Derya came to a standstill. Her legs were shaky, pain lanced through her side, and she could barely stand upright. Slipping out of the castle had been ridiculously easy, and despite the damned rune rendering her unable to shift into her wolf, she had covered a lot of ground in the hours since midnight.
Every step she took felt like a muscle stretched too far, and as she pushed forward, ignoring her pain and discomfort as best she could, she sank to her knees. If she could just escape the magic's reach, she would be fine.
As long as she kept going, she'd make it, but a few more feet brought her to all fours.
Pain lanced through her like that of a first shift, and she refused to scream as it pulled her backward as if it intended to break her in half.
If she could just push through the pain, the magic would be left behind.
The rune burned her hand, searing her skin into red and black ash, every nerve on fire as she fought uselessly against something she could not see.
An unearthly sound tore from her, and as she stopped fighting the pull, she fell backward into light, through into darkness, and back into the light.
Before she even opened her eyes, barely able to move and suffering horrifically, she knew where she was.
***
Bailey sat a few feet from her, looking as bad as she felt and also cradling her arm.
Breathing heavily, completely exhausted, Derya's heart almost faltered in its rhythm, but she now fully understood what being claimed meant for her future. She was stuck, caught, and without recourse.
"Did you learn your lesson?" a familiar voice asked, and she struggled to turn her head and look at the former sorceress sitting in her favorite spot in the great hall.
"Take them to Bailey's room and see to them while I finish the healing tonic," she ordered someone, and two sets of servants half-carried and half-dragged them away.
As they passed from darkness to light past the scones in the wall, the world tilted on its axis, slowing down and speeding up, going in and out of focus as she lost track of bits of time as if she were exceedingly drunk.
They hadn't gone far before nausea overcame her, and from the sound of it, she was not the only one.
She had caused this, but some lessons must be learned in person. If not for today, she would have clung to the hope that all of this was temporary, an obstacle to be defeated, a mountain to be climbed, but it wasn't.
This was her life now.
She was tied to a child, at the mercy of a human man, in a place where she did not belong. No longer even truly fae, and perhaps it was a good thing that both their worlds would soon end.
What would her father say if he learned what she did and what happened to her?
He would not accept a daughter tied to a halfling by magic, even if she hadn't disobeyed and crossed the veil.
Her empty stomach finally gave her respite, and the servants grabbed her arms again.
One moment they were winding their way through stone corridors, and the next, she found herself half-submerged in a tub of hot water, being scrubbed like a child.
On any other day, she would have enjoyed a bath, but the water only added to her feeling of disorientation, making her feel as if she were drunk and seasick.
***
Time kept fading and jumping, snatches of it passing without her knowledge until she ended up lying at the foot of a large bed on a pile of furs, tucked in like a child.
"Come on, drink this," Argana said, holding a bowl to her lips.
She would have shut her mouth, except the smell enticed her to take a sip and drain the bowl.
The meat broth hid other more pungent tastes, but her werewolf was ravenous despite her human's nausea.
Whatever it was helped immensely, almost returning her world to normal.
"Sleep now; you can have more later."
Even as she heard the words, she drifted into sleep, disturbed by strange dreams.
When she woke again, Argana brought more broth, and although she had no idea how much time had passed, she knew it wasn't dark anymore. The castle sounds were no longer hushed and dimmed.
Every time she accepted the broth, she fell asleep almost immediately but didn't remain that way for long. After the third bowl, she pushed it away.
"Take it, and I will let you be," Argana said, and with a sigh, she emptied the bowl, the taste of herbs no longer hidden from her awakened senses.
She shuddered when she handed it back.
"Good girl."
***
This time when she opened her eyes, it was as if she had slept for weeks, feeling rested and restored.
She sat upright and found herself dressed in a man's shirt and short britches, odd clothes she'd never seen a woman sleep in before, yet they were exceedingly comfortable despite their indecency.
"We have to get you attired fittingly," Argana said to Jamie, coming into the room with three servants in tow. "The villagers are on their way."
Jamie grew pale, her jaw set, and her gaze glowed faintly.
These servants were not the same ones as the night before; they wore uniforms and seemingly had no idea what was going on. Had it been her imagination, or had those that helped her clean herself up not been quite human?
Perhaps the fatigue and broth had messed with her senses.
"How do we explain Derya's presence," Jamie asked discreetly when the servants scurried off to fetch her clothes and bath water.
"Andor left last night to fetch a guest and returned early this morning from the direction of Mirna. I've circulated the rumor that your brother has acquired himself a bride from a foreign land. By this time next week, letters from my old friend, Treilore, will arrive to verify her ancestry and her seat to settle the minds of any who would question. Get up, girls, time to face the angry villagers and pitchforks with dignity, a little outrage, and utter disdain."
The dresses arrived, and Derya stared at the wine-red dress Argana intended for her to wear with a raised brow. Humans certainly were less prim and proper than she had been led to believe, and with her wearing that creation, no one would notice much of anything else.
"Why do you not just send me out naked?" she muttered.
"Oh, come on, Derya, I grew up on the other side of the veil. You werewolves never go for subtility and care little for conventions."
She clapped her hands, and the servants scurried to get them bathed and dressed.
Derya almost protested at yet another scrubbing, but whatever was in that broth lent an odd odor to her skin, and she wrinkled her nose. The sorceress may no longer have her magic, but she knew her way around a potion.
***
She stared at the woman in that full-length mirror, and she had to admit she would have chosen this dress if the choice had been hers.
It was risky in a just-this-side-of-decent without giving away an inch of elegance and yet undeniably sexy way. Black inlays, a red corset laced in black that made the most of her bust, leaving her elegant neck and shoulders bare, her sides exposed through more laces. Most of her back showed to just above her butt with a full skirt that also sported laces.
Bailey's pale blue dress was only marginally less revealing, with flaps of material attached to the corset with laces showing less skin over her shoulders.
To the north, across the sea, this type of attire could get a woman whipped, but at this port closer to the south, this was high fashion and the type of trivia she never thought she would need to know.
"Prince Andor awaits his sister and his bride-to-be. The natives are getting restless and stir his wrath," the butler reminded, bowing respectfully from the door.
They glanced at each other and, gathering their dresses, followed the stately man out the door to face the mob they could already hear.