His Dark Delights

Thunder boomed over the mountain range. Creeping shadows reached over the land, stretching far and wide as the sun breathed a last sigh. It wasn’t until I glanced up from a wild rosemary bush that I noted how dark the woods had grown.

A noxious chill dripped down the length of my spine.

An asphyxiating silence from the trees set my teeth on edge. Goosebumps flared along my arms with the hitch of my breath.

I tucked my foraged herbs into the full satchel atop my black-spotted cow.

“Something is wrong, Millie-Moo,” I said.

She bobbed her head gently and turned toward the direction of our farm.

A crow vaulted from the treetops, cawing madly and snatching a yelp from my lips.

I clutched Millie. She mooed and stomped her foot.

“We must leave. Now.”

The claws of anxiety gripped my throat, slowing my movements as we ambled toward the nearby gurgle of the stream. Careful steps meant nothing to trembling legs.

A hard object caught my foot. I cried out, barely catching myself on hands and knees. When I jerked around, a glint of silvery-blue and red peeked through the shadows.

A blood-curdling scream punched through my lips at the sight of dented metal and viscous, fresh blood leaking through the gaps of mud-smeared armor. The awkwardly sprawled, armor-clad body sat as a horrid testament to a war I no longer had the luxury of avoiding.

The blatant truth of a realm torn apart by prejudice and brutality was dying in front of me.

A barely audible groan escaped the crevices of the crooked helmet.

Squashing down a renewed fluttering in my chest, I crawled over the damp soil to inspect the wounded man—a knight, I presumed.

“He’s alive!”

Barely perceptible was the slight rise and fall of his chest beneath his armor. With great effort, I unfastened anything I could. Near-silent, pained grunts breached him as I struggled to maneuver his bulky frame.

But his breaths came easier without the additional weight.

Once stripped down to his mostly shredded underclothes, the knight vented a thin, ragged sigh of relief. My breath lodged in my throat. Black-and-blue bruises marbled his face. Yet he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid my eyes on.

Sticky blood streaked short, dark hair and flattened curls into bloodied waves. A layer of stubble dressed his strong, sculpted jawline and partially hid the slight dimple on his chin. Full, perfect bow lips parted in a wheezing grimace.

An unnamed internal force drove me to brush my fingers over his cheek. Cold on the surface, a latent warmth beneath called to me.

Something akin to a sigh passed through him, and unconsciously, his head pressed into my touch. Rough stubble and a weak breath tickled my palm.

“We must help him, Millie,” I said, eyeing the heifer who was shuffling and kicking up dirt, as anxious as I felt.

“I will not argue with you. You will help me get him home. It’s not right to leave him here to die!” Knights and soldiers were living beings and deserving of help. All life was sacred.

The stubborn cow snorted, then lowered her head as she relented to my demands.

Years of working on a farm served me well as I hefted the bulky mass off the blood-soaked ground. Multiple attempts followed, but he eventually sagged onto Millie’s back.

He didn’t make another sound, which worried me.

The path home stretched abnormally. Fire or smoke was corrupting the forest behind us. Millie and I quickened our pace.

Encroaching darkness descended on the mountain, blanketing the range, and would soon reach my farm.

Millie and I breezed through the meadow, committed to reaching home in time. Flowers swayed as we ran through the grass, reaching out and shivering with delight upon touching my skin.

The village sat too far away, and the knight might not stand a chance if I risked going for help.

Frantic blathering from the farm animals erupted on our approach. I spared a single, “Out of the way!”

Dashing ahead of Millie, I unlatched the leaning gate to the cottage. The wood sagged and groaned in protest.

At the front door, I slapped my forehead. “I’ll have to take him inside myself.”

“I’m aware he’s heavy, but I can’t let him die because he weighs a ton!”

Millie relented to my frantic gesturing and leaned enough that the man slid off her back.

A renewed burst of strength allowed me to catch him and drag him over the threshold. He remained unconscious, yet his large presence encompassed the meager size of my home.

Someone of his stature and handsome features wasn’t meant for humble cottages hiding on the outskirts of forgotten villages. Though I tried not to focus on his features as I hauled him through the main room of the cabin and into the primary bedroom.

I nearly dropped him more than once. With great difficulty, I shoved him through a door I hadn’t touched in months. I paused, grief stalling my steps.

Only then did he make a sound—a long sigh, as if expelling the last air in his lungs. Alarm swelled in my chest, propelling me into action.

I hefted the man onto the bed with an unceremonious thump. His weight created a veritable crater on the mattress.

Frazzled, with breath sawing through me, I hastened to treat the knight. Old, trusty shears shredded through the remnants of his clothing to better access his injuries. Rich material slithered away into frayed strips, giving way to his bare torso.

I presumed he was well-defined with muscle, but seeing it firsthand squeezed an embarrassed squeak from me. A thin layer of dark hair spread over a broad chest and enhanced the toned grooves of his stomach before disappearing under the waist of his trousers.

Even wounded, the man was glorious. An odd fluttering in my stomach joined the stirring in my chest.

Shaking wayward thoughts from my head, I poured my attention into washing and cleaning the wounds before applying what remained of my supply of healing poultice.

I was no healer, but I had unfortunately gained knowledge of tending to injury and sickness. As the light of day succumbed to the encroaching night, I hurriedly lit stubborn, dusty candles around the room. His skin remained cold and his jaw clenched, lost in a world of pain.

I muttered curses as I fetched logs for a fire in the bedroom fireplace, despite the spring air. Then I collected the last of my father’s poppy milk. Pushing back the recent memories, I managed to help the knight swallow every drop.

In the end, I had him clumsily wrapped in bandages well enough to keep him alive. My gaze roamed over him again, and I drew my bottom lip between my teeth.

With a soft gasp, I tucked a blanket over the knight and blamed my flushed face on the fire crackling in the hearth. I left the room with a basket of stained rags and his torn shirt.

Outside, dusk provided enough light for me to find my animals and prepare for the impending storm. After leaving the rags with other linens to be washed, I moved on to another task.

We argued until she relented and helped me shepherd the other animals into the dilapidated barn.

“Father would have had it fixed by now.” I sighed.

The cow nudged me playfully, and a tired laugh escaped my lips.

I patted her nose and forced a smile. “All right, get in there, girl.” I ushered Millie inside before struggling to shut the stubborn barn door.

My blood tingled under my skin, and an odd awareness flushed through my body. Even as I leaned my forehead on the barn door, my fingers found their way to my lips, tracing them as I recalled the shape of his—

A distant shout at the edge of the field broke me out of my reverie and sent my heart leaping into my throat.

My head snapped toward a cloaked figure on horseback. Few traveled this way, which was one reason I felt safe, even alone.

At the fence, I halted and slipped a scarf from my dress pocket over my head.

With the tips of my oddly arched ears hidden, I stepped through the gate. It groaned in agony. I cringed but moved past it.

“Lilly!”

Relief washed over me as one of the village locals approached on horseback.

“Good evening, Mr. Tatum!” I greeted him with a wave as his brown mare trotted to a stop at the edge of the dirt path.

I avoided venturing down it if I could help it.

Despite the age lining his face, an empathetic smile stretched his thin lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to offer my condolences sooner. I only heard about your father when I returned from my travels.”

“Oh.” The modest smile on my face dropped, and a gaping hole reopened in my chest.

No one else from the modest excuse of a village had offered condolences when Father passed—aside from the village cleric who recited Father’s last rites over the freshly churned earth of his grave.

No one dared speak to me after. I stopped trying altogether after my last venture to exchange goods was met with sneers and most scurrying away from me.

Better to remain on the edge, forsaken as an outcast.

I asked after his family to distract myself from my bottomless well of anguish. Since we spoke last winter, the family had been well.

Mrs. Tatum even sent him here with my favorite: honey cake. I hugged the gift to my chest, sniffing back a flood of unwanted tears.

“Thank you so much. Will you give Mrs. Tatum my thanks as well?”

“Certainly, Lilly. Though, I fear I didn’t come bearing only cake.” Mr. Tatum gripped his mare’s reins, distressed by the news burdening his tongue.

Dread skittered along my skin as I leashed back my composure.

“You’ve heard of the new king, yes? King Soren or something or another.”

His somber question was a swift kick to the gut. I’d heard enough whispers about the new monarch during my final ventures into the village.

Mixed reactions included excitement about the news. But his ascension to the throne of Elleslan brought strife and increased prejudice, which led to open war.

“They’re calling him the Fairy Butcher. He’s been more active in this region recently. We don’t talk about it in the village as a courtesy to your father, but most assume the reason he kept you secluded.”

I took a small step back, and my heart thumped painfully.

“I’m not saying we’d give you away. But I’ve heard nothing good about this ruler on my travels. You need to be careful, Lilly. His knights are rampaging through the kingdom, hunting the Fae one region at a time. There’s been word of soldiers in the woods.”

My mind briefly darted to the man in my bed, and my heart stopped.

“Thank you for the warning, sir.” A feigned smile split my lips. “King Soren the Fairy Butcher? Well, I loathe to imagine the songs the bards will sing of him.”

Mr. Tatum chuckled, a heavy and morose sound. “I’m sure the tales they’ll sing of him will be morbid, even more so if you’re a Fae”—he glanced at the scarf on my head—“even only half.”

Hugging the gifted parcel tighter to my chest, my free hand idly traced the arch of my ear under the scarf. I almost choked over the dry lump in my throat.