Stuck with a Monster

CHAPTER 3.2-MY FAE

Two days had already passed since the fae gave me the riddle, and in all that time, not a single answer had brought me closer to freedom. My father had summoned the greatest scholars in the kingdom—men who had spent their lives studying logic, language, and ancient lore—yet even they failed. I had watched them argue for hours, their voices rising and falling as they threw out answer after answer—snake, sun, steam, crocodile—each one sounding convincing for a moment before collapsing under doubt. And now, only one day remained before the curse would claim my life. The weight of it pressed heavily against my chest, making it hard to breathe, harder to think. When morning came, it felt less like a new beginning and more like a countdown reaching its final hours. I had barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the fae’s smile, heard its voice, felt the invisible thread of fate tightening around me. I could not sit and wait for death to come. If there was an answer, I would find it myself.

Before the sun could fully rise, I slipped quietly out of the castle, careful not to wake anyone or draw attention. The halls felt colder than usual, as though the very stones knew where I was going and disapproved. By the time I reached the forest, dawn was only just beginning to stretch across the horizon, pale and uncertain. The Forbidden Forest stood before me, silent and imposing, its towering trees casting long shadows that seemed to reach toward me like warning hands. For a brief moment, I hesitated at its edge. I could still turn back. I could return to the safety of the castle and pretend I had done everything I could. But the thought of waiting—of doing nothing while time slipped away—felt worse than whatever dangers the forest held. So I stepped forward.

The deeper I went, the quieter the world became, until even my own breathing sounded too loud. The forest felt alive in a way I could not explain—not with movement, but with presence. It was as if something unseen watched every step I took, listening, measuring, waiting. By the time I reached the clearing where the pitfall trap lay hidden beneath leaves, the sun had already begun its slow descent, painting the sky in fading shades of amber and violet. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. The light filtered weakly through the dense canopy above, breaking into fragile strands that barely touched the forest floor. The trees here were enormous, ancient beyond imagining, their thick trunks rising like pillars of a forgotten world. Their branches twisted together high above me, blocking out the sky entirely, turning the clearing into something caught between day and night.

I stepped forward carefully, my boots crunching softly against fallen leaves, each sound echoing far louder than it should have. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and moss, mixed with something faintly sweet—flowers I could not see, hidden somewhere deeper within the shadows. An owl hooted in the distance, low and hollow, and another answered from somewhere unseen. The sound sent a shiver down my spine. I wrapped my arms around myself, but the cold I felt came from within, not from the evening air. My heart had not slowed since I left the castle. It beat too fast, too hard, as though it already knew something I didn’t.

“If the answer exists,” I whispered to myself, my voice barely louder than the rustling leaves, “I will find it here.”

The words sounded fragile in the silence, almost foolish—but I held onto them anyway. Because if I let go of that belief, even for a second, I knew fear would take its place.

I moved deeper into the clearing until I stood at its center, turning slowly as I scanned the shadows between the trees. The fireflies had begun to appear now, drifting lazily through the dim light like tiny floating stars. They should have made the place feel beautiful. Instead, they only made it feel more unreal, like I had stepped into something that did not belong to the ordinary world.

“This is foolish,” I murmured, the words catching on the damp night air.

I didn’t turn back. I couldn’t. Something deep within the marrow of my bones—something far more primal than fear and more stubborn than reason—had dragged me to this spot. That riddle hadn’t been a mere puzzle to be solved; it was a summons, a low-frequency hum in my blood that had finally reached a crescendo.

“Hello?” I called out. My voice was a fragile thing, trembling like a leaf in a gale despite my white-knuckled attempt to steady it.

The forest offered no comfort. Only silence answered, thick and suffocating.

I swallowed hard, my pulse thrumming in my ears as I curled my hands into tight, defensive balls at my sides. I forced my feet to stay rooted to the earth, refusing to let the shadows push me back. Gathering the jagged remnants of my courage, I drew a breath that tasted of pine and ancient dust, then cast my voice into the dark.

“I know your name!” The shout rippled outward, bouncing off the gnarled bark of the oaks, echoing faintly until the trees seemed to swallow the sound whole. Then, it hit me. It wasn't a slow realization or a lucky guess. It was an arrival—a sudden, crystalline certainty that crashed through my mind.

Fire.

I couldn’t explain the alchemy of that knowledge. I didn’t understand why a single word felt like the only truth in a world gone wrong, but the answer settled into the cavity of my chest, heavy and unshakable. My throat constricted as a sharp, cold spike of dread drove through me. My body knew what my mind was only beginning to grasp: there was no turning back. No second chances. No erasures.

My lips parted, but the air had turned to lead. It felt as though the forest itself were pressing a hand over my mouth, desperate to keep the word unspoken.

“I...” My voice cracked, a pathetic whisper against the looming dark. I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms, grounding myself in the sting of the pain. I forced the word out before doubt could rot it away.

“Fire.” The moment the syllable left my lips, the world shifted.

It wasn’t a violent upheaval. There was no thunder, no flash of light. Instead, there was a terrifying, unnatural stillness. The restless canopy above fell dead silent. The distant, rhythmic chirping of insects vanished as if snuffed out by a giant thumb. Even the wind died, leaving the air heavy and pressurized, thick enough to ache in my lungs. My heart became the only drum in the world, pounding a frantic rhythm that surely the trees could feel. I stood paralyzed. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t dare.

Seconds stretched into an agonizing eternity. Or perhaps it was minutes; time had lost its shape.

And then—nothing.

The silence went from expectant to suffocating. A cold, oily doubt began to seep into my mind. Had I been wrong? Had I stood in the dark and shouted at ghosts like a madman?

“Did I—” I started, the question dying in my throat.

Because suddenly, the world exploded. Not in sound, but in heat. A searing line of fire erupted across my wrist.

I let out a sharp, ragged gasp, my legs giving way as I crashed to my knees. The sensation spread beneath my skin like liquid embers. It wasn’t just a burn; it was a deliberate, agonizing pressure, as if an invisible needle were tracing a pattern into my very soul. I grabbed my arm instinctively, my fingers digging into the flesh as if I could physically push the heat away, but it was useless.

The heat pulsed again—a rhythmic, violent surge—carving a mark I couldn't see, but felt with terrifying clarity. A soft cry broke from my lips, echoing through the dead-still woods.

The pain wasn't meant to break me. It was measured. Controlled. It was the precise agony of a brand, designed to ensure I would never, for as long as I lived, forget the weight of the name I had spoken.

And then, as quickly as the fire had come, the world went cold.

The heat faded, leaving behind a dull warmth that lingered beneath my skin like a dying ember. My breathing was uneven as I slowly lifted my wrist, afraid of what I might see. At first, nothing seemed different. But then I noticed it—a faint mark, small and subtle, barely visible unless you were looking for it. A thin, burn-like imprint rested against my skin, slightly raised, as though something hot had brushed against me just long enough to leave its presence behind. My fingers hovered over the mark on my wrist, trembling.

Then, I touched it. A pulse answered. It wasn't the searing agony of a burn or the comforting radiation of a hearth. It was rhythmic, steady, and terrifyingly alive. I froze, my hand recoiling as if the skin itself had spoken to me.

“That’s not…” My voice faltered, stripping down to a bare whisper. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

A sound drifted through the clearing—a silver thread of noise that cut through the oppressive stillness. Laughter. It was light and playful, dancing like wind chimes in a breeze. I flinched, my head snapping up as my pulse spiked. The fae was still there.

Of course, she was.

The laughter lingered, soft and weightless, yet it wrapped around me with the suffocating strength of iron bands. I pushed myself up from the forest floor, my legs feeling like brittle stalks of grain. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to run, to vanish into the trees and never look back, but there was nowhere to go.

“You answered correctly.” The voice was a melodic drift, smooth and amused, but the sharp, mocking edge that had sliced through the air earlier was gone. It had been replaced by a quietude that unsettled me even more.

“I solved it,” I said, forcing a synthetic strength into my spine. My hands were still trembling at my sides, so I balled them into fists.

“You said if I answered, I would be free.”

Silence stretched between us for a heartbeat. Then came the reply.

“I said you would survive.”

The words struck deeper than the heat of the brand. I felt them settle in my chest, cold and unyielding as a tombstone.

“That’s not the same thing,” I replied, my voice dropping an octave as uncertainty bled through my defenses.

“No,” the fae agreed softly.

Frustration began to twist with my fear, a bitter braid in my gut. “Then what does it mean? What did you do to me?”

Around the clearing, the shadows shifted. It wasn't a dramatic movement—no sudden lunges or waving branches—but a subtle, sickening distortion of the dark. A presence was gathering. Closer. Too close. I turned slowly, my eyes scanning the ink-black gaps between the oaks. For a moment, I saw a flicker, a ripple in the air like the heat-haze over a summer road.

Then, a glow appeared. It was no larger than a candle flame at first, hovering amongst the high, tangled limbs. I held my breath as the light intensified, turning gold and warm as it descended like a falling star. It wove through the branches with an unnatural, liquid grace, the forest itself seemingly parting to grant it passage. My heart hammered against my ribs until, finally, the light reached the center of the clearing and took shape. I forgot how to breathe.

The fae hovered before me, no longer a disembodied whisper. She wasn't the tiny, winged sprite of nursery rhymes; she stood nearly as tall as a woman, though she was undeniably other. Her wings were translucent masterpieces of shimmering glass, scattering sparks of glowing dust that vanished before they hit the moss. Her hair flickered like dying embers in a hearth, and her eyes held a depth of centuries that made my chest tighten.

She tilted her head, studying me with a predator’s curiosity, and then she smiled.

“You are correct,” she said, her voice like music carried over water.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to take a single, tentative step forward. “Then… I’m free?”

Her smile changed. It didn’t fade, but it grew heavy with a meaning I couldn't grasp.

“Fire,” she repeated, tasting the word. “That is what your kind calls me. But my true name is far older than your kingdoms.”

Curiosity began to burn away the edges of my terror. I took another step, drawn into her orbit.

“I… I wanted to thank you.” I paused, feeling small beneath her ancient gaze. “For saving me. Before I was even born.”

She didn't speak. She simply watched me, her eyes boring through my skin, searching for something deeper than memory. Finally, her expression softened.

“I have waited a long time for this moment, Arabella Byron Stuart.”

I gasped, my heart skipping. “You… you know my name?”

“I know many things.”

A quiet breeze stirred the canopy, a reminder that a world still existed beyond this enchanted circle. We stood in silence for a long moment until her expression shifted again, a playful spark igniting in her eyes. She clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward.

“Would you like to be friends?”

I stared at her, certain I had misheard. “Friends? With a fae?”

She tilted her head, looking genuinely amused. “Yes.”

I hesitated. Every legend I’d ever heard warned me of their trickery—their twisted bargains and hollow promises. And yet, she was the reason I drew breath.

“More than anything,” I whispered.

Her face lit up, a genuine radiance breaking through. She spun midair, her wings shedding a gale of shimmering starlight.

“Wonderful! Then you must give me a name.”

“A name?”

“Yes!” She flipped upside down, looking at me with wide, expectant eyes. “Humans love naming things they do not understand.”

I looked at her—really looked at her—at the warmth she radiated and the strange, vibrant life she brought to the dead woods.

“Floryn,” I said.

She froze. “Floryn?” She repeated it slowly, letting the syllables roll off her tongue. Then, she beamed. “I love it!”

She flipped upright and drifted to the base of a massive oak. “So,” she said with a playful grin, “Princess.”

I groaned, looking away at the mention of my status. “I’m not really a princess.”

“You would be surprised how many secrets the forest hears,” she giggled. “Tell me about your world.”

So we sat beneath the ancient oak. The strangeness melted into a dreamlike rhythm. I told her of the stone walls of the castle, the shouting markets, and the suffocating weight of my father’s expectations. She listened as if every word were a precious gem.

Then, she spoke of older things. She told me of the Six Kingdoms of Levitas, of ancient wars that scorched the sky, and of dragons that still slept in the deep places of the earth. I leaned in, mesmerized, until her tone shifted.

“There is a place beyond the eastern ridge,” she said, her glow dimming. “A mountain none of your people dare approach. Mt. Hayp.”

The name sent a cold shiver down my spine. “Why are people afraid of it?”

She hesitated. In that lapse of silence, the atmosphere curdled. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and wet earth. My body tensed. I turned my head toward the tree line. There, between the shadows, something moved. It was tall. Impossibly tall.

“Floryn…” I whispered.

“You are being watched,” she murmured, her wings going perfectly still.

“By whom?” I scanned the darkness, my eyes darting frantically.

Branches snapped—a heavy, deliberate sound of something that didn't care about being heard. Then, he stepped into the light.

He was a titan. Taller than any man, his presence made the very ground feel like it was sinking. Dark horns curved toward the sky as obsidian daggers, and massive black wings remained folded behind him. But it was his eyes that froze the blood in my veins. They were a deep, glowing red—not the flickering heat of Floryn’s fire, but something ancient and predatory.

I stumbled back, my breath coming in shallow hitches. “Who… who are you?”

His gaze locked onto mine, and when he spoke, the forest seemed to bow.

“Arabella Byron Stuart.”

The cold fear that shot through me was absolute. I knew, at that moment, that the riddle was only the prologue.

“How do you know my name?”

Floryn suddenly moved in front of me. “You’re early, Marcos,” she said sharply. “The agreement was twenty moons from now.”

The creature—Marcos—didn’t even glance at her. His red eyes stayed fixed on me, piercing straight through. “The seal is weakening,” he said calmly. “You need to know what is coming.”

My mind spun. Seal? Agreement? What were they talking about?

Floryn’s voice hardened behind me. “You were not supposed to reveal yourself yet.”

Marcos tilted his head slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. It felt like he was memorizing every detail of my face, cataloging me.

“You will come to Mt. Hayp soon,” he said, and my pulse spiked.

“Why would I go there?” I managed to ask, my voice shaky.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer, and I felt the earth tremble faintly beneath his weight. My breath hitched, and I instinctively took a step back. Floryn’s wings flared sharply behind her.

“You promised you would not take her,” she said, her voice tight with warning.

Marcos nodded once. “I will not take her… against her will.” His gaze softened—just barely—but the words that followed made my blood run cold. “But fate will.”

A strange chill slid down my spine. “What do you mean?” I whispered, fear coiling in my chest.

Before I could react further, he stepped backward. The shadows between the trees seemed to swallow him whole. And then—just like that—he was gone. The forest fell silent again.

I spun toward Floryn, my voice trembling. “Who was that?!”

She stared at the darkness where he had vanished, her glowing eyes wide. For the first time since I had met her, I saw fear there.

“That,” she said quietly, her voice low and tense, “is a story for another day.”