The Fae King's Dream (Between Dawn and Dusk #2) - Jamie Schlosser Page 0,92
little sprite.
“Damon.” When she sees me, she tries to free herself from the sticky trap, but her struggling only bounds her tighter. As the silky fibers break away, they wrap around her body and limbs, limiting her movement. “I knew I heard you.”
“Maisel?” I recognize the reedy voice now.
She’s from the sprite settlement Gemma built in the enchanted forest outside my castle, and I’d bet every last speck of stardust I own that this is the sprite Tibbs hired.
No wonder Zander never got the message.
Sprites are known for their speed and agility, so I’m baffled at how she could make a mistake such as this.
“How did you get into this predicament?” I ask, carefully cutting her free.
“The witches.”
Fuck. Seems they’re at every turn.
Simmering rage wants to surface, but I push it down. If let my anger show, it might scare the pants off Maisel. Not that she’s wearing pants. Her sparkly outfit is more like overalls. No doubt it’s made from finely ground amethysts.
Putting my weapon away, I gently pick her up and remove pieces of the web from her legs and arms. As I uncover her, I’m in awe of her beauty. Yes, I’ve seen sprites in others’ dreams many times, but it’s not the same as holding one in my hands.
Her green eyes are too large for her face, making her appear doll-like. In contrast, her nose is tiny. Like faeries, her ears are pointy, sticking out of her naturally glittery hair.
I pull away some of the webbing to reveal bright red lips and a slightly sharp chin. “Can you elaborate on how they managed to catch you?”
“An invisible net. They wanted the message I carried, but I wouldn’t give it to them.”
She hisses when I get to her back, and I see why when I find that her wings are gone. They’ve been torn from her body. All that’s left behind are two inflamed gashes.
I’m devastated for her. I don’t know much about sprites—no one does. They live in their own world, which is a very secret society. But it’s common knowledge that their wings are everything to them, and they can’t grow back once they’re gone.
“They tortured you, and you still wouldn’t give up the message,” I conclude sympathetically. “Then they left you to be eaten?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She tries to smile. “You’re here now.”
“And so am I.” Whitley’s statement isn’t a surprise to me—I felt her approaching.
Cradling Maisel in my hands, I turn to my disobedient mate. “I told you to stay behind.”
“It’s kind of funny that you thought I actually would.”
Behind her, Torius rolls his eyes. “I tried to convince her not to follow.”
Dagger in hand, Whitley forges ahead, sadly gazing at the poor creature in my hands. “Well, aren’t you gorgeous?”
“And I could say the same to you, Queen of the Dream Realm,” Maisel responds, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. “How lucky this world is to have you.”
Whitley melts at the compliment. “I don’t understand. Why would the witches do this to you when they could’ve just used their power to take the message from you instead?”
I decide to answer for Maisel, since she’s obviously tired. “Sprites are immune to many powers. Their bodies and minds can’t be manipulated, so the coven would’ve had to use more barbaric methods.”
Like torture.
Whitley looks to Kai. “Can you heal her?”
“As King Damon said, sprites are unaffected by most powers, and that includes mine.”
Wincing, Maisel rubs her throat. “The message,” she croaks. “I must get it to Zander.”
“Lucky for you, he’s with us,” I tell her, then glance at Whitley to explain, “Once a sprite has agreed to deliver a message, they’re compelled to do it. It would be like needing to vomit but being unable to do so.”
“You could tell us now,” Whitley urges, clearly bothered by Maisel’s suffering.
“I will not.”
Reading Whitley’s confusion, I figure I can educate her while praising Maisel. “Although sprites don’t consider themselves to be subjects of the kingdoms, they’re extremely loyal and honorable. Their word is more constant than stardust. Confidentiality is of the utmost importance.”
Whitley removes a few more remnants of the web from Maisel’s hair. “I’m sorry you’ve been through so much. Aside from getting you to King Zander, what can we do to help?”
“Take me with you.” Maisel’s tiny hand latches on to Whitley’s finger. “Wherever you’re going, I want to come. I love a good adventure.”
“Of course you can travel with us,” I say, hoping to comfort her. “You’ll be the guest of honor at our wedding.”