I was born into her cult, raised on stories of the fey, of the magic slumbering in my blood, of the glory that would come when they returned to conquer Earth.

I was taught to kneel, to serve, to prepare myself for the day I would give up my magic. My body was never mine. It was a gift waiting to be claimed.

She always said it would be a fey prince.

I didn’t think that was possible. I thought it was a myth she clung to. A story to make obedience feel holy.

But now the portals have been opened. The fey have returned.

And I’ve been offered to Prince Selwyn Y Mabinogi, a creature with antlers, cat-slitted eyes and a smile that seems false.

My magic is the offering. My body is the vessel. My submission is the key.

He says he is proud I’m to be his. That he’ll gladly take my magic… and everything else I have to offer.

He touches me like I already belong to him. Speaks to me like I’m precious. Breakable. His.

I was never taught how to want. Never meant to enjoy any of this.

But my body answers to him like it was made for this.

And I’m starting to wonder if maybe it was.

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