Marriage of the Fae Ch. 04

**************

Rhys

I spin to face Siobhan as soon as we're out of sight. Her passive expression is infuriating.

"What do you need?" she quips.

Were I not so practiced at self-restraint I would slap her. Does she wish for me to spell it out for her like a schoolteacher? "Where the hell did you even get it?" I demand.

"I'm not going to tell you that, Rhys. Just trust that there won't be any repercussions. It's perfectly safe."

"Not so safe that you don't feel the need to hide it from me." In front of me stands my beautiful childhood friend, and she is eons away. "I thought that every trench witch had been taken out for distributing that stuff. How can you tell me this is safe?"

"Because of precisely that. If the lauded Prince Rhys"—her voice drips sarcasm—"has no knowledge of such goings on, who, then, is to know? For as long as I keep it a secret, that it shall be."

"There's a reason it's illegal, Princess, and it's not because the Councils hate fun," I snap. "What will you say when my wife grows addicted to the shit? Or thinks that she can use it to fully overcome the Elixir? How can you stand there so calmly and offer her that pretty little bottle, knowing what some have become under its spell?"

Siobhan's green eyes narrow. "Don't pretend at caring for your wife," she hisses.

I'm taken aback suddenly, my chest tightening as soon as the words leave her mouth. "How dare—" I cut off as my chest constricts further, and I realize that the pain isn't stemming only from my anger. The cord of the bond has returned in full force, and any tolerance I've built up for it has promptly disappeared after its short absence. "Damn," I gasp.

Through my squinted gaze, I can see Siobhan glaring at me still. "What, did something finally leave an impact?" she snaps, not realizing my predicament.

"Yes, in fact—the letdown from your little potion," I grunt. My hand rubs at my breastbone, trying to soothe the ache.

"Ah." Siobhan makes a sound of recognition, her tone utterly devoid of sympathy, just as she promised me barely a day ago. "Go back to Noelle, Rhys. Try not to fucking bruise her again."

She turns and walks down the corridor, very pointedly in the opposite direction of whence we came. I'm left to hobble back around the corner, where I find Jerome fussing over a whimpering Noelle. The ache steadily subsides as I grow closer.

I'm struck by her tiny form, curled in on herself as she massages the center of her chest. She's trying to be strong. Pushing Jerome aside, I lean over her, waiting for our proximity to allow her pain to end.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone, sweetheart." Will she find comfort in my voice, or will it repulse her? Siobhan's remark rings in my ears. Don't pretend at caring for your wife.

Noelle responds with the latter. "I'm fine," she says shortly. Her small hands come up to shove at my arms, as if she thinks she can so easily push me away.

I resist the urge to pull her against me, and instead give her an inch of space. "Little one, do you feel better?"

"I feel fine," she repeats. Now that she's recovered, she's back to being adorably irritable. I finally place my hands on both sides of her face, making her look up at me with those wide eyes.

She fixes me with a weak glare. "How was your lesson?" I ask.

"Fine. We talked about whitegrass paper."

Again with the paper. I chuckle, then; since she seems to be relatively forthcoming, I chance an offer. "Would you like me to just get you some of your own?"

She raises her eyebrows. "You'd do that?"

Wouldn't I? "Of course, if it's something you'd like."

I'm rewarded with a hesitant smile. "Thank you," she murmurs.

**************

Noelle

God damn him. One moment he's grabbing me hard enough to bruise and the next he's doting and offering me magic paper. He doesn't seem to see a problem with the harsh inconsistency, and neither does the bond, which hums peacefully as he cups my face in his hands. I'm reminded of my mother's words from years ago after my first unpleasant interaction with a catcaller on my way home from school, You don't owe anyone a smile.

I don't owe him a smile. I owe him a hard kick to the face and not much else. But the bond is functioning as some sort of shitty Stockholm syndrome, thrumming at my sternum with a quiet he was kind to you just then, maybe he's not so bad.

I force myself to pull away from his grasp. He frowns, but doesn't retaliate. Did Siobhan say something to him? What could she possibly have said to make this brat of a prince listen? Hey, maybe don't rape your wife. Yeah, totally something like that.

Rhys rubs his temple and sighs. "Are you tired?"

As if in response, my stomach growls. I feel myself blush, but Rhys just smiles. "Alright, food first then."

We end up sitting a healthy distance apart on the bed, picking at a platter of fresh bread and cheese brought in by a servant. Rhys pushes a few more questions about my time with Siobhan, and I give vague answers, keeping our discussion about crossing portals, and Siobhan's ensuing reaction, to myself.

My own curiosity gets the best of me and I ask, "What's the deal with the trench potion? Is it as dangerous as you said?"

Rhys scowls. "You heard what I said. It's addictive, and unpredictable. Siobhan should have known better than to fuck with it, yet here we are."

"You took some, though."

Rhys sighs. "I've tried it before," he mutters reluctantly. "I know how it affects me, so I wasn't going in blind. You, on the other hand..."

"Thank you for...letting me use it anyway." I hate that I'm thanking him for his permission, but what else was it, really? If he had really wanted to prevent me from taking the potion, he could have, easily.

"Don't thank me. And don't get any ideas, either, about using it to try to leave. If you use it for too long in great increments, the addiction and withdrawals are said to be hell. And if you use it to try to cross a portal while under an Elixir bond, the effects are debilitating and irreversible."

"Sounds pleasant," I mutter.

Rhys looks at me oddly and then chortles, shaking his head. "This sardonic wit of yours is beginning to grow on me, I have to say." I'm about to reply with something snarky, but then stop myself, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"I'm tired," is all I say instead.

Rhys' smile fades only slightly. He's looking at me...endearingly? "Then let's get you to bed," he murmurs. He seems to stop and think for a moment, then nods to himself and walks toward a bureau sitting against one wall. He pulls out a ball of filmy white fabric and tosses it to me. I let it unfurl. It's a nightgown, thin and minimalist but not skimpy. I quickly pull my dress over my head and replace it with the gown, noticeably under Rhys' watchful eye.

He smiles but doesn't approach me. "I have some routine business to take care of before the night is over, so I'll be working." He gestures to a desk in the corner. "Sleep, Noelle." From the other end of the bed he pulls back the covers and I wriggle under them, not in a mood to refuse his help. He waves a hand at the candelabras beside the bed once I lie down and they go out, and I doze off to the thought that he must be able to see in the dark, by some sort of magic.

**************

I wake when the early morning sun begins to stream through the windows, turning to find Rhys beside me, soundly asleep. I stare for a few moments, fascinated by his slumbering form. The stiff lines of his face are softened, giving him an almost boyish look that's complemented by his dark curls spilling over the pillow. His full lips slightly parted, he breathes deeply, his brow occasionally twitching, maybe in a dream.

He sleeps like someone who needs it.

I refuse to let myself even consider the fact that I've been too hard on him. That's not the case, it's not even entertainable as a thought after what he's done to me. I won't forgive him. But there are parts of this situation that are no more his fault than they are mine, namely the whole falling-through-a-portal debacle. And last night he seemed almost...kind? By Rhys standards, at least. Even though he doesn't respect me, he respects Siobhan, and whatever she said to him last night apparently had a small effect.

Or I'm imagining it, and it's the fucking bond talking again. I don't know whether I'd like that better or worse than finding some good in him for real. Either way, it's much easier not to hate him when he's sleeping like a baby angel beside me. Baby fairy. Whatever.

I sit up in bed, slowly, trying not to shift the covers too much. I pause for a moment, observing Rhys, and relax when he seems to be just as unconscious as ever. I slide out of bed, the pale wood boards of the floor uncannily warm under my feet.

On the dresser near the bathroom sits a small ivory book, shimmering faintly in the light of the morning. It's vivid enough that I think I would have noticed it had it been there last night, but other than its color and shine it looks like any sort of bound notebook you could buy at a craft store. I lean over the dresser to read the word etched in iridescent ink on the cover.

Noelle.

It's mine, it's my paper. I gently pick up the book and open it up, finding blank pages of the same tawny paper I've seen Rhys use on several occasions. Each piece sits loosely in the binding, meant to be torn out and sent off. The notebook is nicer than the pads of paper Rhys uses. I wonder how he had it delivered so quickly overnight.

He's not getting nicer, he's buying you off. The voice in my head sounds off before I even have time to consider the former. It's only been what, three days? Only manipulators change their tune so quickly, and so often.

Even so, I pet the book admiringly as I flip through its pages. What I really want to do is pull one out and dismantle it, see if there's anything on the macro level that makes it tick, but each soft sheet is so pretty I barely want to touch it more than necessary.

I place the book back down on the dresser, vowing to come back and inspect it more later. Inside a closet I've seen Rhys get into I find a pastel yellow dress that's less gauzy than the others he's put me in, made of a cotton-like material. I pull my nightgown off, and, after establishing that there are no pants or undergarments to be found in the drawers, pull on the dress and button it up the front. The neck of the dress dips to just below the line of my armpits, but is well fitted enough to avoid excessive cleavage. I wonder where he got all of these dresses from. Certainly not borrowed from any of the Fae servants or courtiers I've seen; the women are all nearly as tall as Siobhan, and many not quite as slim.

"That looks nice on you." Rhys' voice makes me jump. I turn to see him lying on his back against the pillows, his arms folded behind his head. "Wear yellow more often."

So close. He sounded almost sincere for a moment, appreciative, before he started making demands. I narrow my eyes. "Thanks for the advice, personal shopper."

Rhys' brow furrows, and where I'm expecting anger, I see only disappointment. Hurt, even? Can't be.

"Are you going to sulk at a compliment? Would you please wear yellow more often?" He assumes his usual exasperated tone, rising from the bed. It's only now I notice that he's completely naked. A blush comes on sharply.

I swallow. "Only if you put on some clothes. Any color." I force a smirk and am taken by surprise when he chuckles, closing the distance between us and reaching out to gently grasp my chin.

"You've seen it all before, little one."

"Not willingly." The words come out before I think about them, with all their implications. Oh well, it's the truth.

Rhys steps back. "I haven't been very gentle with you."

"No, you haven't," I blurt, shocked into speech by his sudden admission. He just nods, looking thoughtful. Where anyone else would avert their eyes in shame, though, his remain trained on me. This isn't exactly the most conventional of apologies, if it is one.

Rhys sighs. "I'm sure you understand—even if you pretend not to—that as husband and wife in a royal union, there are certain...duties that are expected of us to perform."

"I'm beginning to understand that as a cultural thing," I allow.

"As a Fae prince, and one hailing from a wealthier clan, I was never taught not to simply take what I wished," he continues.

"That much has been obvious."

Rhys looks pained. "Fault me for trying, will you, little bird? I'm attempting to explain myself. I never said it wouldn't be shoddy."

I sigh and hold my tongue.

Rhys continues. "It never happened to occur to me that taking what I wished did not necessarily extend to people." He hesitates. "Humans especially."

"Because you see us as inferior?"

"Because that was the only way in which I was taught to see you. Other than a few words here and there from the high Priest about tolerance, my education in regards to humans was that of a lesser race, those who could not use magic, who were smaller, weaker.

"In the past few days...not without help...I have come to see that perhaps this teaching was misleading. The actions of the Council now seem, for lack of a better term, archaic."

No fucking shit. "Did Siobhan make you say all this?"

Rhys starts forward for a second, and I think he's about to grab me, but he stops himself, steeling his jaw. Instead, he strides across the room to his chest of drawers, pulling out a pair of pants and sliding them up his legs. "Princess Siobhan, imp, and no, she did not," he says, looking offended. "Granted, some of her preaching from the past days has rubbed off on me, but I was not put up to this."

"Oh." I'm not sure what else to say, and Rhys doesn't seem like he has much left in him. "Um, thank you. I think."

This time Rhys closes the distance between us, and before I can cringe his hand is on my cheek. "I'm going to be gentler," he murmurs, "but...I need your help."

My help? I can't imagine the sort of "help" it would take for someone to un-learn Rhys' particular brand of entitlement. "What kind of help?" I ask.

His brow furrows, and he runs a hand through his dark hair. He seems to be...conflicted, almost? Like he's wrestling with the best way to phrase something. "Help, in the sense that you humor me," he finally says. "I am beginning to sympathize with your situation. You didn't ask to be a part of this world, and you do not have an appreciation of the Elixir as I do. I've placed too much of a burden on your shoulders in that sense."

I nod silently. He continues. "I had convinced myself that you would come around eventually, through my own...insistence. I understand now that this is not the case. Your upbringing, your convictions, are very different from mine, to say the least."

I can't help but scoff at that. "Yeah, you could definitely say that."

He nods, tolerating my sarcasm. "So, in humoring me, I ask that you sympathize with my own situation. That you allow us to come to a mutual understanding, together. I know you are not fond of me, and you know that I would prefer this bond not exist."

"You're saying you want...some sort of a compromise," I infer.

"For lack of a better term, yes." This is the first time I've seen him struggle for words so. "I promise to be gentle with you, and to respect your wishes to the best of my ability. In return, I ask that you do not fight the natural tendencies of the bond, and that you teach me how to treat you as you wish to be treated."

His words still smack of entitlement, of his apparent difficulty in taking on anything remotely challenging to his own worldview...but it's kind of a start. And as much as I hate to say it, I'll take what I can get at this point. I stare into space for a moment, trying to look like I'm thinking.

"Alright," I say finally. "If you promise to be gentle, and respect my boundaries, I promise that I'll do my best to teach you how to do it." I bite down on the inside of my lip. "And to try to do better with the bond," I mutter.

Rhys' face breaks into a smile that looks almost relieved. "Thank you, Noelle," he says. He holds out his hand to me, and I know that once I take it, it'll be my word to hold up my end of our bargain.

When my hand slips into his, he leans down and presses his lips to the tips of my fingers. "To our new marriage vows," he says.

Well, when you put it like that. The thread between us hums happily, perfectly slack. I feel like can breathe better than I have in days. "To our marriage vows," I repeat. And to hoping they'll catch on.

**************

Siobhan

It's not a good idea to be where I am right now, but considering the circumstances, I don't have much of a choice. I lift my hand and knock three times on the light-dappled wooden door before me, the hollow sound a startle to the pristine silence of the surrounding forest.

A few blinks pass before the door swings in to reveal a stooped, elderly woman standing just beyond the threshold. "Lovely Siobhan," she rasps. "Do come in."

I step into the squat house. The inside is brightly lit, not the sort of atmosphere you'd expect from a Fae-witch's cottage in the deep woods. Best to keep up appearances, I suppose, when you're peddling the sort of thing she's got in her larders.

"Hello, Duana." I reach into my hip bag, pulling out a heavy satchel. "I have the rest of your payment."

"I've told you already, Siobhan, I don't want your money." Duana wags a finger at me, and I smile.

"I want you to have it, old lady," I insist, and she smirks at the endearment. "You've done so much for me already. It's the least I can do in return." I set the satchel of precious opals down on her table and push it toward her. "Please, let me do this, if only to assuage my own guilt."

Duana is mollified by my transparency, as she always has been. The old woman hates a façade. After her many years of working as the head chemist of my Opal Clan, it's understandable why she'd wish to retire far away from stuffy nobles and putting-on-airs. She rolls her misty grey eyes and sweeps the satchel off the table, opening a cupboard above her head and shoving it inside. "Speaking of your guilt, Siobhan, how is the human?"

"As well as can be expected." I cast my own eyes down, wringing my hands.

"Did my trench perform well?"

"Of course it did. We'll be using more of it soon."

She nods. "It makes my bones ache to think of a human woman bound in that way. Are you ever going to tell me why you feel so very indebted to her? Seeking out a potion such as the trench is a bit more than simply going out of your way for a friend in need. You know what could happen if you were found out by the Council."

My jaw tightens; this was the one question I'd hoped she wouldn't ask. "I feel...responsible for her situation," I mutter vaguely. I know it won't be enough for Duana, who has nothing to lose by pressing for more information.

True to form, the haggard Fae-witch leans closer to me. "And why is that, Siobhan?"

I press the pad of my thumb into my palm, wishing to be anywhere but here. I easily could spin a lie, or simply walk out of the cottage. Duana could do nothing; she wouldn't want to. She'd lose her respect for me and move on. But I've been selfish enough for a lifetime already.

I breathe in deeply, setting my jaw. "Because I am, Duana," I say. "There's nothing I can ever do to make up for what I've done to her, but I have to try. The portal above the Elixir was my doing. Noelle is here because of me."