Olethros

thirty eight - freyja

My eyes burned as I blinked at the window, my legs curled up as I sat on the familiar bed. I wiped at my cheeks, though my tears long since dried. There was that hollowness, the absence of hope burning a hole in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut as I tried to conjure the emotions I felt yesterday in Azriel's arms. There was nothing left.

"Freyja?" I heard my mother's voice followed by soft knocks. I didn't bother to turn to the door. It opened and I heard the shuffling of tired feet coming to my bed. I swore I heard her breath shake as she inhaled deeply.

"Come, my girl. Dress in a gown, we must meet your father."

My body trembled. "Mama, I don't want to," I whispered. Her warm hand touched my shoulder, brushing down my back.

"You must," she murmured, her voice breaking. I turned my head to face her. A fresh tear fell down her cheek.

"Mama?" I reached out to brush her tear away. She flinched back, shaking her head.

"Dress, Freyja. There's no room for argument."

I could sense the way she steeled herself, as though lifting a shield against me. I didn't know what had her so rattled, but I couldn't help but feel that she would earn my father's wrath if I didn't obey. Slowly, I rose from the bed and padded to the wardrobe. It felt wrong to select a gown, but I did. I decided to gather fresh undergarments, remembering I was bare beneath these trousers.

Gathering the clothes into my arm, I went to my bathing chamber. I hid behind the door as I changed, fearing the worst. Was it time for me to go to the Spring Court? Would I get to say my farewells to Rhysand? Would I ever see Azriel again?

I swallowed my tears as I shakily tied the gown behind my back. I didn't dare glance in the mirror on my vanity. I didn't want to know the state I was in from yesterday. Brushing my tangled hair behind my ears, I returned to my mother's side. I didn't miss the violent shaking of her hands as she tucked my arm into hers.

This was it. My demise, my falling. The Freyja who wanted to badly to fight for her freedom had fallen in that snowy clearing. I knew I had no choice. My mother's hold tightened as we left my bedroom. My stomach grew more pained as we walked down the corridor.

Immediately, my eyes snagged on the soldiers around the settee. A pair of shadow dusted wings sat in between them. My father stood in the center of the sitting area, his eyes on me. A shiver ran down my spine. As we drew closer, I scented whiskey and herbs again. I was sure that scent would haunt me.

I turned to look at the settee. My brother sat in between the warriors. One held a blade to his throat, the others with tight grips on his shoulders and arms. My tongue felt heavy as my lips parted.

"Rhys?" I whispered, my heart dropping as he met my eyes. My brother did not look like he once had. Blackened veins throbbed beneath his skin, his teeth bared. The shadows beneath his eyes seemed to highlight the brimmed tears in his eyes. His body tensed as he pulled against the warriors' hold.

"Freyja," he ground out. Rhysand's voice cracked, his eyes darting to our father and back to me.

"Enough, son. It has to be done," my father muttered, his hand waving to the winged chair beside me. I glanced between it and my father, stumbling to the side as my mother pushed me to the chair. I fell into it, looking up to my mother. Tears fell silently down her cheeks as she pulled her arm away and stepped back, shaking her head.

"Mama?" I asked, though I didn't know what for. I didn't understand why my brother was restrained, why my mother cried, or why my father reeked of loosened control. Had he truly lost his mind? What had he done to them? My eyes shot between all of them as panic flooded my system. Something was wrong, something-