And you can aim for my heart, go for blood
But you would still miss me in your bones - my tears ricochet by Taylor Swift
Mare
Prisoners aren't usually bridesmaids. Brides don't usually smile at a woman their groom loves. Manacles usually aren't clothed in silk, chaining an honored guest whose weakened frame has become impossible to hide.
But Maven has always had an unusual attachment to me.
His flamemakers click on, yielding a spark he strengthens into a flame in his palm. Opposite him, Iris condenses a watery sphere of the same size.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Iris extinguishes his fire with a hiss, a smirk tugging her lips. Nymphs always triumph over Burners. It disappears once they kiss, however brief and passionless. Princesses do not marry for love.
Neither do kings.
He should know better than to look. He won't like what he finds. But his eyes drift towards me anyway, as if there was no distance between us, as if Maven and I were the only people in the room.
What emotion would hurt the most? The hollow eyes of a broken promise? Or the benevolent smile of a girl who will never love him again?
I settle for an eye roll.
At my left, Evangeline chuckles. Her gown may gleam whiter than the bride's, but she's in no hurry to switch places. She nestles against her brother, razors of her dress brushing against his hand. I hope it draws blood.
Thunder booms. The air crackles with electricity, and everyone turns to stare at me. But this is not my storm.
In the distance, blue lightning cracks across the sky. Green joins it, striking closer. Iris raises her hands, droplets of water condensing to form a thin shield above the guests. A white bolt strikes it, sizzle brilliant as a wedding cake.
I want to taste it.
"I'll take her." Evangeline's hand closes around my wrist. "You've never been good at combat, and you'll do worse with a prisoner slowing you down."
Maven hesitates, gaze lingering on her pearly white dress. "Let her go."
"Excuse me?"
"Let her go." He extends his hand, not to Evangeline, but to me. "She'll slow you down, when we need you to fight these vermin. They won't get their hands on her." His palm clasps on mine like the lid of a tomb. "I will ensure it."
"With all due respect, Your Majesty." Ptolemus joins his sister, inclining his head. "Your safety is our highest priority. I know you are a compassionate man--" I suppress a snort. "--and you don't wish to endanger your subjects. But my sister and I are honored to serve, and it would pain us greatly were you harmed by a job which should've been ours."
"Interesting." Maven's eyes narrow. "Would it pain you to know I'd be on the train already had you not argued with me? Release her. Or I'll reconsider the placement of Samos in my court."
A razor darts from Evangeline's dress to his neck. "We don't take orders from you."
"Traitors." His throat bobs. "My brother will net you nothing, not glory, not riches, and certainly not a throne. Will this be your legacy?"
He cannot fight Evangeline and win. The rest of his entourage has fled, seeking the protection of Iris and her watery shield. I can finally be rid of him.
Unless Evangeline murders me.
I'll take that chance.
More razors swoop at his neck, a noose of barbed wire. Maven doesn't fight. He releases my hand, angling his own to the sky. No flames curl at his fingertips. Instead, he lets his sleeve fall, leaving his arm bare. At least, it should be.
The bracelet is brilliant: strands of textured metal woven around a scattering of black jewels, catching light from every direction. Evangeline's handiwork.
"Where did you get that?" The razors falter.
Maven feigns surprise. "This? Lovely piece, isn't it? I was planning to gift it to my wife after the ceremony. Shame we were interrupted."
"Where. Did. You. Get. It."
"It doesn't befit a prisoner to don something so lavish. Don't tell my wife." He winks. "She thinks it's an ancient heirloom."
"I will cut you."
He clucks his tongue. "How violent. You ought to take some cues from that prisoner. She was so polite when we apprehended her this morning. No boasting. No threats. Such a nice girl. Elane, was it?"
"What have you done to her?" Evangeline whispers. Her razors draw dark silver blood, and I can't look away.
"Samson is interrogating her as I speak, and I ordered him to dispose of her afterwards. Give me Mare, and I might arrive in time to save her." Maven plucks a razor from his neck with a pained smile. "Tick tock."
Metal presses against my throat. "Follow him."
"Burn in hell." I stagger to his side.
"Long as you join me."
"Joke's on you. I'm already there."
Evangeline retreats to the other side of the pavilion, but Maven doesn't call after her. He slips his sleeve into place, eyes to the trains and arm at my side. "Come."
I punch him in the face.
My fists don't have the strength to harm him, but his shock is blow enough. I twist to the ground, springing to my feet, sprinting for the exit. Freedom. I can have freedom, if only my legs stay true.
They do not.
Something trips my foot and I sprawl onto the floor. Everything burns, aches, throbs and I want nothing more than the ground to swallow me. If I can't have freedom, give me oblivion.
"Get up."
Is this how I die?
"Don't make me carry you."
Let me die.
"Have it your way." Arms slide beneath my knees and back, hesitating. I don't move. The ground leaves me to the mercy of his arms, his hand gripping my shoulder, cradling me to his chest. Everything is fuzzy.
I think he wants to kiss me.
He carries me in silence, breath hot against my cheek. I will myself to become heavier, struggling and kicking, stiffening so I might slip to the ground.
Maven tightens his grip. "If you run, I'll trip you again."
So it was him.
"You're mine."
"I will never be yours."
"Liar." He stills, and I hear the whoosh of a door sliding open. "You already are."
The train rushes forward, and I lurch to my feet. No. This can't be. I have to get out. The door won't budge. The window won't shatter.
I am trapped.
"Stop throwing yourself at the doors." Maven tugs my elbow, and I realize I've jumped from his arms. "It'll give you bruises."
I wrench away. "You'd hate that, wouldn't you?"
"Spite is the weapon of fools, Mare."
"So long as you're a fool with me." I flail at the doors, but he holds me fast. "Let. Me. Go."
"Not a chance."
The landscape disappears into the distance, and I struggle for a few fruitless seconds until I give in and settle beside him. Maven hovers an arm around my shoulder, not quite touching. "No one will take you from me."
"You're married."
His eyelids flutter. "I am."
"Poor Iris."
Maven pulls his arm away, and I catch another glimpse of his bracelet. Elane and I did not interact much, though it's hard to imagine her beautiful face tortured by Samson. Her brain shattered by his whispers, scoured for information as mine was. "She's already dead, isn't she?"
"Iris?"
"Elane."
"Oh, Mare." He shakes his head, laughing. "I thought you were smarter than that."
Samson was at the wedding.
"I found it in her chambers the night she fled with her house. I sensed Evangeline's loyalties were wearing thin, so I brought some insurance." He slips it from his wrist. "Such beautiful craftsmanship. If you want it, it's yours."
He doesn't wait for a response.
The bracelet slides on with a chink, and I don't have the energy to argue. Another mind game. Another empty victory for us to gnaw over, to gnash our teeth until the other obeys.
There'll be plenty more to come.
A/N: If you liked this chapter, be sure to Vote!
If you were looking for a fic where Mare fixes Maven with her love, this is not that story. If you're looking for a fic where Maven's abuse and trauma don't matter because he is an irredeemable monster, this is not that story either.
Content Warning: Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Intent, Abuse, Trauma, Alcohol, Self-Harm, Sex, Dubious Consent, Toxic Relationships, Slutshaming, Unhealthy BDSM Dynamics, Manipulation, Codependency, Slight Pedophilic Undertones (Elara doesn't understand boundaries), Gaslighting, PTSD, justifications for toxic and abusive behaviors, Depression, Self-loathing, Grief, Sexual Coercion, Terrible Coping Mechanisms, Cycle of Abuse, Humor about disturbing subjects and probably more I can't think of off the top of my head
Mild smut, but nothing too explicit. I'm a lesbian; I don't wanna think about dicks.
This fic gets pretty heavy, so feel free to put it down and take a break if you need to. At the end of the day, these characters are fictional and you are not. Take care of yourself.
I might make jokes about the topics I speak about, but rest assured I am taking them seriously. Humor and irony keep me sane.
It's deconstruction time, baby!
Eventual reconstruction but ssshhh I didn't tell you that
Updates every three days.