[Wattpad Picks: Editors' Choice]
Saoirse's blood dances with iron and trickery, a secret she has managed to sheathe from all faery alike.
Until now, that is.
When Saoirse's cunning and charade is shredded to bits by the malevolent interfering of fa...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER SIX
A CURSE?
Saoirse could only stare in horror at the Spring Princesses' appearance. She visibly shuddered, unheeding of the fact that her sentiments were plainly writ on her face.
"Curse?" She asked softly, testing the waters. It was difficult, for every breath she'd taken was one infested with the stench of rot and decay; a smell so foul it turned her stomach.
Amoret clucked her tongue -- one of a salamander's that came spilling in a long pink rope past the thin, cracked, white-gash of a mouth she possessed. A frog's eye bulged from her skull, twitching. "Yes." A beetle launched past her tooth, splattering on the wall. "A curse."
It was then that Saoirse's wits came to her, and she straightened her spin, wiping her features of any expression. Her fingers twitched. She could expose her gift to them, bid them to stay back and protect herself, or ... let fate run its course.
"Placed by whom?" A chill whittled her voice to a sharp demand.
Amoret's features twisted, if possible, rendering them uglier than they had been. Appearing more monster than faery, she spat, "The Alder King."
Saoirse's breath lodged in her throat. The Alder King. She had thought him to be a mere fable what with all the hushed, secretive whispers of his Court, murmurings of his Wild Hunt, and glorified tellings of his majesty. But his existence was true.
Amoret's hooved feet took a step closer, cheek assembled of moth-wings sloughing off. "He has cursed us, for the slight we paid him eons ago. He bided his time," her voice was frail, tremulous. Though if it was with anger or fear, Saoirse could not discern. "He has marked us for The Wild Hunt."
The Wild Hunt.
Saoirse froze, something that sounded akin to an inelegant wheeze escaping her. If they had been marked, then the slight The Alder King perceived them to have committed must've been far greater, far ghastlier than they were letting on.
To be Marked for The Wild Hunt was an atrocity, or so Saoirse had heard.
The Alder King's Courts were let loose to hunt down those who had been marked. There hadn't been one in years, her mother had told her. And if he had marked the Princesses of Spring, perhaps even the entire Spring, his anger would be ferocious.
"You will die then," Saoirse cocked her head. "No one can escape The Alder King's Hunt."
Amoret's tongue slithered again, swiping at the fly that emerged from her eye socket. "You would be right, faery." She conceded with a spray of spittle. "He was very cunning. He has tainted our beauty, flawed us beyond measure. We have been forced to rely on Flesh magic to retain ourselves. We cannot run. We cannot hide. For we smell of rot and decay, and his steeds and courts will find us no matter where we go."
