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“Hoist your head high, milady,” the knight sitting opposite her says with a touch of unfettered amusement, eyes cold as winter. “You are doing the kingdom a boon. The King himself has praised your willing sacrifice. Act like it.”
“Your cowardly king knows absolutely nothing of sacrifice,” Sara scoffs in his face, watching with subtle pleasure as he rears back at her unladylike action; she would offer up an unflattering gesture as well if her hands were not bound together with cool chain and taut metal. She cannot even muster up a spark of violet magic in this state, but—and she grins fiercely now—if he makes the mistake of getting too close, she can still tear the flesh off his handsome face with her teeth. “The only reason why I volunteered was to protect my own, not to do the kingdom any favors. Do not insult my honour. It will not end well for you.”
The knight gives her a smarmy, superior look, one that has her bristling inwardly like a wolf on the prowl. If she had her magic, there would be a headless corpse at her feet now. As it is, she’s reduced to harsh words and chilling stares. “Our King did what was necessary to make you comply. This is your only use left, Lady Kujou. A woman like you, who refused to marry and give birth to a strong boy? You’re not worth much else.”
He spits in her face. Only years and years of carefully cultivating her patience stops her from attacking him for the slight; she folds her shackled hands neatly together in her lap, every bit the collected maiden she portrays herself to be. “Your King is a pathetic fool if he thinks the beast’s hunger can be staved off forever by giving it a woman to feed on every month. Sooner or later it will attack the kingdom, and I will be the first to feel joy when it comes for you and your family.”
He snarls wordlessly, hand drifting to the sword at his hip. “You won’t feel anything when you’re dead, wench. Watch your foul mouth and flashing eyes, lady Kujou. I would slay you here if not for—“
“Slay!” Her sharp laugh echoes off the walls of the carriage they’re in, high and mocking. “You speak not of beasts, but of an unarmed woman in chains. You would dare call my murder a slaying when better men than you have lost their lives to cull the swell of dragons from the North? I have always known the Crown have long employed men who lack mettle, but to see it for myself is such a treat.”
He makes a motion, then, like he is about to strike her—his fist stops just shy of her face and she bares her teeth at him, daring him to continue. She’s always prided herself on her elegance and her poise, but behind the shining image of the Kujou clan’s pretty firstborn daughter is a fearsome warrior with ten times more skill than the Queensguard and too many seem to overlook it. Who needs magic when she could bite his finger clean off his knuckle?
But he sits back. The wise choice, unfortunately. The carriage has begun to trundle to a halt, the well-groomed horses outside braying and stomping their hooves like unruly mules, and he smirks at her smugly. She wants to claw at his face; she wants to dig her painted nails into his eye and puncture it. “We shall see how cocky you remain when you’re served as food for this beast, Lady Kujou.”
He slides open the carriage door and steps out, likely to calm the panicking horses. She cannot see far into the darkness that rushes in after his departure, not in the thick of this forest, but she can hear the knight moving around outside, dead autumn leaves crunching beneath his armoured feet. She tilts her head back, exuding a relaxed, passive confidence, but keeps her eyes on that door. If she’s lucky, he’ll be foolish enough to free her of her chains and she’ll be able to make her escape.
But then there is a crunch.
And then— screaming.
She cannot rise to her feet, not with the chains pinning them down, but she lurches forth when a pale hand clasps the door of the carriage. What sort of beast can take the form of man, she wonders, and shudders violently at the thought.
But a lithe woman comes into view instead, one with free-flowing hair like plum blossoms, blue eyes deeper than the sea and golden-tipped wings like a dragonfly’s at her back, and Sara stares.
Delicate fingertips trace over the carved runes on her shackles and Sara wants to tell the being in front of her to stop, leave, get to safety, but the woman whispers a few words and her restraints turn to snake-like curlicues of creeping ivy, flowering at every bend and break. Her head is bowed, plaited glossy hair tumbling over her shoulders like liquid quartz as she continues soothing the living fauna, and Sara looks at her with a wonder she couldn’t possibly feel for anyone else. Olde Magicks.
“Come,” she urges once she’s done, extending a hand as pale as the stars to Sara, and Sara takes it without another second of consideration. When they crawl out of the carriage together, she sees the gruesome remains of the proud horses that had carried the carriage so far, as well as the knight’s gleaming sword strewn by bloodied rocks with him nowhere to be found. The faerie catches her wide-eyed expression and gives her a mildly sympathetic look, though one that’s tinged with a searching curiosity. “Friend of yours?”
“Not in the slightest,” Sara replies with a vindictiveness she can’t hide, thinking of how he had dared to spit on her, and now her companion smiles at her fully, a fox-like flash of teeth in her otherwise soft housewife complexion.
“Good. I wouldn’t have liked disclosing his sorry fate if you were. As it is, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that he will be suffering for some time still.” She’s directed between two close-knit hedges; Sara watches with intrigue as the woman murmurs to it and it parts to allow them within its depths, a spiralling staircase that goes down into the earth. The casual use of such powerful magic sends a lightning strike of electricity ripping through her, one that makes her gasp softly. The faerie turns to herd Sara inside, and spotting her awe-filled expression, asks: “Never seen Olde Magicks before?”
“How did you know?”
She laughs airily as she waves a knowing hand, the sound as light as a spring day. “It’s that look you’re wearing. Not many humans have, so it comes as no shock. I’m only surprised you haven’t run off screaming from disgust yet, though that would only lead you back into that monster’s clutches.”
“I don’t feel anything of the sort,” Sara says honestly as they descend down the elaborate trellise of stairs, all constructed out of tree bark, an extension of nature itself. “Neither do I see how anyone could possibly think it worth disgust. I think it’s beautiful.”
The woman considers her appreciatively for a moment, cocking her head like an inquisitive spaniel. Her intelligent eyes flicker with gratitude and warmth like a hearth as they drift down Sara’s body slowly before crawling back up to her face. Sara’s heart beats faster, faster, faster still, and she wrestles her growing emotion down into a locked box to be examined more thoroughly later. “Lovely, strong and open-minded. A magic-user yourself, no less. I don’t suppose I could keep you for a while longer, Kujou Sara?”
Sara blinks as a blush rises to her cheeks, feeling unusually tongue-tied. Plenty of men have wanted to keep her for themselves, either as a housewife or as a trophy, and she’s had men blow kisses to her from rooftops and sing ballads of her beauty, but this feels different. This feels… personal.
“You already have my name. Would it not be polite to share yours as well?” She knows she might be crossing a line here, asking a faerie to divulge their name so crassly, but the rewards outweigh the risk. And when the other woman giggles in response, golden like the setting sun, she figures she hasn’t overstepped all that far.
“Sangonomiya Kokomi. I do value my manners, you know—sit, sit.” She pulls Sara down into an oak stool and flashes her another alluring smile that’s shades warmer than her earlier ones. “Tea or juice? This shelter of mine does not come with many options.”
“Tea, please. You’re one of the Fair Folk, aren’t you?”
“Mm, glad you noticed,” she agrees as she offers Sara a cup filled with honey-gold liquid, iridescent silver wings fluttering briefly at her back as if to corroborate her fact. Her nails are a perfect pearl-pink, teeth white and heart-shaped lips the same shade as the dying light of a sunset, and they make Sara lose her focus for a second. She’s distractingly, supernaturally beautiful, and the gossamer gown does wonders for her figure. It’s all quite a lot for her to take in. “Is that a dealbreaker for you?”
“No, it’s just… the Fair Folk have never liked humanity. They retain their neutrality in almost all human affairs, so… Why would you save me?”
Kokomi thinks it over for not more than a few seconds before she rests a hand on Sara’s thigh and leans in to close the distance between them, their faces now so close that their noses could brush together if either of them moved a half-inch further. “Because you’re beautiful and powerful and I wanted to save you.” She admits with a light laugh that could part oceans if she just tried, cerulean eyes dancing with mirth. “Is that not enough?”
Sara isn’t sure who leans in first. But Kokomi’s breath is cool on her skin and she’s sliding her hand up Sara’s thigh, the other coming up to cup her jaw in a move that’s ringing of a quiet possessiveness, expression steady yet burning with heat, and they end up meeting somewhere in the middle. Kokomi’s mouth is warm and soft, very, very warm and very, very soft, and Sara only has time to think a very pleased Oh! before she’s being pressed against the table with demanding hands.
The faerie’s petal-sweet lips trail from Sara’s mouth to her throat, lingering over the sharp of her collarbones before tracing the arc of her cleavage like she’s a goddess meant to be worshipped. It’s hard to reconcile the image of her saviour and the woman who’s bowing just to pleasure her, who’s using those magic-wielding fingers to carve delightful bruises into her thighs instead of the thousands of ways she could harm Sara now. Kokomi is kneeling at this point, tucking her brilliant head almost between Sara’s thighs but not quite, and Sara feels a jolt of exhilaration ripple throughout her aching body.
Kokomi raises her head after a moment and looks at her with kiss-swollen lips, blue eyes as affectionate and filled with warmth as they were from the moment she’d rescued Sara from a fate of being a foul beast’s dinner until now, and Sara reaches down to tuck a loose strand of pink hair behind the faerie’s pointed ear.
“Believe me,” she assures with a gasp as Kokomi’s head dips again. “It’s more than enough.”