War of Winter (Iron Fey Fanfiction)

Chapter 11 - Snare

As Crystal entered the musty stables, the sound of horses whickering, she considered tacking up Blackbird and hightailing it for home. Unfortunately further assessment brought to light several challenges. One, she was still in her dress and high heels, which would not be ideal for riding. Two, it would be an obvious sign of weakness, running away after being humiliated would brand her as a coward. She could not afford that. Three, her mother would simply find her and drag her back.

    Crystal sighed as she located Blackbird's stall and patted his nose. The couples in the hayloft fled once they saw her, giggling with mirth as they went. She stroked her horse's velvety nose, hating the warm tears that pressed against the back of her eyes.

   Why did she feel this way? She did not even like Rowan that way! Or...she did not want to admit she liked him, deep down. For 348 years, her mother had raised her with the notion that love merely does not exist, just a deep lust that can snare a creature for longer than usual. And sometimes that deep attraction was a weakness and could get you killed. It certainly had her father.

   She wished she could just tear out her heart so that she wouldn't have to feel. If only the action wouldn't kill her. A shuffle in the shadows behind her made her pause. Blackbird's action of pinning his ears and snarling made her freeze, her hand immediately going to the knife concealed at her thigh.

   Silence greeted her as she turned and looked into the shadows. All the horses had suddenly become very quiet, seeming to hold their breath. None moved a muscle. Crystal, heart beating erratically and senses on high alert, crept slowly toward the shadows, her knife gripped in her fist.

   She gasped as she suddenly felt the chill of a blade against her throat and a strong arm around her middle. Thankfully, she did not drop her weapon. But something was wrong with the blade at her throat. It smelled funny, tangy.

   "Drop the knife, or you'll not see the light of day again," a dark, silky voice purred in her ear. The voice belonged to a male, a male that smelled like smoke and wildflowers. Summer. Summer was in the Winter court. Summer was holding a strange smelling knife to her throat.

   "I said drop it!" the Summer faery hissed, tightening his hold on her waist. With the corset and his added grip, she could hardly breathe. Angrily, she dropped her weapon, hating the clatter it made on the stone floor. The horses around them were snorting and pinning their ears in distress.

    "Good girl," he murmured. "Now, do try not to scream, else I'll slice you with this and let the poison into your blood to make it boil."

   "Who are you?" she snarled, already drawing her glamour to her, trying to direct it toward the male sidhe.

   He pressed the blade harder against her throat, forcing her to lean back away from it, further back against him. She wanted to vomit in disgust as his hand caressed her middle. He chuckled darkly. "Oh, I think you know who I am, love," he purred against her ear. "I believe I stole your hart the other day in the woods. No pun intended," he laughed.

   Her heart seemed to skip a beat. The black rose. Garnet. "Who are you?" she snarled again. "What do you want?" She had all her glamour to her now, waiting for the opportune moment to strike him.

   "My name is Snare. I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. First of all, I want your head. After I have some fun with you," he said, nipping at her exposed neck. She clenched her jaw. "Secondly, I want to make sure Summer walks away victorious the next time we meet in the Reaping Fields. What better way to win a war than to slowly pick off the opposing side's best fighters?"

   Crystal concentrated on breathing as, ironically, a chill went down her spine. Her ears rung from holding in her glamour. "That is against the rules of war, to kill before the declaration has been made," she said, sweat dripping down her temples.

   "My Queen does not like to follow the rules, love," he whispered, using a bit of his own glamour to push heat into the blade so that it seared her throat.

   A small squeak of pain forced its way out of her throat. Snare grinned and held her tighter. He didn't hear the figure materialize from snow and wind behind him, though.

   "The problem with Summer freaks is that they talk too much and never get down to business," the figure said, making Snare jump slightly, catching him off guard.

   Crystal took the opportunity. She slammed her stiletto foot down on his and twisted out of his grip, kneeing him in the groin. This forced him to bend over with a grunt - and meet the point of her ice dagger to his heart.

   She made sure to push it in to the hilt. He groaned and fell to the ground. "You're too late," he laughed, blood trickling out of his mouth. Crystal let go some of her glamour, creating a mini blizzard outside. If there were any other Summer spies, they were dead by now.

   "Our forces are already planning an attack on your camps near the border. You won't be able to withstand our newly forged weapons. We-" Snare didn't get the chance to finish, for Rowan pushed his blade into the faery's mouth, then sliced it to each side, giving Snare a horrible, red grin.

   "He was getting rather annoying," the prince smirked, wiping his sword on post. The prince was unscathed, any mysterious teeth marks via Narissa concealed by glamour.

   "Why did you do that?" Crystal demanded, all too aware she was challenging her prince. "He was giving us valuable information!" She grabbed her knife from where she'd dropped it and glared at him.

   "I heard all I needed to hear. Rule one of war: kill first, ask later," he said, smiling at her. Crystal noticed a small dimple on the left side of his mouth. She wanted to kick herself. She should not be noticing these things!

   "That sounds like a motto to me," she said flatly, hoping she wasn't blushing again. Then, she did the thing most fey would be executed, or frozen, for: she turned her back on the prince, and walked out of the stables, leaving him and the pile of rotting wildflowers - once Snare - behind.