Subjugation 05, p.1
The Fae King's Prize, page 1
part #3 of Between Dawn and Dusk Series
THE FAE KING’S PRIZE
Copyright © 2021 Jamie Schlosser
All rights reserved.
This novel is for your enjoyment only and may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without permission from the author except for brief quotations in a book review. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This novel is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to locations or incidents are coincidental.
Due to language and sexual content, this book is intended for readers 18 and older.
Cover design: Book Cover Kingdom
Photographer: Golden Czermak at FuriousFotog
Model: Joey Berry
Formatting: Champagne Book Design
Editing: Amy Q Editing
Proofreading: Deaton Author Services
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
MAP
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
EPILOGUE
OTHER BOOKS BY JAMIE SCHLOSSER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Seven Years Old
Zander
“Stop. Please,” I whisper through dry, cracked lips, but the effort it takes to beg only makes the pain worse.
I’m burning. It feels like my whole body is on fire. Heat spreads through me with every breath I take, and I think I’m ready to die. I just can’t stand this any longer.
Another flame shoots up my spine, and I jerk on the hard marble floor.
Hoping the cool tiles will at least lend relief to my burning face, I press my cheek to the smooth surface.
It’s useless. Nothing helps.
Unbelievable pressure builds in my forearm until it snaps in two. It hurts so bad I can’t help crying out, and I don’t get time to catch my breath before more bones are breaking.
My. Bones. Are. Breaking.
Every single one of them.
Surely, the end is near. I welcome it, but instead of peace, I experience fury. Rage for how unfair life is. Anguish over leaving my mother behind.
I can hear her weeping in the far corner of the room. She’s been chained there ever since she tried to stop my father from letting the wizard do a spell on me. I didn’t understand all the words the magical fae man said as he sprinkled dust over every inch of my naked body. I’ve been slacking on my Old Fae language studies, however, I did catch strength, pain, and king.
I don’t know how long ago that was. Minutes? Days?
At first, I thought my father was trying to restore my sight. Because of a war between the Day and Night realms, a coven of powerful witches cast a blindness curse on all the firstborn children of the royals last year. The only way I’ll ever break the curse is if I find my fated mate.
But I’m dying, so that’ll never happen.
Will it be dark after I die?
I’m scared of the dark. I had always felt so lucky to be born in a realm where the suns shine all the time, but then everything went black just before my sixth birthday, and I haven’t seen a speck of light since.
Not being able to see makes everything feel like so much more.
Including pain.
A surge of heat whips through my skull, and I scream. Loud.
My skull splits, the trembling plates separating.
I try to crawl forward, but I can’t get my fingers to grasp anything. Slapping the floor, I realize I have no control over my hand. It keeps slipping as if my arm is made of jelly.
“Por favor,” my mother begs.
There’s a crack and a yelp. Father hit her again.
“I told you to stop using that language,” he tells her sternly. “You live here now. You’ll speak as we do.”
“P-please,” she tries again, her Portuguese accent thicker than usual because she’s upset.
“The wizard said the first transformation is the worst,” Father mutters, irritated. “It’s not uncommon for it to take a couple days.”
“It’s been three days,” she cries. “It’s killing him. You’re killing our son.”
“I’m making him stronger.”
“He’s fine the way he is.”
“He’s blind, and he has no power!” Father roars. “No one in the royal line has ever lacked fae ability. Until now. Because of you.”
“I gave you a child,” Mother says with defiance. “Is that not enough?”
“No, it’s not.” His voice is calm now, but I’m not fooled. His temper is still boiling, just like the blood in my veins. “He’s too… human. But I’m fixing it. Zander will be the pride of the kingdom soon.”
“If we’re not good enough for you, then send us back.”
Don’t, Mother.
I want to tell her not to say such things. It makes Father so mad. He might hurt her again.
He can’t stand to hear her talk about her home—the place she was taken from. She tells me in secret. At night, when it’s just the two of us, she speaks of a place called Brazil. She describes the cattle farm she grew up on and something called a jungle. It sounds magical.
I’m sad I’ll never get to see it.
Father’s footsteps march toward her, and even though I can barely move, I do what I always do when he goes after her—distract him.
I yell, but a sound I don’t recognize comes from my throat. It’s a squawk and a screech.
Silence falls.
Father’s boots stop their stomping. Mother’s chains no longer clink and jingle.
It’s too quiet.
Suddenly, there’s light. I blink as blurry objects appear. Within seconds, the room sharpens.
I see the marble columns decorating the tall walls of my bedroom. The yellow comforter on my bed. Mother’s tear-streaked face and her bloodied wrists from the iron shackles.
My father did it. He brought my sight back.
Was it worth it? I’m not sure yet.
The pain and fire have lessened, becoming a dull ache all over my body. Hot blood pumps from my heart, but it’s not unpleasant to feel the rush of heat through my veins.
Rolling to my back, I try to sit up. I still don’t have very good control of my arms. My hand slips against the floor again, and I end up sprawled out on my side.
“What did you do to him?” Mother questions, horrified. “What did you do to my baby?”
“The wizard said he would be powerful.” Father sounds just as stunned. “Strike it all. That bastard tricked me.”
I wince as the cursed word zaps my mother’s hand, and I wait for the shock to come to me, too. But it doesn’t.
Mother is sobbing now. “Will he change back?”
Change back? Change back from what?
“I… don’t know.”
Something I know about the Day king—he doesn’t like to admit he’s made a mistake and he never says he’s sorry. So the uncertainty I catch in his voice isn’t reassuring.
Flailing, I finally get up onto all fours, bracing myself on my hands and knees.
Only, something isn’t right. My arms are out at my sides, so what’s holding me up?
When I look down, I see long talons on deformed feet. Then I lower my head to look behind me and realize I have the legs of an animal. My feet are furry paws. To my side, there are large black feathered wings spanning out where my arms should be. They’re like the wings I usually have, only much bigger.
That’s why I couldn’t use my hands. Why they kept slipping.
They’re just feathers now.
Waddling, I make my way over to the oval standing mirror, and another squawk escapes from my throat when I see my reflection.
I don’t recognize the creature looking back at me.
I have a beak instead of a face. A white feathered head changes to smooth brown fur on my body. A tail whips behind me, the brown tuft on the end restlessly hitting the floor.
The only part of me that’s the same is my eyes. They glow back at me like two gold coins reflecting candlelight.
I’m terrifying.
“Strike you!” Mother shouts forcefully at my father. “Strike you to the depths of hell!”
A pop ignites against my father’s cheek and another quickly follows. Again, I wait for the cursed word to sp
ark against me, but it doesn’t. Maybe it can’t get to me when I’m in this form.
I could change back. Somehow, I know this to be true. But I also think it will hurt, and I’m not ready to go through the pain again.
I’ll stay like this for a while.
Once Father has recovered from the electric shocks Mother gave him, he turns his anger to her and raises his fist. Before he can punch her, I’m skidding across the floor, my talons and claws leaving deep grooves in the marble as I slide between them.
As soon as I’m shielding Mother, I snap my teeth at my father’s hand.
No, not my teeth—my beak.
He rears back, fear flashing in his golden eyes as he cradles his arm to his chest. He almost lost a finger just then. I’m sorry I missed. I wouldn’t mind feeling the crunch of his bone and tasting his coppery blood—payback for the way he’s mistreated my mother and me.
My movements feel unnatural as I crouch down, staring at my father while I make myself comfortable as Mother’s guardian. Even though I’m sitting, I’m as tall as him. Strength flows through my big body, and now that I can see, I recognize the expression on his face.
Regret.
Not because he feels bad about what he did to me, but because I’m dangerous. He’s scared of me.
“By the suns, what has become of you?” His tone is full of disgust.
And I know the answer to his question.
A monster. He turned me into a monster.
Present Day
Maelyn
The covered wagon stops with a jolt, and whimpers and cries sound all around me. I can’t seem to make a peep. Fear has left me frozen and mute.
The girl to my left starts sobbing again, and someone else starts praying in Spanish.
I want to cry and pray, too, but even silent tears would make me all snotty, and I already feel like I’m suffocating with this burlap sack against my face. The scratchy fabric is full of tiny holes for breathability, but it’s still unbelievably hot and it stinks in here. I’m not sure if it’s the bag over my head that smells or the wagon itself.
My cell phone and purse are missing. Even though my wrists are bound in front of me, limiting my range of motion, I’ve done my best to search my pockets and the area where I’m seated. I have nothing.
Worst of all, my glasses are gone. They must’ve fallen off in the scuffle.
As I rack my foggy brain for the last thing I remember, all my parents’ warnings about walking to my car alone in dark parking lots come back to haunt me.
I recall the flickering streetlamp, the stillness of early morning before sunrise, and the quiet crunch of my sneakers on the gravel with each step. Out of nowhere, there was an arm around my neck, a body pressed against my back, and a cloth shoved over my nose and mouth.
Then, just darkness.
I’d been visiting my roommate at her work. Paige is always hungry halfway through her shift, and since I’m an early riser, I do what any good best friend does—I occasionally bring her breakfast. Paige dances at a strip club. Although it’s in a bad area of town, they have good bouncers. One of the guys usually escorts the girls to their cars when they leave, and even though I don’t work there, they do the same for me.
Except for last night. They were short staffed, and I just wanted to get back to my apartment. So, instead of waiting, I told them not to worry about it.
Big mistake.
Next thing I knew, I woke up here.
Since then, I estimate we’ve been riding for about an hour. At least, I think we have. The journey has been bumpy and slow, and time passes differently when you’re fairly positive you’re going to die.
Suddenly, someone opens the back doors, and bright light replaces the darkness I’ve gotten used to.
Time’s up.
As the sunlight filters through the burlap sack, I try to see through the meshy material. There’s an outline of a man—a bulky shadow—but that’s all I can tell.
Chains rattle, and there are more frightened cries as the man starts ushering girls out. Or dragging, in some cases. A couple of the girls are fighting him. It seems like a good idea until I hear a dull slap and a thud.
“Get up,” the man snarls. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
Easy. I’ll choose that any day.
Some might call me a coward, but I’ve never been hit before, and I don’t want to find out what it feels like.
I’m not tough. No part of me has ever been broken. Not a bone. Not my heart. Never even had a cavity.
I’ve lived a good life, and while I appreciate that, it didn’t prepare me for harsh conditions.
I have zero tolerance for pain.
To sum it up, I’m a wimp.
Considering my occupation, I feel like I should have a better backbone. I should be stronger. Because what kind of person counsels abused women, convincing them that leaving their violent partners was the right move, when all along I know I might not be so brave?
I’d always suspected if there were a contest for the best kidnapping victim, I’d lose. Or maybe I’d win. I guess it depends on what the end goal is—escaping at all costs, or just being compliant and doing whatever it takes to not piss the captor off.
Whenever I’ve seen news stories about missing women found years after their disappearance, and no one can understand why they didn’t try to get away sooner… I get it. I do. Same goes for women trapped in bad relationships. I can’t blame them. The promise of pain would keep me in line, too. I can barely watch TV shows with torture scenes. If it were me in that situation, I’d cave and blubber and beg at the first threat of torment.
My parents used to say I was the perfect kid. I was obedient to a fault. I never had a rebellious streak, even during adolescence. Instead of making my own mistakes, I learned from others. I’ve lived my life carefully, too scared to let personal experience be my teacher.
Until last night.
One bad judgement call, and here I am.
Abducted.
Since all the captives are tied together like preschoolers on a walk to the park, the rope around my wrists cuts into my skin when the person ahead of me is jerked forward.
The chafing is almost too much. My fingers tingle from lack of circulation. Sweat trickles down my temple, sliding down the side of my flushed face as I shuffle toward the light. Even though I’m cooperating, the man roughly yanks at my rope, causing it to tighten further.
A whine finally escapes as I fall to my knees. The wooden boards of the wagon are unforgiving, leaving bruises on my legs.
As the pain radiates through my body, I crawl forward the rest of the way, until my hands find the ledge. I don’t want to tumble out headfirst, so I gingerly swing my legs over and make sure my tennis shoes land on the ground before I slide my butt off the wagon.
And speaking of that. Who uses wagons and horses for travel these days?
Once I get a few feet away from the guy, I finally find my voice and whisper to a fellow captee in front of me, “Hey, do you know what’s going on?”
“I have an idea,” she replies, her voice accented. Irish or English? “I’m Sasha.”
“Maelyn.”
“Are you human?”
Huh? “I’m sorry, what did you just ask me?”
“No talking,” a gravelly voice barks. “Everyone out.”
The last few women do as he says. In total, I’ve counted ten of us. I think.
With these numbers, this has to be some sort of sex trafficking thing. Or a sex cult. Why else would someone round up a bunch of girls and throw bags over our heads so we can’t see where we’re going?
And isn’t that just a kick in the teeth? I’ve spent a good part of my life guarding my virginity as though it’s something special. The couple guys I’ve dated had a reputation of sleeping around, and I refused to be another notch on their bedposts. Sure, they’d sweet talked their way into a couple of dates, but my suspicions about what they really wanted from me were confirmed when they broke up with me for not putting out.
I even avoided partying and drinking in the past, because I was too afraid I’d be less picky if I was intoxicated.
Now I might end up being raped.
Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. Being trapped inside this sack with vomit all over my face is the last thing I need.
“Single file line,” our kidnapper orders, walking from person to person.
From his jerky motions, it seems like he’s checking our bindings.
When he gets to Sasha, she hisses with pain.
