Maeryn grabbed Dew as she walked down the corridor in hurried steps. They stumbled to a stop. 

“Take Efa with you,” Maeryn begged. “Please, Dew, take her with you.” 

The words made no sense to Dew. She headed to the realm of the Fae as what? A bride? A pet? Lysander spoke nothing of the arrangement other than she would be his. Who knew what awaited Dew? To drag Efa into the unknown would be catastrophic. 

“You will need a lady,” her eldest sister continued to argue. “He will allow it.”

Dew opened her mouth to respond but an approaching shadow stole her voice. Her sister caught the paling of Dew’s face and whirled around to face the encroacher. 

Ifan. 

Without much thought, Dew nodded. Efa would be safer with the Fae than whatever fate awaited her after this incident. If the king got word, which he undoubtedly will, it would be nothing but ruin for the family. Teigan might hold to the engagement. Maeryn… she would do what was needed of her. 

“I will,” Dew pulled from her sister with a nod and turned to her room. 

Maeryn rushed to gather Efa and help her pack. 

One of the maids busied themselves in Dew’s room, already gathering her clothes into a chest. Dew could hear the murmured prayers that spilled from the maid’s mouth like wine. Swift and sweet, she prayed for the house and for the ladies therein. 

“Blodeuwedd,” Ifan called behind her. 

“You should be with your wife-”

“Let me help you,” he grabbed her elbow and tugged her from her bedroom door. “Please, Dew, let me help you.”

Her nickname on his tongue made her skin crawl. 

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. 

“Please, I can help you.” Ifan raised his hands in frustration, fingers curling into an almost fist. 

Dew flinched back and stumbled into the door.

“Like you helped me with Lord Kyffin?” She hissed, humiliation coating her cheeks and tears stinging her eyes. “I remember that night when you stopped him.” He stuttered in his defense, but she talked over him, “The horror in your eyes at seeing my arm. The disgust you could hardly hide.”

“I was surprised!” He grasped her face in his hands. 

The touch burned but she could not get away. Her limbs locked tight from the onslaught of panic. The last man to touch her face had been her father a few weeks prior and it left a red impression on her cheek for days. 

“No woman should look that way, least of all you,” he lowered his voice, soft and pleading. 

Dew found her strength and shoved him away. 

“So, you give me the cold shoulder and marry another after gifting me your attention for months.” She breathed deep and steadied herself. 

Now was not the time to rehash her feelings towards him. 

“When he finds your scars, he will leave you to fend for yourself.” Ifan stopped as her maid left her room and declared her things packed. 

If not for the interruption, Dew might have slapped him. 

“Thank you, Awasta.” Dew saw Efa join them and gestured for her trunk to be brought along. 

Several guards in the hallway picked up the chests with audible groans and carried them to the hall. The maids dismissed themselves. 

“Maeryn told you?” Dew turned to her sister. 

Efa confirmed with a nod. 

Dew guided Efa past Ifan. Before they could reach the staircase, Ifan grabbed her again. 

“Listen to me, Dew!”

“I told you not to call me that,” Dew shoved him off of her, “and don’t touch me.” 

The hairs raised on her neck and she heard Efa gasp behind her. Dew turned and shoved herself into a curtsey at the sight of the Fae king. 

“Your Majesty,” she had no idea what to say. 

“You are coming?” Dew looked up to see Lysander watching Efa’s trembling form. 

“I will need a lady to assist me,” Dew quickly explained. 

“Does she not speak?” He asked in a well-mannered tone. 

Dew noticed that unlike before, his tone didn’t match the roaring shores. It sounded almost normal, a little husky and deep from his chest, but not so overwhelming. 

“She is mute,” Ifan answered. 

Dew glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He too bowed low, keeping his head down when he spoke. 

Lysander growled, displeased. 

Dew thought he didn’t like Efa’s inability to speak and she was ready to plead with him on the matter when he spoke again. 

“Do not speak, human.” The heat of his attention refocused on her. “She does not speak?”

“Not since she was ten,” Dew confirmed with wide eyes. 

If his mood constantly switched like this, she could only imagine what it would be like without witnesses. Her father ran these lands. He did not care if the servants saw him deliver bloody blows at his displeasure. Would this Fae king be the same or would he prefer to hide his violence behind closed doors?

“Follow,” he ordered and headed down to the hall. 

Dew grabbed Efa’s hand and tugged her along. 

Maeryn and Teigan flanked the baron in the banquet hall. His neck had been bandaged with a spare rag. 

Bodies of guards and guests littered the room. Survivors cowered behind the tables and held tightly to those next to them. Ifan’s pretty wife crouched behind her chair, alone. 

Fae hoisted the chests with ease and headed for the door. Other Fae, soldiers Dew guessed, surrounded Dew and Efa. She wanted to turn to see her sisters for a final time but resisted the urge. She’d remember Maeryn’s tough love and Teigan’s sweet smiles. She would have Efa’s companionship as they ventured into the unknown. 

Dew inhaled the smell of her home. The fresh, tall grass and the noticeable stench of the farm animals packed away for the night. All corrupted with the bitter taste of casualties.