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I found myself between his arms, trapped by his body and the reins. My back pressed to his chest. His arms on either side of me, holding the reins.
A trap.
A cage of arms and body.
"It's more comfortable this way," he said softly, as if sensing my discomfort. "You're weak, you might fall. This way I can catch you if you start to tip."
The explanation was logical. Caring.
But something inside screamed: WRONG.
I clenched my hands into fists, placing them on the saddle in front of me.
Oberon took the reins—his hands ended up very close to mine.
"Hold on," he said, and I felt his chest vibrate with his voice against my back. "Let's go."
He clicked his tongue, and the stallion bolted.
We'd been riding for about five minutes.
The forest flew past—blurred colors, wind, whistling in my ears.
I sat motionless, trying not to think about how close he was behind me and how his breath touched my hair.
My hands instinctively reached for my chest—where the camera usually hung, for comfort.
Empty.
The strap had torn. The camera had stayed…
Realization hit me like a blow to the solar plexus.
THE CAMERA.
It had stayed in the pit.
My only weapon against the fae.
I'd left it there, at the bottom of the pit, in mud and leaves.
"No," I whispered in a trembling voice. "No, no, no…"
My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms.
How could I have FORGOTTEN?!
In panic, in shock, in fear—I just didn't think. Didn't remember.
And now it was there. Alone. Abandoned.
"STOP!" I shouted, leaning forward. "STOP THE HORSE!"
Oberon pulled the reins. The horse slowed and stopped.
"What happened?" His voice was calm but wary.
"My camera!" I tried to turn and look at him. "It stayed in the pit! I need to go back!"
"Camera?" He tilted his head.
"The camera!" Words tumbled desperately and quickly from my lips. "It fell when I fell in! I forgot to take it! Please, we need to go back!"
A pause.
Oberon said nothing.
"PLEASE!" My voice broke. "It's all I have left! I NEED IT!"
His hand landed firmly on my shoulder, preventing me from moving.
"No," he simply answered.
"What?!"
"We're not going back." His voice was firm and brooked no argument.
"But… it was only five minutes ago! The pit is nearby! We can…"
"No." Harder.
I jerked, trying to break free.
"You don't understand! I NEED IT! It's my weapon! My protection!"
His hand on my shoulder squeezed tighter.
"That's precisely why we're not going back."
I froze.
"What?"
Oberon leaned closer, his lips touching my ear.
"You think I don't know what human technology is?" His voice was quiet and dangerous. "You think I haven't heard how iron and electricity burn our skin?"
A chill ran down my spine.
"Your camera is a weapon. Against my people. Against me." A pause. "And you'll never get it back."
"No…"
"It will stay where it belongs. In the pit. In the mud." He straightened. "And that's for the best."
"YOU CAN'T!" I writhed, trying to slide from the saddle. "IT'S MINE!"
His arm wrapped around my waist and pressed me firmly to him.
"I can. And already have." Coldly. "Accept it."
"NO! TAKE ME BACK! LET ME GO!"
"Enough," he clicked his tongue, and the horse moved forward again. "We continue."
Tears flowed—hot, helpless, desperate.
Without food. Without water. Without salt. Without a knife.
Now without the camera.
I had NOTHING left.
Absolutely nothing.
I gave up. Stopped struggling. Just sat and cried silently while the horse carried me away from my last hope.
Oberon said nothing. He just held me firmly, not letting me fall.
He stroked my shoulder—almost comfortingly.
"Hush," he whispered softly. "Everything will be alright. I promise."
But I didn't believe him.
Didn't believe anyone.
We continued riding.
The forest flew past—blurred colors, wind, whistling in ears.
And then the air changed.
I felt it with my whole body—goosebumps ran across my skin, hair stood on end, my ears popped.
Pressure.
Magic.
Strong, ancient, compressing space.
"What…" I began.
"Quiet," Oberon leaned closer, his lips almost at my ear. "It's going to be unpleasant now. But quick."
Ahead the air… cracked.
I don't know how else to describe it.
It just cracked, like glass.
A line appeared—thin, glowing, vertical. It widened, opened like a wound in the fabric of reality.
Beyond it was a different forest.
Not the one we'd been riding through.
Different—golden, warm, bathed in sunlight, though dusk had been falling here.
A portal.
A tear in space.
Elaria—the rider with golden hair—looked at the king with surprise.
"My king, a direct portal to the Heart?" Alarm sounded in her voice. "This will weaken you for several days…"
"It's worth it," Oberon cut her off, not taking his eyes from the portal.
Then he added more quietly, so I barely heard:
"She's worth it."
"Hold on tight," he ordered me.
The horse leaped.
The world exploded.
Not with sound. Not with light.
With sensations.
My entire body felt like it was turned inside out and back in a fraction of a second. My stomach leaped to my throat. My skin was compressed, then suddenly released.
Lights flashed in my eyes. My ears rang deafeningly.
I screamed—or tried to, but there was no sound.
And then it was over.
Abruptly. Instantly.
The horse landed on solid ground.
I gasped, doubled over, clutching the saddle with trembling hands.
Nausea rolled over me in a wave. My head spun. The world swam.
"Breathe," Oberon's voice behind me, calm. "Slowly. Deeply. It'll pass in a minute."
I breathed as he instructed, until the nausea receded and the world stopped spinning.
Slowly I raised my head.
And forgot how to breathe.
Forest.
But not that forest.
This one was… different. Completely different.
The trees were tall, slender, with golden bark and leaves in all the shades of summer—green, yellow, orange, red. They didn't grow chaotically but as if deliberately planted—in neat rows, forming avenues.
The sun shone brightly—not setting, but at noon, high.
Though moments ago it had been twilight.
Summer lands. Here it was always summer. Always day.
Oberon's magic held the sun at its zenith, not letting night come.
Eternal summer. Eternal light.
The air was warm, almost hot. It smelled of honey, flowers, ripe fruit, summer heat.
The ground under the hooves wasn't muddy and wet but dry, covered with soft grass and flowers.
Beautiful.
Too beautiful.
Unnaturally beautiful.
"Where… where are we?" I whispered.
"The Summer lands," Oberon answered, and pride sounded in his voice. "The Heart of my Court."
Heart.
Not the border. Not the outskirts.
Heart.
The Heart of the Summer Court.
Panic began rising, but I crushed it down.
Maybe they use portals to get to the Borderlands faster? Maybe this is the shortest route?
"Is the Borderlands here too?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
"No," Oberon simply answered. "The Borderlands are far from here. In the other direction."
My blood froze.
"What?" I tried to turn, to look at him. "But you said…"
"I said I'd help you." His voice grew colder. "And I will. But not the way you thought."
His hands tightened on the reins—firmer, closer to me.
"We continue."
"NO!" I tried to slide from the saddle, but his arm instantly wrapped around my waist, pressed me to him.
"Sit still," he ordered, and his voice was hard, authoritative. "Or you'll fall and hurt yourself."
"LET GO!" I writhed, tried to break free, but his grip was iron.
"No."
The horse moved forward—along the avenue, between the golden trees.
The riders followed us, silent. Their faces were calm, indifferent.
They knew.
From the very beginning they knew he wasn't taking me to the Borderlands.
Betrayal burned hotter than fear.
"YOU LIED!" My voice broke into a hysterical scream.
I writhed in his arms, scratched, bit, like a cornered animal.
"YOU SAID YOU WERE TAKING ME TO THE BORDERLANDS!"
"I said I'd help," he corrected coldly. "And said I wanted you to survive until the seventh day. True."
A pause.
"I just didn't specify WHERE you'd be spending those days."
"PLEASE!" Pride evaporated, only desperation remained. "Please, let me go! I'M BEGGING YOU!"
Horror squeezed my throat.
"You… you can't…" My voice broke. "You can't keep me! I'm free! I'm not bound to your Court!"
"Yet," he agreed. "But that's easily fixed."
We kept riding. The forest became more and more beautiful, more and more fairytale-like.
Ahead, structures appeared.
Not houses. A palace.
An enormous palace of white stone and gold, with towers reaching toward the sky. Windows gleamed in the sun's rays. Gardens surrounded it—blooming, fragrant.
The Heart of the Summer Court.
Oberon's home.
"No," I whispered, and tears welled in my eyes. "No, please…"
"Hush," his hand on my waist became softer, almost comforting. "Nothing bad. I won't harm you."
A pause.
"If you're obedient."
I tried one more time to break free—desperately, with the last of my strength.
Scratched his arms, writhed, screamed.
But he didn't let go.
His hand rose.
Touched my forehead.
Cold.
Icy, piercing cold spread across my skin, penetrated my skull, flooded my brain.
"What…" My tongue went numb. My lips wouldn't obey.
"Sleep," Oberon whispered, and his voice was soft, lulling. "Just sleep. Nothing bad."
Magic.
It filled my head, pulled me down into darkness.
I tried to resist. Open my eyes wider, shake it off, drive away the spell.
But it was stronger.
Much stronger.
The world swam. Colors blurred. Sounds muffled.
"No… don't…" I whispered, and my voice sounded distant, alien.
My eyelids grew leaden.
My head fell forward, but his hand caught it, carefully tipped it back, rested it on his shoulder.
"Good girl," he whispered, and fingers stroked my temple. "Sleep. Rest."
Darkness covered me in waves.
I heard—far away, through the thickness of water—his voice:
"Elaria, prepare quarters for our guest. East wing, tower with a view of the garden." A pause. "Post two guards at the doors. No one enters without my order."
"Yes, my king."
"And tell Lutya to prepare suitable clothing. Something… summery. Light. Beautiful."
"Yes, my king."
"And not a word to anyone." His voice grew harder. "Only those here know about our guest. Understood?"
"Yes, my king."
The last thing I heard before falling into complete darkness:
"Excellent." His hand stroked my hair again. "My little mystery. Let's see what you truly are."
And I drowned.
In warm, soft, impenetrable darkness of magical sleep.
Chapter 11
I woke to light striking directly into my face.
My head was splitting—a dull, throbbing pain spreading from my temples to the back of my skull. My mouth was so dry that my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. My body ached as if a truck had run me over.
Magical sleep. The aftereffects of the immobilization spell Oberon had used to put me under for a couple hours during the journey. But the sensations were like after a blackout sleep lasting an eternity.
I slowly sat up, wincing at the pain, and looked around.
The room was enormous. Luxurious. Walls of white stone, smooth and warm-looking. Tall windows let in floods of sunlight, and light golden curtains billowed in a breeze that smelled of flowers and honey. The floor—marble with golden veins, covered with soft rugs. Furniture elegant, carved. A bed with silk sheets and a pile of pillows.
Luxury. Beauty.
A golden cage for a human fool who believed a faerie.
My gaze fell on the mirror, and I froze.
I wasn't wearing my clothes. The dirty jacket was gone. The torn jeans were gone. The t-shirt was gone.
Instead—a light summer dress of thin peach-colored fabric. Soft folds to mid-thigh, sleeveless, with a deep neckline. The fabric was almost transparent—through it I could see the outline of my own body.
No underwear.
Horror shifted to fury that struck my head so hard that for a moment everything swam before my eyes.
Someone had undressed me. While I was unconscious, defenseless and helpless. Had seen my naked body. Had pulled off my jeans. Unfastened my bra. Pulled down my panties. Foreign hands had touched my skin—everywhere.
My stomach twisted with revulsion. Who? Servants? Oberon himself?
I would never know. And that was the worst part—not knowing.
My hands trembled. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.
Breathe, Elise. Just breathe. Think.
I slowly stood—my legs shook but held—and walked to the window.
The view took my breath away. Gardens. Endless gardens. Flowers of every shade, trees heavy with fruit, fountains sparkling in the sun, avenues of white stone. And high walls in the distance, surrounding all this splendor.
I tried to open the window. Locked. I pulled harder. It wouldn't budge.
Damn.
I rushed to the door. Pulled the handle. Locked.
I pounded with my fists.
"OPEN UP! LET ME OUT!"
Behind the door came footsteps. A male voice, indifferent:
"Calm down. King's orders."
Guards.
"I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE!"
"King's orders," repeated the same indifferent tone.
I struck again. With all my strength. Pain shot through my knuckles, the skin split. But the door didn't open.
I pressed my forehead against the wood, breathing heavily.
Trapped.
I began circling the room, checking walls, furniture, searching for an exit. Nothing. The windows were enchanted. The door was locked. The walls were solid.
I grabbed a chair. Tried to break the window. The glass rang but didn't crack. Magic.
To hell with it.
I threw the chair. Grabbed a bottle from the table. Threw it. A comb. A mirror. Pillows. I screamed. Beat my fists. Fury, fear, desperation—everything poured out.
The lock clicked. The door swung open.
I froze, breathing heavily. Bloodied hands. Tangled hair.
In the doorway stood Oberon.
A light honey-colored tunic fitted his torso—soft fabric, almost weightless, emphasizing broad shoulders. Light linen trousers. Hair loose—a chestnut waterfall to his shoulders, gleaming in the torchlight. Without armor he looked softer, almost more human—but his green eyes remained cold, like the first ice on a lake.
He slowly surveyed the destruction around him. Then shifted his gaze to me. Assessing. Almost curious.
"Finished?"
His voice was calm, even bored—as if he was asking about the weather, not looking at the results of my fury.
I clenched my fists—nails dug into my palms, the skin on my split knuckles cracked deeper.
"Go to hell."
The words came out hoarse, my voice raw from screaming.
His lips twitched—a barely noticeable movement, almost a smile. Not mocking. Just… interested.
"I see you've rested." He tilted his head, studying my face. "That's good. You'll need your strength."
Silence filled the room—heavy, oppressive, like before a storm. I heard my own breathing—rapid, uneven. His—slow, calm.
Oberon approached closer. Soft steps—bare feet made almost no sound on stone. I backed away until my back hit the cold wall. The stone was icy—through the thin fabric of the dress I felt every protrusion, every irregularity.
He stopped a couple steps away. The scent hit—honey, spices, something floral and sweet. Intoxicating. I held my breath.
"Ellie." Softly. Almost tenderly, the way one addresses a frightened animal. "Or what's your real name?"
Silence. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth hurt.
"It doesn't matter." He shrugged—a smooth movement, relaxed. "I'll find out later. We have time."
Pause. Green eyes didn't leave mine.
"You're angry. You feel betrayed." His voice became softer. "I understand."
"You LIED!"
My voice broke into a scream, the echo struck the walls, returned distorted.
"You said you'd take me to the Borderlands!"
"I said I'd help you survive until the seventh day." Calmly, methodically—like explaining to a child. "And I will. Here you're safe from Morphrost."
"SAFE?!" My hands flew up, pointing at the locked door, at the windowless locks. "I'M IN A CAGE!"
A tremor ran through my body—from fury, from helplessness. I pointed at the dress, my voice trembling, betrayingly breaking:
"YOU UNDRESSED ME!"
His gaze slowly slid down—over my neck, collarbones, chest, waist, hips. Not lustfully. Appraisingly. The way one looks at a painting or sculpture.
"Beautiful." He simply stated a fact. "It suits you."
"WHO?!"
I stepped forward, trembling with fury so hard the floor swayed beneath my feet.
"Who undressed me while I was unconscious?!"
"A servant. Lutya." He named her casually, as one speaks of the weather. "A woman from my inner circle. Experienced. Discreet. She took care of you."
Pause. He tilted his head, something like mockery flickering in his green eyes.
"Did you think I did it myself? No, sunshine. I have honor. I don't touch those who can't give consent."
He took a step closer. The warmth of his body was palpable—contrasting with the cold wall at my back.
"Though you looked… tempting." His voice became lower, more velvety. "But I'll wait. Until consent."
My stomach twisted with revulsion—physically, nausea rose in my throat. I grabbed a pillow from the bed and hurled it at him with all my strength.
He caught it with one hand, not even flinching. Feathers flew from the torn seam, swirled in the air.
"Calm down." Now his voice became harder, more commanding. "And listen to me."
"I WON'T!"
I tried to go around him, rush to the exit. He intercepted—quickly, too quickly for the human eye. Grabbed me by the waist, spun me around, pressed me against the wall with his whole body.
The impact of my back against stone knocked the air from my lungs. His hands landed on the wall on either side of my head, blocking me. His body pressed close—I felt every curve, every muscle through the thin fabric. The heat burned. The scent enveloped me, preventing me from breathing clean air.
"Listen." A command. His face inches from mine. "Listen carefully."
His breath, warm, with the aroma of honey and something spicy, touched my cheek.
"I have an offer. Beneficial for both sides."
"Not interested." I turned my face away, pressing my cheek against the cold stone.
"Oh, you're interested." His hand on my waist tightened—not painfully, but noticeably, reminding me of his strength.
"Without me you won't survive until the seventh day. Morphrost will find you anywhere. Take you forever." His voice became more persuasive, softer. "But I can protect you."
My heart beat faster—treacherously, against my will.
"For what price?"
He chuckled—I didn't see it, but felt his lips twitch near my temple.
"Smart girl."
He pulled back, releasing me, but didn't step away—still too close. I inhaled deeply, trying to calm the trembling.
"The price is simple."
He extended his hand—slowly, giving time to see the movement. Ran his finger over the mark on my neck—over the frost pattern. The touch was light, cool. I shuddered, goosebumps ran over my skin.
"You wear his mark." His finger slid down, tracing the patterns. "Bound to him by magic. With each night the bond strengthens."
His fingers descended lower, to my collarbone, ran along the edge of the dress's neckline.
"By the seventh night the marks will cover your entire body." Seriously, without mockery. "And you'll become his. Completely. Forever. Your will will dissolve. Only what he wants to see will remain."
He removed his hand. Cold remained on my skin—the imprint of his touch.
"But I can break that bond."
My heart skipped a beat.
"What?"
My voice sounded weaker than I wanted—almost hopeful.
"I can break Morphrost's marks. Erase them. Free you from his magic." He spoke slowly, letting each word settle. "I have the power. And the knowledge."
Hope flared in my chest—hot, painful, almost physical. My breathing quickened.
"Really?"
"Really." A nod. "But to do that I need to leave my own mark. My own magic." Pause, his gaze didn't leave my eyes. "Replace his power with mine."
Hope extinguished instantly—like a blown-out candle. Cold spread through my body, my hands grew heavy.
"What does that mean?"
A step closer. His hand on my waist again—confident, possessive.
"It means you'll become mine."
The word hung in the air, heavy, final. Mine.
I shook my head—slowly at first, then faster. I stepped back, slipping from his grasp.
"No."
"Hear me out." He didn't follow, just stood with his arms crossed. "I'm not like Morphrost. I won't break you. I won't torture you. I won't humiliate you."
His voice became softer, almost intimate.
"You'll just stay here. At my court. Under protection. You'll be… a companion."
"A companion?"
I laughed—bitterly, harshly, the laugh echoing with pain in my chest.
"A pretty word for 'concubine.'"
He didn't deny it. Just stood, looking calmly, waiting for the laughter to subside.
"Call it what you want." He shrugged. "But in return you'll get safety. A roof over your head. Food. Clothing. Protection from Morphrost and all other dangers of this world."
His hand touched my cheek again—warm, soft, almost tender.
"And I'll be kind. I promise. You won't suffer. You won't starve. You won't be afraid." His thumb stroked my cheekbone. "All I need is your loyalty. Devotion. Your… body. When I want it."
I slapped his hand away with a sharp movement.
"No. Go to hell."
His face darkened—barely noticeably, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
"You refuse?"
"Yes."
Silence. Heavy, oppressive. Then a cold smirk twisted his lips.
"Very well."
He turned toward the door—smoothly, unhurriedly. Stopped at the threshold, looked over his shoulder.
"By the way, I have something interesting." Casually, as if about an insignificant detail. "Food. From your world. Safe for you."
At the mere mention my stomach cramped—sharp, almost painful. Saliva filled my mouth. I hadn't eaten… a day? Twenty-four hours? Since that morning when we headed to the Borderlands. Then there was the Hollow. The pit. Oberon. The day had flown by in the nightmare of survival, and I hadn't even noticed hunger in the adrenaline of staying alive. But now, when my body relaxed, when the immediate danger receded—hunger crashed over me with doubled force.
He noticed the reaction. His lips stretched in a satisfied smile.
"Bread." He began listing slowly, savoring each word. "Fresh, with a crispy crust. Cheese. Soft, fatty. Meat. Roasted, juicy. Fruit. Apples, grapes. All from the human world. Nothing enchanted. Completely safe."
My mouth filled with saliva even more. I swallowed—greedily, convulsively, trying to suppress the sickening desire.
"Why do you have human food?" My voice came out hoarse. "Did you specifically prepare to kidnap me?"
He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Not you specifically. But mortals… sometimes we have to keep them." He shrugged. "Merchants. Diplomats. Those who make deals with my court. Important witnesses. Translators."
A step closer, his eyes didn't leave mine.
"A human bound to our food is useless for negotiations. They can't return to their world to fulfill their part of the deal. Understand?" He tilted his head. "So I always have a supply of safe provisions. Just in case."
Another step. The honey scent intensified.
"They supply me with human goods. Regularly. And I'm willing to share. With you."
One last step. We stood too close.
"For cooperation."
Manipulation. Pure, dirty, transparent manipulation. But hunger tore at me from within, squeezed my stomach in an iron grip, clouded my mind.