Chapter 2: The Silent Prisoner
1428 Words
AVIONA'S POV
My captor’s grip tightened around my throat, my vision blurring until the edges of his face broke apart like mist. I clawed at his wrist, a strangled sound escaping me. Half gasp, half plea.
Tears fell unbidden, slipping past my trembling resolve.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
For so long, I had wandered the forest of Heartwild, long enough to lose count of the seasons. The trees became my only companions, their roots and whispers the rhythm of my days. I stopped counting years the day I stopped believing I would ever be free.
Once, I was something else. Someone else.
But the curse of a spiteful fae made certain I would never be again.
By day, I am a forest nymph. By night, a sleep-inducing bird. The Nightlark. Or so they call me.
For ages, no one dared to enter my forest after dark. The rare few who were brave... or foolish enough to venture in would wake at dawn with blurred memories and heavy, unseeing lids. The curse made sure of that. My voice was both my shield and my prison.
Until him. King Faelan Vellisar.
I had heard of him. He's one of the most powerful of the Fae kings. Cunning, enigmatic, and gifted with the rare ability to shapeshift, he was known for his sense of justice.
He championed the rights of humans and lesser Fae like me. He fought against slavery, abolished unfair tithes, and established fair wages for freed slaves who chose to stay and work.
Fair as he may be, he was not known for his kindness. His people, and even other kings and nobles, would not dare cross him.
I saw him once or twice, long ago, during the annual gathering of all magical beings known as the Enkindling. It was held on the sacred island of Solendra, an isle that appeared only once a year.
At the heart of Solendra burned an eternal flame. We called it the Sourceflame, for it was the wellspring of all our magic. The fire was sentient, glowing brighter with every spell, relic, or song we offered in reverence. Those who possessed little brought what they could: the yield of their fields, the catch of their nets, or the spoils of their hunt.
It was said that if the Flame favored your offering, it would bestow a gift in return. The powers and abilities wielded by each magical being in this realm were blessings from the Sourceflame itself.
I remember watching him present a priceless artifact, steeped in history and magic, while I offered a humble song of healing. I doubt he ever noticed me. Perhaps he never even spared me a glance. He was always surrounded by noble women: high-born, beautiful, and forever caught in his orbit.
The night I last saw King Faelan was the night fate turned against me. The night I was cursed. My song had caught the ears... and eyes of a few noble people. That, however, did not sit well with a particular jealous Fae.
A sudden jolt and a sharp, guttural growl ripped me back to the present. Back to this moment. To his grip.
“I’m asking you a question, woman,” King Faelan spat. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”
I could not answer. Not because his hand still pressed against my throat, but because the curse stole my voice with the morning light.
His hand loosened, perhaps to let me speak. But in the next breath, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them down beside my head. I froze. His eyes had darkened—cold now, sharp and dangerous, calculating.
“Did Ravion send you?”
I shook my head. I didn’t even know who that was.
He leaned closer, a predatory glint flickering in his gaze. “Did we f**k?”
Heat surged to my cheeks as his bare chest nearly pressed against me. I clenched my eyes shut and shook my head, harder now.
"Then what in hell are you doing here?" he roared.
Only a small, broken sound escaped me—and it only enraged him further. Then something caught his eye. His grip on my wrist loosened, though I didn’t dare move.
His fingers brushed through my hair, then stilled. When he drew his hand back, a single white feather rested between his fingers.
My feather.
Fury darkened his face, hotter this time, more dangerous. He seized my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. I winced as his fingers dug into my skin.
“What did you do with the bird?” he demanded.
I could only sob.
“Why won’t you answer me?” he snapped, his voice raw with frustration. “Are you f**king mute?”
My breath hitched, and tears spilled faster. I nodded once, twice, until the truth was clear enough even for him to see.
He froze. The fury drained from his face, replaced by something like surprise. Maybe even guilt.
His jaw tightened, teeth grinding. “F**k,” he hissed under his breath.
The tension in his grip slackened just enough for me to wriggle free. I stumbled back until my spine hit the cold metal footboard of his bed.
He crawled toward me like a predator, each movement deliberate, unhurried. I shrank back instinctively, curling in on myself, arms wrapped tight around my knees as if I could disappear into the shadows.
His voice came low, edged with warning. “For the last time, tell me what you’re doing here," he snarled. "And what the hell did you do with my bird?”
My hands trembled as I lifted them, trying to form signs. "I don’t know. I didn’t do anything."
He arched a brow, disbelief hardening his gaze. “You don’t know? You break into my chambers, the cage is crushed, and I catch you sneaking out—and you expect me to believe that?”
I signed again, desperation trembling through my hands. "Please. I didn’t do anything wrong." My fingers faltered midair before I forced them to move again. "I didn’t steal anything. Just let me go."
Frustration flashed across his face, then iced over into something colder, sharper. “So, you really want to play this game?” His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Fine.”
My heart clenched with fear.
“You’ll stay here,” he said, his tone like iron. “When I return, you’d better have an answer.”
I shook my head, signing frantically. "Please. I didn’t do anything wrong." My fingers pleaded the words my mouth could not.
He wasn’t convinced. He leaned in, his hand catching my chin, forcing my gaze to his. His icy blue eyes, burning with restrained fury, left no room for mercy.
“You have until tonight,” he said, voice low and measured, a quiet threat beneath the calm. “Tell me the truth… or you won’t find me so forgiving.”
He let go of my face with a shove, then turned without a word. The air rippled as he left, sealing the door and windows with a final sweep of his magic.
I started to rise, desperate to find a way out, but something yanked at my ankle. I looked down.
Chains.
Those damned golden chains uncoiled from the bed’s footboard, glowing faintly with enchantment as they wound around me, binding me where I sat.
The room fell silent, and I sat frozen, staring at the faint shimmer of magic sealing the door and windows.
A sob broke loose before I could stop it. I buried my face against my knees, shoulders trembling, breath hitching against the sound of my own grief and fear.
There was no escape. He would discover what I am. And he would have questions—questions I could not answer. Not out of defiance, but because the curse forbade me to.
I had lived as a prisoner of my curse for so long, trapped between two forms. Yet in Heartwild, there had been the illusion of freedom. The trees did not judge me. The wind did not demand answers I could not give.
But here… there were walls. Locks. Cages.
When I tugged at the chain around my ankle, it tightened, glowing faintly—as if mocking my defiance, reminding me whose magic bound me now.
And in the silence, I felt it. Not just the loneliness, not merely the weariness of the curse, but the pure, suffocating truth of it.
I was a prisoner. Truly, utterly a prisoner now.
- Writer
