The Crowned Captive
A Song for the Saviour

Morana was nearly dizzy under the excitement when they finally broke through the throng of faeries. Ahead of her, ringed by guards, were the royal tables. The king sat centrally, a few nobles already milling around and chatting. He looked up at their approach, nodding his approval when Morana curtsied deeply, showing off the patterns of her skirts.

“You look lovely tonight, Morana. There is somebody here I would like for you to meet. This is Duke Coleil Vasburna, the Duke of Grimsborough to our east. He is a loyal friend to the crown, and has been looking forward to meeting you.”

Morana felt Rowan stiffen beside her as she inclined her head at the man politely. She smiled down at him nervously as he bowed, grasped her hand and kissed the back of it, violet eyes sparkling up through dark eyebrows. She was not sure what sort of fae this man was, but she could say without a doubt he was beautiful. His ears were not as pointed as those of the elves, and splayed out behind him like the most delicate crystal ornament were a set of perfectly transparent black wings. As if to match his dark looks, the air around him was not quite natural. No, he had a sharp aura about him that hung like an ever-present shadow, one that made her never want to turn her back on the man. She quickly realised that Rowan’s trepidation may not just be jealousy, but also partially caution for what Coleil was capable of.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Duke Vasburna. I am glad you could make it tonight so we may finally meet,” she began, finally remembering her manners. When the man smiled up at her with what would have otherwise been a charming and friendly face, she realised all but his central two incisors were elongated to fangs.

“You have no need to flatter me, Your Highness. Please, call me Coleil. The honour of this visit is all mine. When I heard of your unusual powers, I knew I must meet you. It is only good fortune that it is at such a splendid occasion as this,” he crooned, all the flatterer.

“I see the Unseelie Court has been treating you well still, your Grace,” Rowan began over her shoulder, the final words mocking. Coleil straightened and somehow managed to stare down his nose at Rowan despite being the slightly shorter of the two. “It is not common that their leader remains… entire for quite so long.”

Morana immediately took back every thought of anything but jealousy driving the stiffness in Rowan’s spine as he spoke. Coleil merely seemed to enjoy the banter. “Oh, little lordling, I didn’t see you there! I do apologise, when you reach my position all the common folk seem to blur into one. You will understand when you inherit your father’s position, I am sure.”

That comment seemed to hit a tender note, and Morana suddenly wished to be anywhere but between the two men. Behind her, she could feel the waves of anger rolling off of Rowan, and the gentle yet fierce grin on Coleil’s face seemed to do nothing but stoke the fires. The fact that he still held her hand did not help, but she did not know if it would be offensive to try and take it back with his grip still firm.

“Coleil, if you do not stop attempting to sow chaos, I will have you escorted out. You know very well how these events are conducted and what is tolerated,” King Victor said, his voice weary. Morana swallowed as she looked at him, his irritation plain, but the comment only seemed to make the duke’s smile grow.

“Please forgive me, your Majesty. I do let my nature get the better of me at times. What I wished to do was ask for her Highness’s hand - for the first dance of the night, of course. I do hope that it is not too much to ask of you, but I assumed it would be fine seeing your suitor is currently incapable.”

Morana did not know how to politely refuse the dance, and Rowan did nothing but turn and take a seat a chair away from the king. With a slight frown in his direction, Morana allowed herself to be swept away as the music began to swell.

It was quickly apparent to both of them that a few hours of training with Cordan in her rooms did not create a master dancer. More than once she stood on the foot of her partner, and more than once she tripped over her damned heels and fell straight into him. He merely grinned each time, unafraid to touch wherever he felt necessary to right her once more. As the first waltz ended, Morana sighed. Surely everybody there thought her a bumbling fool.

“I am sorry, Coleil. I fear my dancing capabilities are as developed as all of my other musical talents,” she began, trying to spearhead back to safety alongside Rowan.

“Nonsense, your Highness. You have the grace of a warrior already in your other movements, we just merely need to direct that into the movements of the dance. Please, just one more dance. Your pretty boy won’t be too ruffled by it,” he added, following Morana’s gaze.

And so she was swept into the music once more, Coleil holding her close and directing her movements under his breath. After a couple of fumbling steps, she truly got into the rhythm this time, twirling and stepping with so much more ease. After a moment, the reality of the situation dawned on her.

“You purposely tripped me, didn’t you?” she breathed as they twisted and changed directions, perfectly in sync.

“You aren’t as naive as you look, Morana. Maybe you will just make a suitable heir yet,” he replied, his grin showing off the rows of sharpened teeth. “If you ever decide to realise that you can do far better than the little lordling, my bed and court are open to you. A powerful union could be made between the Unseelie and the Crown.”

“If only my courage were as great as yours. Unfortunately, I do not currently have an interest in courting others,” Morana replied, an incredulous smile against her lips. It did not seem to sway the duke, who merely sent them on a series of more and more complicated steps before dipping her low. He leant over her, face inches from hers and her only support his arm beneath her waist. She thought he may lean down and kiss her, and began to contemplate how she could diplomatically sock him, but he stood after a moment and allowed her back on her feet.

Coleil looked at her with pitiful eyes as he stood back, and Morana narrowed hers in return. “It is a pity you still think with the mind of a girl and not as an heir to a kingdom, Morana. We could make such a beautiful team together.”

“It is a pity you forget your place, Duke Vasburna. Your lack of respect towards the heir is unfitting of your position and not at all what I would have expected from such a warm friend of the throne. I do hope you remember yourself in future.”

With that, Morana turned on her heel and strode away, the extravagant skirt of her dresses billowing behind her. The laugh of the Duke followed her, as well as the wide and awed eyes of the crowd around them. She was thankful that Rowan was not too pouty when she finally arrived back at the table, happily accepting the glass of deep red wine she was handed. She drank immediately, nearly moaning at the impossibly sweet and decadent taste. Looking down at the glass once more, she quickly realised it was faerie wine and downed the rest, hoping to get drunk enough to deal with any other men who wished to dance.

“That second dance is another strike against you, princess. I wonder how I will manage to make you atone for that,” Rowan whispered under his breath, the air from his lips tickling her skin. Morana could not help but smirk at the remark.

“Maybe if you were more capable of keeping up, I wouldn’t have to rely on other men,” Morana replied as she began to pick at the trays of food that had been laid out before them. She knew she had hit the mark when Rowan hissed beside her, and she turned to see an utterly predatory face grinning back at her. The look that once set fear alight in her veins now set an entirely different warmth within her.

And so the night went on, her face growing sore from the smiling and the pretty words she doled out to every man and woman who wished to greet her or the king. With every passing servant, they were handed another glass of faerie wine. Rowan downed three for every one she drank, and she could not work out how he continued to act coherently. Her head swam and her very skin buzzed with life. Eventually, when the night finally began to quiet and the first guests took their leave, she sore a familiar mop of black hair and a uniform of black and gold through the crowd. Excusing herself for some of the champagne at a nearby table, she made her way over to her friend.

“I see someone managed to get out of dancing with flatterers and talking to fools all night,” she said as she began picking at the food on the table, not making eye contact in an attempt to not anger the king.

“It is not all a good thing, Morana. You are the first person to talk to me like something more than furniture,” Cordan replied, and Morana couldn’t help but frown.

“Once all this is over, I can try and make some more scintillating conversation with you. I know we haven’t been able to talk much over the past few days, so your intelligent discussions must be lacking.” In fact, over the past few days, he had been so busy mourning friends whilst she tried to keep the sullen Rowan happy that they had barely spoken. They had even had to replace her morning training with dance lessons, much to Rowan’s amusement.

“If you are not warming Rowan’s bed by then, I would love that.”

Morana frowned at his reply, but nodded her head and gathered her champagne to return. The jealousy had been obvious in his voice, undeniably so. She knew that there had been times in training when the scent of his arousal hung thick in the air, but she had presumed that was simply a natural response to being pressed so close together. She assumed it would happen to anybody in such a position. Her wine-addled mind began to think maybe she had been wrong. Not knowing what else to say, she turned and made her way back to her seat beside Rowan, ignoring the whispers of the crowd.