Rapture by L.V. Lane
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Winter
THERE IS SOFTNESS underneath me and softness above when my eyes blink, taking me to skewed wakefulness.
The lamp upon my bedside table casts weak light over the room and the man beside my bed.
“What happened?” the king asks.
His deep crimson tunic is elaborately embroidered in gold stitching. With dark wavy hair and a neatly trimmed beard, his handsome face appears unusually gaunt.
There was a time when I thought him as close as a friend and his eyes held mine with sensitivity.
Today, they hold only questions.
Today, he is not my friend.
Today, he is my king.
“Winter?”
Words elude me. They can neither form in my mind nor make it past parched lips.
“Winter, if you don’t tell me, they will torture him until he dies or tells us himself.”
Still, I cannot answer.
“You saved a fairy child,” the king continues. “One who is young and yet has higher blood than even me.”
The words float past me, not finding traction within my mind.
“He nearly died,” the king continues, frustration lacing his tone. “You didn’t feed him. Why didn’t you feed him?”
Still, I cannot answer.
“We need to know what the fuck happened.”
Silence.
“We need to know if he is at fault!”
Silence.
“We need to know!”
Then he is gone.
I am left floating in the void.
Time passes
Sometimes, I wake to find the king sitting in the high-backed chair before the window.
Sometimes, I wake to find the child sitting in the same chair, face solemn, a young Breeder fairy at her side.
Sometimes, I don’t wake up, but I hear the voices. Harsh voices, angry voices, coaxing voices.
And still, I cannot speak.
