The Crowned Captive

Morana stared at the pile of books sitting on the bench, a dull fury rising in her veins. For the second time, Rowan had decided to escape their lessons. She stalked over to the table, alone in the room, and flipped through the titles. An Assassin’s Arsenal of Poisons and Potions, Fae in all Forms, and The Lineage of the Crown lay within the various other volumes, with all others seeming to be painfully boring. Table Etiquette and The Courtesy of Court seemed like blatant insults, and she had to resist the urge to throw those. No instructions sat with the pile and no communications of any kind. She had simply been dumped in the subterranean room, guards posted at the door, and told to wait.

With nothing else to do, Morana decided to pick the book that would cause the most trouble. Maybe she would even get to use it on the avoidant asshole. She sat down, flipping through the pages of Poisons and Potions. She learnt of azaleas and the maddening illness they induced in small quantities, bluebell’s ringing marking mortals for death, and daffodil’s paralytic effect which eventually resulted in death. The less mundane were more interesting again. In mere minutes, she was lost in the pages, eyes trying to absorb as much as she could.

“I never expected that to be the one you chose to read first,” a feminine voice said from behind her. Morana turned with a start, finding the gorgeous woman from her first meeting with the king standing behind her.

Up close, she was even more awe-inspiring. Ilda dressed in robes that shone like molten gold, strung around her torso and hips so that they flowed around her like liquid. The ebony skin of her bare shoulders and midriff was a stark contrast and should have made Morana turn for fear of looking disrespectfully. In her case, her lack of clothes did not seem immodest, though. No, she looked like a goddess walking amongst mere men. Her perfectly white eyes, free of any colour, and her snow-white hair shone like spun starlight in the flickering candles.

“It was Ilda, wasn’t it?” Morana replied, trying to think of anything that wasn’t blatant questioning of her awe-inspiring appearance.

“You have a good memory, your Highness,” Ilda replied with a curtsy.

“Please, I have done nothing to earn that title yet. Call me Morana.”

“In that case, Morana, it is my pleasure to begin to teach you to harness your magic today.”

Morana frowned at that, knowing it would end poorly. If she did not have magic now, she was not sure she even did. Her father may expect it from her as heir to the realm, but it was not something she knew how to force.

“I do believe I must find it before I can harness it,” she finally replied, finding it the most diplomatic approach.

“Do not be daft, Morana,” Ilda chided, and Morana suddenly regretted extending such familiarity to the strange woman. “Your father is a king and has had enough power to keep half a realm under his control for centuries. Your mother, may her soul find peace with Acheros, was the most talented sorceress I have ever met. Girl, you are smarter than that.”

“You are mistaken. I have as much magic in me as you have in your pinky finger,” Morana replied sullenly.

“Stop acting like a child, Morana.”

Morana indeed looked at the white-haired woman then, shocked at the attitude she had already taken against her. Sure, Morana may have been pouting, but even as a human she had never had a stranger speak out so strongly against her. Yet Ilda stood their, her face shameless as she stared down the princess she should respect.

“Let me offer you a deal, Morana, if you feel it will help you. I will offer you the truth at all times, and I mean the actual truth and not just my individual version of it, in exchange for you to actually try and use your magic.” Ilda held a hand up to stop the rebuttal already coming from Morana’s mouth. “A fae promise holds far more weight than a human’s. If a faerie was to break their word, a toll equal to their betrayal would be exacted upon them. I am not just making some empty promise, I am giving you the power to know anything you want.”

Morana could find no sane reason to decline the proposal. She assessed Ilda just as the other woman assessed her, then sighed. She already had enough people unhappy with her here, she did not need another.

“What do you want me to do?” Morana sighed.

“Let’s start with something easy. Extinguish the candles.”

Morana turned in her seat, closing her book of death with a definitive thud. She picked a candle on the wall, trying to think of the candle fizzing out. When she felt her head beginning to ache with the force of her concentration, she looked away, rubbing at her eyes. She knew this was silly, but Ilda hadn’t really given her any pointers. She watched the flame them, thinking of things around it that could cause it to go out. She tried to make the flame itself small like she felt Rowan might if he had to control the fire. She tried to rob the flame of air, then conjure water to douse it, then heave the metal it stood upon over it. When none of that worked, she thought of how Rowan said all fae had some level of intrinsic powers, enough to cast wards or simple spells, and thought of how she may use that. She pulled and pushed at the candle with her mind, hoping for it to budge, but succeeded in only making herself look constipated.

“I give up!” She finally said, exasperated. Ilda tsked beside her, earning herself the full weight of Morana’s glare.

“Giving up is not what you need, Morana. You are destined to be the weapon that brings change to this world.”

Ilda may as well have been speaking another language, for Morana could muster no response other than staring at her like a gasping fish. The other woman merely watched, waiting patiently for Morana to work out a nice way to ask what on earth any of the gibberish meant.

“Let go of all the feelings you have shoved down, and let the power take you where it needs,” Ilda finally explained, her face still supportive. “The Gods speak to you, guide your movements. Give yourself over, listen to their words, and they will show you what you need.”

“If the Gods have never spoken to me before, why would they now?” Morana practically yelled.

“They have spoken, many times, to you. You just haven’t ever listened. Maybe Rowan was right, and you are too human to be our princess.”

The rage that rolled off Morana at that remark was palpable, and she could not fathom how Ilda didn’t flinch beneath its weight. Eyes hard, she merely watched down her nose as Ilda bowed, a movement that threatened to unravel the top portion of her robe, and took her leave. It was not with frustration, but a steely resolve that she next willed the flames to die. As she was pushed into the darkness, that resolve left her, and she yelped like a scared babe.

A handful of seconds later, she heard footsteps thundering down the stairs, and a faint light carried through in front of the carrier. Cordan rounded the corner, concern covering his face, as Morana stared at him wide-eyed.

“What happened?” He practically yelled, hurrying along and lighting the candles with the flame of the torch he carried.

“I actually extinguished the candle,” Morana offered weakly. Cordan looked back at her, exasperated with her reply, but Morana merely shrugged.

Swallowing down the dregs of her rage, Morana took an armful of the books and left the library, Cordan following her wordlessly to her rooms.