Chapter Text
“Ladies, gentlemen, and creatures of questionable taste,” Black Sapphire purred into his microphone, spinning it on one gloved finger like a lasso. “May I present to you—fresh off the stolen stage—Silverbell, knight of the faerie kingdom, heartbreaker of the Spring Courts, and current… hostage of ours.” He turned with a wink and an exaggerated bow, raven eyes glinting like amethyst daggers in a chandelier’s gleam.
Sliverbell stood on the edge of silence, chest rising and falling like a trembling tide, the faerie sigils etched into his armor flickering with uncertainty. He had followed a whisper, that was all—a quiet voice, sweet and careful, like a lullaby smeared in shadow. It led him here.
And now, the sky above had this distorted color, a shade too dramatic to be real, like someone had painted it on with violent brushstrokes just to make a point. Thorny, spiraled towers jutted from the landscape like the bones of a dead kingdom. And at the center, a stage. A literal stage.
The wood was painted jam-blue, curtains of smoke drifting from somewhere unseen. Spotlights flickered on from nowhere—no bulbs, no wires, just light, warm and golden and wrong.
Sliverbell didn’t move, but the vines beneath his feet slithered forward, dragging him by the ankles toward the stage like a performer late for his cue.
Only a fool follows a lullaby. He knew that. But the voice had sounded like someone he lost.
The throne room shimmered like an oil spill—black glass floors slick with mirrored reflections, the chandeliers above dripping with icicle-shaped crystals that pulsed faintly like beating hearts. It smelled like burnt sugar and something rotting beneath it. Blue and white curtains hung from the ceiling like a stage play gone terribly, terribly wrong.
Black Sapphire emerged stage left, because of course he did. He wore a cape that trailed dramatically behind him, glitter clinging to every inch like a curse. A black and purple microphone materialized in his hand—where from, no one knew—and he twirled it like a baton. “You hear that?” he said to absolutely no one. “That’s the sound of a shattered ego, folks. Tragic, really.” Before he stepped off of the stage causing it to disappear in thin air
“He’s shaking,” Candy Apple sang, skipping in little circles around Silverbell like a schoolgirl at recess. “Is the big knight gonna cry? Boo-hoo! You followed a stranger into the woods, you silly goose!”
Sliverbell’s voice finally snapped through the laughter, low and livid. “I trusted him. I thought he was hurt. I thought he needed help.”
Shadow Milk was lounging sideways across his own throne, sipping something black and syrupy from a goblet shaped like a screaming mouth. “And you gave it so willingly, little light. It’s no fun if you don’t come crawling into the trap on your own.” His smile stretched too wide. “So earnest. So easily led.”
“You think this is a game?” Sliverbell hissed.
Black Sapphire clutched his chest with one hand, still holding the mic in the other. “Ohh, the drama! Sir Sparklewing, bringer of justice, betrayed by a sad little sob story~—how utterly predictable. I’m weeping, truly.”
“You’re a disgrace,” Silverbell spat.
The air in the throne room of Shadow Milk’s realm did not feel like air at all—it clung to Sliverbell’s skin like syrup, thick with the scent of burnt sugar and rotting roses. Smoke curled from the walls like sighs, trailing over black-stoned arches and blueberry drapery that shimmered unnaturally under a spotlight that had no source. Somewhere, a violin screeched out a single discordant note and then cut off as if embarrassed.
Sliverbell didn’t speak. Couldn’t. His mouth was unbound, but his fury sat sharp behind his tongue like a blade he refused to unsheath. Wings, normally radiant and soft like first snow on moonlit grass, were now cuffed at the base in thorny chains, weighed down and heavy against his back whenever he moved. His bow hovered inches from his fingers—close enough to taunt, never close enough to touch.
He reached for it.
It giggled. Yes—giggle. The sound sparkled through the air like a wine flute shattering. The bow spun just out of reach again, dancing around him like it knew he was powerless, like it was in on the joke.
And oh, how they laughed.
From the throne, Shadow Milk draped himself like a fallen god, his limbs spread lazily, His grin was the kind that could curdle cream, sharp and smug and shining with the joy of cruelty. One arm resting across Candy Apple’s head like she was a pet and not a child-sized menace with a machete in her heart.
The other? Gesturing grandly toward Silverbell like he was introducing the next act in a tragic play.“He really believed me,” Shadow Milk sighed, tossing his head back like he was overwhelmed by his own genius. “Follow me right into my realm. Not even a trick spell, just some compliments and a bit of pretty lighting. Faeries. So simple.”
“You’re so smart!” Candy Apple chirped, clasping her hands and swinging her legs like she wasn’t sitting on a throne made of cracked mirrors. “Look at him all pouty and tied up like a dumb lil marshmallow.”
Sliverbell’s jaw clenched. He said nothing. His silence was his only weapon left, and he wielded it like a sword made of ice.
Black Sapphire stepped out of the shadows stage left—because of course he did—with the drama of someone who knew the world owed them a standing ovation. In one gloved hand he held a rhinestone-studded microphone, and he spun it lazily before raising it to his mouth, eyes locked on Silverbell.
“My dear audience,” he purred into it, voice silk-wrapped and sharp-edged, “do you see what stands before us? A hero. A knight of the fae court! Look at him—he’s practically vibrating with righteous fury.” He stepped closer, tapping the mic for emphasis. “Ten stars for the entrance, sweetie. But that pouty lip? A little on the nose. Let’s work on subtlety.”
Candy Apple stomped forward in little black boots, her dress a swirl of white ruffles and crushed roses. Her curls bounced with every step and she glared at Silverbell like he’d just insulted her favorite puppet show. She pointed dramatically with a candy cane. “You’re just mad ‘cause Milk said you’re dumb! Which is TRUE! He’s the SMARTEST! He knew you were stupid and sparkly and he was RIGHT!”
Shadow Milk beamed. “Aw, Candy, you’re my favorite. So perceptive.”
Black Sapphire rolled his eyes. “We know, darling, you mention it every hour.” Then, back to Silverbell, his tone sliding back into venom-laced velvet. “So tell us, glitter boy. How does it feel to be tricked by a flower and some tears?”
Sliverbell didn’t answer. He only lifted his chin, jaw tight, silver eyes blazing with restrained fury. He looked like something made of moonlight and pride, and despite the cuffs and floating bow, there was still something dangerously untouched about him.
A beat passed.
And then the bow spun in the air, paused—
—and bopped him lightly on the forehead before floating away again like it had giggled.
“White Lily said you were one of the good ones. Loyal. Noble. Predictable,” he purred, fingers fluttering in mock applause. “So obviously, I had to borrow you.”
“Kidnapping,” Silverbell spat, struggling against the vines, “This is not borrowing.”
He was a knight. A protector of the Faerie Courts. He had been lured here like a moth to a stage light, and they weren’t even treating it like a crime. Just… theater.
Black Sapphire paced slowly toward him, boots clicking with perfect rhythm. He crouched just before the bound knight, and with a whisper of movement, clicked his mic off.
Then, softly, only Sliverbell could hear: “You came here willingly; so legally in the court of Shadow Milk we didn’t kidnap you. But you have to admit my dear! You looked so serious walking into the trap. You almost made me believe you were here to save someone.”
Sliverbell’s voice cracked like ice. “You’re all insane.”
“Isn’t he precious?” Shadow Milk cooed, slinking around Silverbell like a cat around cream, his voice syrupy and cruel. “A knight—oh, Lily dear, I’ve really outdone myself this time. You should’ve seen how easy it was. All it took was a little candlelight, a few soft-spoken lies, and this little faerie followed me like a moth.” His grin stretched far too wide. “Into the dark, of course.”
Sapphire spun, wings flaring. “Starring: one—count him—ONE tragically mistaken faerie, stolen from his forest dreams and thrust into the unbearable spotlight of infamy!”
“Cut the act,” Sliverbell snapped, voice sharp but trembling. “You think this is funny?”
“Oh, darling,” Black Sapphire purred, lowering his mic and kneeling just enough to meet Sliverbell’s glare, “I think it’s divine.”
“Curtain’s only just gone up, fae. Try not to break before the second act.”