Page 47 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)
Caged
DEVI
P ercy ambushes me the moment I return to my bedroom, bouncing off the mattress. “What happened?” he asks.
My command for him to stay here quietly and wait has expired, but I stare at my feet to hide from his disappointment. “I told Seth it was over.”
He hovers closer, bracing both hands under my chin to lift it. “What is going on with you?”
The numb ache from before has spread through my entire body. “Maybe I’ve reached the end.”
I was always swimming against the current, always pretending to be some indomitable force. Strong. Untouchable. A queen, even after they exiled me from my court. But the truth is, I was just good at posing. Good at hiding the cracks beneath the crown.
Now, I can’t even pretend. My limbs are heavy and unwilling. Every breath is borrowed. There’s no magic left in me—no clever scheme waiting to be deployed, no spark to chase.
I feel…estranged from my own body.
Like someone scooped my soul out and left the hollow shell behind to fester.
The dark thoughts I’ve nurtured in exile haunt me. They scream through the silent room, cruel and familiar. I killed my mother. I abandoned my people. I lost my power, my pride, my essence.
I’m nothing.
I used to drown that dark little voice in whatever distraction I could find. Lovers. Drama. Friendship. But there’s nothing left to fight for. No crown worth the hassle. I’m not powerful, or cunning, or brave. Not anymore.
I’m truly worthless.
The door creaks open, and Alaric strolls in with a genuine smile on his face. He deposits a show-box sized cage on the mattress, and I blink at it a few times. His proximity makes the little voice echo even louder.
“Here. It’s for your pet. You can get him back after the wedding.”
The birdcage is made of sleek lyranthium bars, welded close together—the kind of old-fashioned design you’d find in Spring, meant to catch a singing bird.
Alaric hands it over, and I fumble with the latch for a second before opening the small door.
My Faeling crouches and snarls, digging his boots into the mattress.
My throat bobs. “Please, Percy. I don’t want to fight with you.”
The words feel foreign on my tongue. I don’t usually beg.
“You want me to get in there?” he barks, eyes wide.
“There’s no other way.”
He buzzes closer and grips one strap of my dress. “This dress—it’s the lyranthium! It’s making you act this way.”
Alaric sends a burst of power forward, and the hollowness inside my chest throbs.
“Get in, Percy,” I command.
Percy flies up to Alaric, teeth bared. “You’re controlling her, somehow.”
“I’m not.” Alaric slithers to my side and brushes my braids away from my neck to plant a kiss there. “She’s exactly herself, but without hope. Without joy. The Queen of Hearts in her purest form.”
“Release her!” Percy claws at the scales of my dress, but even though I understand what he’s trying to do, I know it’s pointless.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take the dress off her soon enough, but it won’t change anything.
Lyranthium doesn’t create agony. It only amplifies what despair or regrets are already there.
It doesn’t summon emotions from thin air, but shines a light on what she’s kept buried.
If she’s drowning now, it means she was already neck-deep before I ever touched her.
” Alaric licks his lips. “Your mistress is darker than even I am, pet. Now, get in the cage, or I’ll cook you through. ”
Percy purses his lips, but obeys.
I can breathe again.
Alaric melts the latch with a zap of magic, and I open the wardrobe.
I don’t want Percy to see me this way. He’s better off in the dark.
Once he’s safely tucked away, Alaric’s middle brother, Salazar, wheels a drink cart into the room. “I have what you asked for, Ric.”
I haven’t seen him since I first arrived, but he must have been at the ball, too, because he’s dressed in tails. His thick beard is at a sharp contrast with his brothers’ sleek, aristocratic looks.
“Come in, Sal.” Alaric picks a familiar cup from the cart and skips over to me. “This is a little keepsake from the ballroom…”
The bronze and tungsten wine flute looks awfully familiar, and my throat itches at the heady scent rising from the wine.
“Brel managed to keep your little potion safe. I want you to drink it.”
The empty shell in my chest shrinks. “No.”
“You’re not as good an actress as you think, and I don’t want to fuck a woman who wishes Seth was there instead.” He sniffs the potion. “How long does it take to work?”
I pick up the flute. “A couple of minutes.”
The scales of the dress expand like the skin of a snake coiling around its victim.
I want to dump the wine, but somehow, I can’t.
The liquid swirls in a dizzying spin, and I feel as though I was always meant to drink it.
I betrayed myself. Denied my conscience.
Betrayed the only man my broken heart beats for.
It’s only fitting I should suffer for it.
Alaric raises a brow. “And how long does the effects of your elixir last?”
My ribs cramp. “A day.”
Alaric shrugs off his jacket. “That gives us plenty of time to practice before our wedding tomorrow.”
I pull the cup to my lips, and Alaric tips it toward my mouth.
The sweet taste brings tears to my eyes.
“Drink it all. That’s it, good girl.” He brushes a drop from my chin and licks it off his little finger. “Now, we’re going to play a little game.”
Salazar sits on the bench by the window, his large frame obscuring the sky.
“What is he doing?”
Alaric tugs on his belt. “He’s the Worm. He likes to watch me play. Don’t worry, he won’t touch you.”
An all-consuming desire to please my king assaults my senses. I go from disgusted and panicked to anxious and willing in the span of one breath. I long to be his queen. To quench his thirst.
It’s unstoppable.
I make potent love potions, a talent that Alaric congratulates me for all night, as I suck his cock. Sing his praises. And disappear.