scents. The crowds part, subconsciously making way for the Shadow Man and his betrothed. A gale follows Samael; black ice blooms in his wake. Nature curls up and dies at his touch, and my hand burns cold where it meets his, like freezer burn.My wing stains shift their birthmark shape, and I wonder what they will look like tonight. Canary, eagle, sparrow, hawk. Perhaps some kind of owl. I’m feeling vaguely vespertine. I have an Audubon Society book that I’ve used to decipher the port wine stain shadows. Like silhouettes of avians in flight against an iron sky. It is my favorite feature.Samael pauses as if eying a reliquary.“What?” I say.Frosted ivy husks twine over a trellis that stands at the entrance of a darkened alley between two brownstones. Samael grins like a shark, baring sharp teeth. “Perfect,” he hisses. His eyes gleam. Samael smoo
The Troll Queen's Bride Sidhr Tree
He laughs, wiping spittle from his cheek. “But you love me.” It is more of a question than a statement.I cannot deny the twisted affection I have for him. He is a lungful of air ten leagues under the sea. The only thing that makes sense in this cold world.“Love is a disease,” I say, toying. That is my favorite game, playing with him. Just as he plays every day with me. Leopard and mouse.“Everything is fatal. Why not gamble, peach princess?”“Because I've never been lucky.”“Fair point.” He lets me go and reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a cigarette. He spits sparks onto the end and lights it. “But a promise is a promise.” He takes a contemplative drag. “Your father said you would be mine. And so you are. The seven times three tithe to Hell.”“What about my choice? Don't I choose whom I belong to, hmm? Are you so centuries out of fashion feminism has yet to dawn on your archaic empire?”He smirks again. “You chose a long time ago. In the womb. I came to your sleeping soul and ma
The Troll Queen's Bride Lucia
I bristle at the driver's judgment but say nothing. True, it’s bohemian beyond belief, but it fits my aesthetic, I*******m be damned. Samael settles into the seat beside me. He casually rests an arm over my shoulder, as if we are an idyllic couple caught in a winter storm. Not the king and future, if ever, queen of Hell arguing over a centuries outdated institution meant to control women. He doesn’t even have a last name I could take. Jean Doe.We drive past the Arc de Triomphe. Snow drapes the ground like a fur coat.“Here you go,” the driver huffs, turning onto sleepy Rue Merlebleu. He eyes the Rimbaud Building skeptically, with its Gothic architecture and converted cathedral exterior. The driver mutters under his breath, depositing us on the cobblestone sidewalk.Sam helps me out of the taxi with long, muscled arms. We make our way to the elevator, all gold metal, with painted cherubs on the ceiling. He smiles at the angels in a predatory fashion.“So,” he asks, “what is the subject
The Troll Queen's Bride Harrowed in Hell
I set my paint down, turning to him. “I am betrothed to you because the universe demands it. I’m with you because I love you. But I will never be more. This arrangement will be the longest engagement you have ever known. Marriage is for WASPs, not actual wasp girls.”He grins, sly. “I'm the Grim Reaper. I can wait. And time has stopped for you. You aren't growing any older.”I sigh, weary, reminded of the burden of my immortality. “You had to remind me,” I whisper.“I'm sorry-”Anger rises in me. He just keeps damn pushing, like a broken record. “No you're not!” I snap. “You don't care about me.” I swat his hand away. “All you care for is what I am! Your perfect china doll you've stowed away in the attic next to a hammer for the day you feel like smashing it. But you've forgotten something: that doll is adamantine. That doll cannot break.”His eyes flash. “You are the thing I hold dearest, Janet. My finest creation. Of course you are indestructible.”“Then why do you want to break me,
The Troll Queen's Bride Lilac Wine
“What?” he asks, confused.“Don't think I don't like it, though,” I mutter. “I'm just... frustrated. With the whole marriage thing.”“You're always frustrated, dear. Your temper is legendary. Other demons quake at the mere mention of it.” He smiles slightly. “I remember when you were little, and you would build block towers. You would stack them so tall, taller than your head, and then be furious when they weren't perfectly aligned, or they fell. I would have to rebuild them. You are a perfectionist and demand the best in yourself and others.”“I am, huh?” I echo. “Well, being a perfectionist is a bitch. My expectations are never met. Look at my life, Sam: it's in ruins. A starving artist with an expensive college degree. No one will exhibit my artwork, on Earth anyways, your office be damned. My career as a painter is frozen like the lowest circle of Hell.”“No, Janet,” he says, voice fierce. “Your life has only just begun. Paint what you want. In truth, you are my queen. You belong b
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