Spin Me Sweet Tales

Chapter Seven

"What is your name, bride?" He asks in his sinfully honeyed voice.

I want to lie, or to tell him to piss off like I know Nola would if she were in my place, but fear makes me dim-witted. No magic prompts the truth, but the truth slips from my tongue and fills the night air.

"Evalina," I whisper.

His smile peels back, showing way to two sharpened teeth. At the sight of his fangs, I remember Lahesia telling me earlier today that Oraxto slumbers when the sun is up. I write fantasy novels, but I never thought they would hold a fragment of truth. Yet, standing in front of me with a blade to my palm is a vampyre, and I swear his grin grows when realization dawns on my face.

"Evalina," he sighs; again, he murmurs. "Evalina. Such a pretty name."

The first time the king says my name, he takes his time to enunciate every syllable. Ah-vah-lina. The second time, he sings my name like it is his favorite hymn.

"Do you know what your name means in most languages?" He asks.

I shake my head.

"It means beautiful bird or desirable bird," he says, and does not look away from me as he presses the tip of the blade against my palm until blood bubbles to the surface. "And what a beautiful bird you are, my bride."

He says I am a beautiful bird, but they are creatures designed to take flight. He clips my wings when he draws my blood, nicking a prominent blue vein and staining the white on my dress sleeves. I am a bird in his eyes, little and exploratory, but he strips away the freedom that all winged animals need when he cuts his own hand with the weapon.

Lahesia grins and announces. "May your joined blood bind you both until the primordials seize your souls."

The knife clatters to the ground, the screeching sound stealing my focus. I try to distract myself with the noise, the clatter of steel against flooring, but a man as powerful as my forced groom demands absorption. With one unharmed hand, he wraps it around my waist and thrust me into his hard chest.

I look upwards, immersed in the exquisite danger that looms above me, and I can only watch as he clamps his bloodied hand on top of mine. In the background, guests joyfully clamor in celebration, but I've just heard the snip of scissors as they sever my wings. Lahesia looks pridefully between King Shaharuddin and me, but I can feel the coldness of my prison as the door slams shut and the key turns. Deeba's face is devoid of emotions; if anything, she looks bored. Yet, when I glance at Khaivya, she mouths two words.

I'm sorry.

The music's tempo quickens, symbolizing excitement and exhilaration, but my heart flat lines. I'm in a sea of foreign confusion, and I'm drowning. Vampyre guests dance, their smiles widespread and their happiness suffocatingly present. My new husband's sticky, warm hand is still ensnared in mine, fingers intertwined, but I have never felt more alone.

As the soft air caresses my face, the glass doors open, and the magic's paralysis releases its hold. My new husband does not stop me, but watches as I rip my arm from his hold and run towards the exit. I trip once, then twice, on the heavy train of my ombre dress, but I never once curb my movements.

I sprint into the backyard of the castle, but I do not know what I expect to find. There is no expectation that the purple door to materialize because I want to go home, but foolish hope makes a person's mind believe the unbelievable. Two steps out the castle door, and I realize the reason King Shaharuddin did not immediately follow me.

On Earth, there is beauty in nature, but it pales compared to this world. The grass is alive and is greeting me with gentle swipes across my ankles. It's not prickly like the one at home, but soft like cotton candy, and it sings in a whispered cadence. The trees are in swirls of pale blues, greens, and yellows, and they sway as if they are dancing to the grasses' songs.