Page 47 of Fae Tithe

“This feels too easy, Lance. Why would they just take us to her?” Helena hissed as they made their way up another winding staircase.

“It is too easy,” the Merman whispered, glancing at their surroundings. “The Seelie Court loves their amusement.”

She narrowed her gaze, suspicious at Lance’s comment. “How do you know—”

“Shut up!” one of the guards barked, stopping them in front of a set of huge red double doors. It was framed by ornate rose vine carvings, with two large dragon-head doorknobs at the centre. Two of the Fae guards stepped forward, pulling open a door each.

Helena took in nothing else as she was ushered into the huge circular room. Her eyes raked over the figure that stood in the centre.

“Eleanor!” she shouted, breaking into a sprint over to her daughter, her heart pounding with relief.

Eleanor turned to Helena. She was resplendent in a pastel pink dress decorated with tiny chips of rubies and pearls sewn into the silk. On her slender neck, she wore a wide gold choker necklace, embedded with rubies the size of hen’s eggs.

“Mum!” she cried, dashing towards her mother.

Helena was quickly blocked by the mountainous Manor Guard who had first entered her cell. Rage spiked within her at the Fae who blocked her way.

“Move,” she growled upwards, eyes boring into his.

The Fae responded by placing his hand on the hilt of his short sword. sheathed at his lean waist, and glowering down at her.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Helena peered around the guard, ignoring his threatening stance. She took in the sight of her daughter properly, her eyes widening in shock at the change in Eleanor. What happened to her? What did they do to her?

“What a heart-warming reunion.” A honeyed voice purred behind her, interrupting her appraisal of her daughter.

Helena spun and looked up. On a half-circle dais, raised above them and smirking down, sat six Seelie Fae, each on a grand golden throne. The voice came from the Fae man in the centre. His throne loomed above the others, broader, gilded, and carved with Dragons that shimmered. A crown, sharp and brilliant, caught every glimmer of the floating Fae lights as it rested on his white-blonde hair.

Helena’s breath hitched. She knew that face. It was the same one she had seen in the portrait on every trip to and from Portson Finishing School for Girls, bejewelling the foyer with its presence. Her spine stiffened. Instinct urged her to bow, to drop her gaze, to kneel. Helena stayed still. The air crackled around the dais, thick with power that made her skin prickle. The Seelie King watched her, amusement dancing in his eyes, a smirk on his perfect lips.

What’s so funny? Helena scowled. Is Lance right? Are we just entertainment? Fighting the urge to subjugate herself, she lifted her chin, meeting the King’s gaze and holding it.

“What did you do?” Helena bit.

The Seelie King continued smirking down at her, studying her dirty, bloody form. “Mrs Neycur, I can see where my dearest Eleanor gets her fire from. I understand you are quite upset, so this time I will ignore your rudeness. I would remind you that I am your King, and you should address me with deference. I am, however, very glad you are here. I wanted to find you.”

Helena saw Lance in her periphery. He tried to move towards her, but the Merman was blocked by the guards.

“Find me? Why?” she asked, a line deepening between her eyebrows as she frowned.

Rian folded his jewelled hands in his huge lap. “Many reasons, Mrs Neycur. Firstly, to meet my future Mother-in-Law. Secondly, to pay the Bride Price, as is a custom amongst humans, and to compliment you on raising such a fine young lady.” His gaze flickered from Helena to Eleanor. “The potion has improved her though.”

“He made me do it, Mum,” Eleanor shouted, her voice cracking with outrage. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t know what he was doing. He changed me!”

Helena’s thoughts scattered, fragments slipping through her grasp. Her ears roared with a rush of blood, her pulse hammering in her throat. She jerked her gaze back to the King looming above her on his raised throne.

“You have no right!” she snarled. “Stealing little girls and changing them. Disgusting!”

“I have every right,” Rian clipped, his eyes narrowing. “There is nothing disgusting in it. She is my claim from the Tithe, a tradition of the Fae nearly as old as Seelieland itself. Your daughter is to be the next Queen. Currently, it is my preference to have no conflict with you, Mrs Neycur, as it would distress my Eleanor. It is my desire to pay the Bride Price in compensation for your daughter. You would live in comfort for the rest of your short human life, and she would live a very long life in luxury with me. Think of it… your grandchildren would be princes.”

“Compensate?! Grandchildren?!” she roared.

Something snapped. Rage surged within her, white-hot and all-consuming. Helena bolted, hand twitching toward the blade in her boot, her eyes locked on the King’s throat.

One step. Two. Three.

A blur of armour beside her, then iron fingers crushed her arm and wrenched her sideways.

She hit the tiles hard. Her skull cracked against the stone, pain lancing through her vision. The world tilted. Her ears rang like a bell.