Page 13 of Claimed By the Fae Lord

Errantly, as I rose to my feet, I wondered how much snow fell in Greenhollow during the winter. I assumed I would still be living here, but I couldn’t picture it.

The quiet cottage felt hollow, much like the emptiness where my sense of self used to be. I should've stood up to my parents years ago, should've screamed until my throat bled.

But I didn't. I just ... didn't. Maybe, if Liam had fought for me, I would have. I'd never really know.

At least I'd had my revenge, in a way. Nothing saysI hate your gutsquite like shoving a spear through your mother’s skull.

Astonishingly, nothing had stirred within me when I'd done it. Nothing stirred now. I was numb towards taking her life so violently.

And what does that say about me?

I quickly flung open the sturdy wooden door and went down into the small patch of grass under the window and closed my eyes. Breathing. Listening. Birds began chirping and the first light of day broke across the sky.

I loved this time of day. Even in the warmer months, there would always be a chill to the air as the planet rolled out of night and into the sun.

Still restless, I returned to the cottage. My feet left faint impressions in the thin layer of frost that followed me in from the outside. I wished that was all that followed me around.

Concentrating, I tried to banish the image forever burned into my psyche. Liam's face was always hovering in the background, twisted with accusation.

Traitor, he had called me.Mukana.If only he knew how that word had cut deeper than any blade.

It hadn't mattered much to me when the catty contestants used the offensive slur, believing me an opportunist who would do literally anything to get ahead. I'd gotten used to the cruelty of my peers.

Despicable as his acts had been towards me, I wasn't prepared for it to come out of his mouth.

My reflection in the window mocked me, purplish eyes dimmed, a semi-permanent curve turned down the corners of my mouth.

For someone who was used to being alone, I now despised it. I needed to keep busy.

Remembering some of what Alistair Quinn, Sofiya's father, had begun teaching me, I began sorting through the various seeds Aeryn left, her meticulous notes a lifeline in this strange new role I'd found myself in.

Farmer. I was playing like I was a farmer.

I nearly laughed aloud. Of all the things I could have become, never did I imagine this. Though, Sofiya's mother, Brigid, insisted I use the term harvester. Or grower.

I'd responded by telling her I could claim none of those titles because I'd yet to become any version of one. Brigid, unexpectedly, pulled me into her arms and whispered, "You can be any or none. You just need to beyou."

I'd returned the hug, awkwardly I could admit, and told her thank you. The problem, however, was that I didn't know who I was anymore. Or if I ever really did.

Sofiya was extremely lucky to have Alistair and Brigid. It made me happy that kind of love was out there in the world between parents and their children. It just wasn't meant for me.

My hands trembled as I picked up a packet of seeds, the tiny potential lives within felt fragile in my awkward grip. I let out a ragged breath, placing them back down with more care than necessary.

A soft knock on the door saved me from doing something ridiculous. Like crying.

Sofiya peeked her head in. "Hello?"

"You can just come in, you know."

"You sound like Aeryn," she chirped, breezing inside. "So I'll tell you what I told her. I knock just in case you're not alone."

"Why wouldn't I be alone?"

"Oh, I don't know," she answered, adjusting the long chestnut braid hanging over one shoulder. "Maybe you found some virile specimen of a male to have your wicked way with. Or better yet,two?"

I laughed at the absurdity. If she only knew my experience was limited to one virile specimen.

"Oh, youcansmile, then? I wasn't sure," she teased.

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