The archers selection, p.18
The Archer's Selection, page 18
“I should check it,” I said.
Pan smirked. “You know, mortal, you don’t need an excuse to touch me,” he said.
“Really?” I asked sarcastically as I moved closer to him. “I thought you’d need to bathe in magma in order to rid your pure body of my sullied touch.”
“Such a dramatic thing,” he said with a tsk. “Go on, then. Get on your knees and touch me.”
I glared at him. His smirk only deepened. I hated the way his eyes sparkled. I hated the way my heart jumped at the sight.
Instead, I took a seat on the plush chair he had in his room. The bandage on Pan's torso concealed the injury from the Blood Forest, but as I carefully unwrapped it, the extent of the damage was revealed. The skin around the wound was mottled with shades of purple and red, a vivid testament to the violence of the attack. The gash itself was a long, angry line, puckered and angry, with the edges still tender and raw.
Running my fingers gently over the taut skin, I couldn't help but notice the way Pan's body reacted to my touch. A subtle flinch, a shiver that traveled through his muscles, betrayed the intensity of sensation that passed between us. The air was thick with unspoken desires and longing, a tension that hung heavy in the room.
My heart quickened as my fingers traced the contours of the injury, my touch careful yet intimate.
“”Why not just heal yourself?” I asked.
He regarded me with a solemn expression, his gaze distant as he considered his response. "Healing requires magic," he finally explained, his voice carrying a note of regret. "But expunging too much magic in the mortal realm, especially with someone actively trying to kill me, would leave me vulnerable."
“Even more vulnerable than you are with the injury?” I asked.
“That’s what I have you for, pet,” he said. His hand found my collar and he ran the back of his finger over the material.
“Pan, I…” I let my voice trail off.
“Will you ever refer to me as Highness?” he asked in a low voice, turning his head slightly so his nose grazed my forehead.
I swallowed. “I need to change the bandages,”I said. “Can I get –”
More popped out of the sky and onto the table.
I frowned as I grabbed one. “Why can you do that but not heal yourself?”
“Doing something like that is miniscule,” he said. “It takes no effort whatsoever.”
I cleaned the wound with a gentle touch, careful not to touch him longer than necessary. Pan's muscles tensed under my ministrations, which I pointedly ignored.
After I had cleaned and rewrapped the wound, Pan's voice broke the silence. "Thank you," he said.
With a nod, I rose from my seat and moved to get dressed. The wardrobe had clothes for me – I wondered if Pan had a servant move them over himself – and I chose a simple yet practical ensemble that allowed for ease of movement. Now that I was no longer a contestant, I didn’t have to wear frilly dresses.
I wore a fitted blouse, its soft fabric adorned with intricate embroidery in vibrant, ethereal colors that seemed to shimmer in the ever-shifting light of the sky. The blouse had a high neckline that provided a sense of modesty but still clung to me like a lover.
My pants, crafted from a rich, deep green material that mimicked the Blood Forest, was as soft as silk but much sturdier. It was adorned with subtle floral patterns, a testament to the natural beauty that thrived in this enigmatic realm.
On my feet, I wore sturdy yet comfortable boots.
As I stepped out from behind the changing sheet, I couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability under Pan's watchful gaze. I thought for sure he’d tell me to go back, to change, to pull on a dress. Instead, his eyes, like pools of dark desire, drank in every detail of my attire, from the vibrant embroidery on my blouse to the form fitting pants.
But it was the collar, bearing his initial, that drew his attention most. There was a hunger in his eyes, a raw intensity that I couldn't ignore.
Pan's gaze lingered on the collar, a symbol of possession. In that moment, as our eyes locked and the air between us crackled with unspoken tension, I couldn't help but wonder how this had happened in barely a day.
And what more would happen in the future.
“Come, pet,” he said with a grin. He offered me his arm.
I didn’t trust it.
I didn’t trust him.
“Unless you’d like me to get you a leash?”
I hated him.
How could I be attracted to him and hate him?
As I took his arm, he leaned into me, and I realized he needed to mask the fact that he was injured. He needed my help. Because if he didn’t have it, and someone saw him vulnerable…
I didn’t want to think about it.
As much as I hated him, I knew I needed him to protect me, all the same.
When Pan and I entered the dining room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The others were already gathered around the grand table, their presence a testament to the ongoing competition for Pan's hand in marriage. The atmosphere was a mix of anticipation and polite conversation, but there was an undercurrent of tension that simmered beneath the surface.
Evangeline, her delicate features framed by cascading locks of iridescent hair, was among the contestants seated at the table. Her eyes widened with surprise as she saw me, and for a moment, the room seemed to hush in recognition of my presence.
I gave her a shrug, unsure how to explain.
“What is she wearing?” Aurora asked.
I clenched my teeth but ignored her.
As Pan gracefully took his seat at the head of the grand dining table, his presence seemed to command the attention of all in the room. The Fae, each vying for his favor, watched his every move with bated breath.
With a subtle gesture, he indicated for me to join him, and once again, I found myself seated on his lap. It was a position that had become increasingly familiar, and one that carried a potent mixture of possessiveness and desire.
The other Fae contestants exchanged glances, their expressions revealing a blend of curiosity and surprise.
As I settled onto Pan's lap, the tension in the room seemed to simmer just beneath the surface.
"Ladies," he began, his tone measured and regal, "I have made it known that I am in search of a suitable wife, one who can stand beside me as we navigate the complexities of the Fae court and the mortal realm. But know this, the path to your selection is not an easy one."
His gaze was unwavering, and there was a hint of challenge in his eyes, as if daring any of them to question his authority.
"I value intelligence, strength, and loyalty above all else," he continued. "In the coming weeks, you will face a series of trials, each designed to test these qualities. The challenges will range from puzzles that require wit and cunning to physical tests that demand strength and agility. The trials will reveal your true nature. And in the end, the one who proves herself worthy will earn the right to stand at my side."
Lysandra's voice, gentle yet inquisitive, broke the silence that followed Pan's proclamation about the trials. "And what happens to the mortal," she asked, her eyes flitting to me briefly before returning to Pan, "once you've made your selection?"
The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Pan's response. His gaze remained fixed on Lysandra, his expression inscrutable. For a moment, it felt as though the very air around us had stilled.
Pan's voice, when it finally came, held a note of finality. "The mortal will remain in my service for as long as I see fit," he declared, his words laced with possessiveness. "If anyone takes issue with that arrangement, I suggest you leave immediately."
The challenge in his tone was unmistakable, a clear assertion of his authority over the matter. He was unapologetic in his claim, and it was evident that he had no intention of relinquishing his hold on me.
In the tense silence that followed, no one moved to depart.
At that moment, the doors slammed open and in rushed a guard. Pan tensed, his hand gripping my hip tightly like he was ready to spring up and fight.
"Thorne never showed for his post this morning," the guard exclaimed, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and disbelief. "We checked on him in his room, and... we found him dead."
A collective gasp rippled through the room as the gravity of the news settled upon the Fae and the guards in attendance. The mood, once filled with anticipation and the prospect of competition, had taken a dark and unexpected turn.
Pan's eyes narrowed as he absorbed the information. The sudden death of one of his guards was a matter of utmost seriousness, and it cast a pall over the proceedings. The Fae contestants exchanged anxious glances, their thoughts racing with uncertainty and fear.
“Show me,” Pan demanded.
The guard nodded. I stood up, assuming Pan would leave me the way he had before. But he held onto me, and together, we left the dining room as quickly as we had arrived.
24
As Pan and I followed the hurried footsteps of the guard through the corridors of the palace, the atmosphere seemed charged with a palpable sense of unease. Pan moved with deliberate slowness, his hand resting tightly on my arm for support.
The guard led us through winding passages and up a flight of stone steps, his boots echoing in the hushed silence of the palace. Pan's expression remained composed, but I could sense the undercurrent of something that flickered in his eyes. It was clear that the death of one of his guards weighed heavily on his mind.
With each step, the tension in the air grew, and my own apprehension deepened. Wonderland had proven itself to be a realm of mysteries and enigmas, and Thorne's sudden demise only added to the growing list of unanswered questions.
As we reached the barracks, the guard paused before a heavy wooden door, his hand trembling slightly as he raised it to knock. Pan's grip on my arm tightened, and I could feel the weight of his presence beside me, a silent reassurance in the face of the unknown.
The door swung open, revealing the somber scene within.
We stepped into the barracks, my gaze immediately falling upon the lifeless form of Thorne. He lay on a simple cot, his once-vibrant Fae features now pallid and still. The room was cast in a cold, eerie light that seemed to accentuate the lifelessness that hung in the air.
Thorne's eyes, once bright with the glimmer of Fae magic, stared sightlessly at the ceiling. His expression held a frozen rictus of shock, as if he had been taken by surprise in his final moments. Strands of his silver hair framed his face, stark against the ghostly pallor of his skin.
My heart clenched at the sight.
The room was hushed, and the air carried the faint scent of something acrid, like a lingering trace of magic. The mystery of Thorne's death hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the barracks.
As I gazed upon his lifeless form, I couldn't help but feel a shiver of unease.
“Your Highness,” the guard from before said. “We found a note.”
With a sense of trepidation, the guard handed the note to Pan. Pan unfurled the note, and I stepped closer so I could read it as well.
“It’s his writing?” Pan asked the guard.
The guard nodded.
My Dearest Seraphina,
I pen these words with a heart heavy with sorrow and a soul tormented by jealousy. I cannot bear the thought of another's touch upon the one I desire above all else.
When I learned of your intentions to win the Prince's heart, a green-eyed envy consumed me. It gnawed at my very being, twisting my thoughts and darkening my heart. I knew not how to quell this anguish that threatened to consume me whole.
In the throes of this torment, I committed a grave and unforgivable act. I took your life, Seraphina, in a moment of madness and despair. The blade that claimed your gentle heart was wielded by my own hand, and the guilt of that deed weighs upon me like a millstone.
Yet, even in the depths of my twisted desire, I could not bear to live with the knowledge of what I had done. The agony of my actions became too much to bear, and so, I chose to end my own suffering. In this note, I offer no excuse, no justification. Only an admission of the darkness that consumed me.
May the Fae realm find forgiveness for my wretched soul, and may you, dear Seraphina, find peace in a realm beyond this one.
With a heart heavy with regret,
Thorne
The room fell into a heavy silence as the weight of Thorne's confession settled upon us all. It was a tragic and twisted tale of love and obsession, one that had ended in two lives lost and a chilling revelation that sent ripples of unease through the hearts of those who had gathered to witness the grim discovery.
Wonderland, it seemed, held secrets darker and more complex than any of us could have imagined, and as I stood among the witnesses to this haunting revelation, I couldn't help but wonder if Pan had been wrong about someone trying to kill him in the first place.
“Out,” Pan said softly. Then, louder: “Out!”
As the gravity of Thorne's confession settled over the barracks, the room was soon emptied of the guards who had been present. They left quietly, their faces etched with a mixture of shock and uncertainty, leaving Pan and me alone in the room with the weight of the revelation.
Once the last guard had departed, Pan's grip on my arm remained firm, his thoughts seemingly adrift in a tumultuous sea of contemplation. His features, usually marked by an air of regal composure, now bore the weight of the unsettling truths that had been unveiled.
We stood there in the quiet barracks, an unspoken understanding between us, as the shadows deepened in the room.
As Pan held onto me, lost in the depths of his own thoughts, I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead for us in this realm of magic and mystery. Thorne's confession had raised more questions than it had answered, and it seemed that the intricate web of Wonderland's secrets was far from unraveled.
Then, without warning, he started laughing. It was silky and ugly, a hollowed sound that echoed off the walls. His sharp, discerning eyes dropped to the note again, scrutinizing every word, and a furrow creased his brow as if he were dissecting the very essence of the confession.
“What?” I asked. “What is it?”
“Don’t you see?” he said. “It’s a lie. All of it, a lie.”
"How do you know?”
He turned his gaze towards me, his expression marked by dark amusement, as though all of this was a game to him. "Seraphina's body," he began, his voice low and contemplative, "it was pristine. Not a hair out of place, not a mark on her. If Thorne truly acted out of jealousy and committed such a heinous act, her body would have shown it. There would have been signs of struggle, of passion, of anything other than the serene image we found."
I considered his words carefully, the implications sinking in. If Pan was correct, then Thorne's confession was indeed suspect. It raised the unsettling possibility that there was more to Seraphina's death than met the eye.
“I believe I was the intended target,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because who would want her dead?’he asked.
I nodded.
Of course.
“But how?” I asked.
“Poison.”
I blinked, a shiver coursing down my spine at the revelation. "Poisoned? But how?" I repeated.
“In the food,” he said. “Clothing. Anything that could have been intended for me and got to her by mistake.”
Pan's eyes bore into mine, filled with a grave intensity. "The poison that claimed her life is a concoction made from a flower found only in the deepest reaches of the Fae realm. The Lysanthra. It is a rare and deadly substance, its effects swift and merciless."
“Which means…” I said.
“Whoever is trying to kill me is still out there,” he finished.
“But…how can we make sure you won’t be poisoned?” I asked.
“I’ve already spoken to Arybella,” he said. “When I examined the body myself. She’s going to ensure all traces of Lysanthra are found and destroyed, discreetly. I can’t have anyone know I’m onto them or else I lose a chance of revealing who my killer is. My magic will be coating me in protection, another reason why I can’t simply heal myself. But my magic isn’t as strong.”
“Do you think Thorne was poisoned as well?” I asked.
Pan nodded.
“So,” I said. “Whoever killed Seraphina killed Thorne to keep him quiet.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“I don’t like this,” I said. “You can’t guarantee that you’ll be safe. If they were able to try and poison you in your castle, how can you make sure they don’t do anything else?”
“Worried, are you?” he asked.
“For myself, obviously.” But my voice wasn’t in it. Not the way I wanted it to be.
Pan stared at me for a long moment. “Come,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
He led me out of the bedroom, flicking his wrist at a guard who waited outside. The guard rushed in, probably on his way to take care of the body. His injury still hindered his movements, but his determination to uncover the truth remained unyielding. The corridors, adorned with intricate tapestries and ethereal light, seemed to close in around us as we reached the grand doors leading to his private study.
Pan pushed the heavy doors open with a heavy grunt, revealing a room steeped in both mystery and elegance. His study was a testament to the grandeur of Wonderland, with shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes, curious artifacts, and delicate trinkets from far-off lands. A grand desk dominated the center of the room, covered in parchments and inkwells, where countless decisions affecting Wonderland's fate had been made.
As we entered, the scent of aged parchment and the faintest hint of magic hung in the air. The room seemed to breathe history, each book and relic whispering secrets long kept. Pan gestured for me to take a seat in one of the plush, high-backed chairs that adorned the room, while he settled into his own, his expression grave yet determined.
I kept a curious eye on him as he moved with deliberate purpose behind his grand desk. He reached into a drawer, retrieving a folder that appeared well-worn, its edges slightly frayed. He placed it before me, and the sound of it landing on the polished surface resonated in the quiet room.
