Rowan uncorked the vial and, after taking a deep breath, brought the vial to his parted lips. The black liquid oozed down the vial, snaking it’s way along the glass, slow, like mud, nearly reaching his lips when, to Rowan’s great surprise, the vial was violently slapped out of his hand. Down it went, hitting the stone floor with a crack as the glass shattered and the dark sludge splattered against the floor, seeping between the cracks in the stones.
Rowan looked up, his face a mixture of shock and anger. It was then that he felt a sharp, stinging slap across his face. He yelped, his hand going to his cheek as he stared in disbelief at his servant who was now standing over him, her eyes wide and accusing as she glared at him. He’d never seen her so angry, so full of rage, and…something more. Sadness. A deep and profound sadness. He realized only then that she was crying.
“Have ya lost yer mind?” She yelled. “I know ya don’t want to go through with this marriage, but is it really worth killin yerself over?”
“No.” Rowan looked up, eyes wide. “I wasn’t, I swear. It’s not poison.”
“Then what is it?” She asked, staring him down, hard. ” Cause it sure looks like poison to me.”
“It’s a sleeping potion.” Rowan explained. He then went on to tell her about his conversation with Emilia and how she had given him the vial. He explained the plan, down to the last detail. When he was done, Folen only shook her head and sighed, frustration evident on her normally serene face.
“A sleeping potion?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? ‘an here I was thinkin yer smarter than that. Sorry, love, but I’d trust that harpy Emilia about as far as I could throw ‘er ‘an that ain’t very far.”
Rowan sulked against the bed post. “What if she’s telling the truth though? It may be my only was out of this.”
Folen knelt down and stuck a finger into the glob of black sludge that was still visible on the floor. She stood, bringing the goo coated finger to her nose and sniffed. Her eyes went wide and she spat at the floor, wiping her finger on her apron. “It’s viramyth.” She growled.
Rowan looked at her, confused. “What’s viramyth?” He asked.
“A concoction of dead blood, rose leaf, and juniper. The only poison known to kill a vamp.”
Rowan let out a ragged breath and frowned. “Witches Moss.”
“Aye, Lad. Witches Moss.”
Rowan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I should have known.”
“Ya dinna think she’d really be helpin now did ya?”
“I guess, I hoped that she wouldn’t go as far as actually trying to murder me. I thought she just wanted me out of the way so she could marry Lord Killian herself.”
Folen walked over and sat on the bed next to him. “That woulda got ya outta the way for sure, lad.”
Rowan hung his head in defeat. “I suppose I have no other choice now but to go through with this marriage. If I try to run, he’ll kill me. I’m out of options.”
Folen put a hand on Rowan’s back and began rubbing circles on it. “Do ya really want out of it that badly?”
Rowan nodded, looking up to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want anything to do with him. You’ve heard the stories. You know what kind of man he is. If I marry him, my life is over. I might as well be dead.”
Folen sat quietly for the next several minutes. She hated seeing Rowan so distraught. Over the years she’d seem him depressed, and withdrawn. She was there when he attempted suicide after his mother’s death. She knew what was in the boys heart and she wept inside for him. She’d never had a love for vampires but Rowan was different. He was kind, selfless, and had shown her compassion when no others had. She loved him. Loved him as though he were her own child and seeing him suffering now was more than she could handle.
With a weary sigh, she stood up and looked down at the boy she had come to think of as more than a master, more than a friend. She saw him as family, and she knew his heart was breaking. “Wait here, love.” She told him. “An don’t ya be doin’ anythin stupid. I’ll be back soon.”
Rowan nodded, giving her promise to wait. What could he do now anyway, short of slitting his own throat? As soon as Folen was gone from his sight, Rowan lay back on his bed and stared up at the canopy as he often did when he was upset. He realized just then that this would be the last time he’d ever do that. The last time he’d ever lay on his bed, in his room. It was the last night he would spend in his father’s palace. His wedding night would be spent in Lord Killian’s bed and he’d…Rowan closed his eyes, trying to force those thoughts out of his mind.
“Don’t.” He whispered into empty room. “Don’t think of it, of him, push it out of your mind.”
Try as he might, he couldn’t force out the images of the first night he’d seen Lord Killian. The youth between his legs, the naked women preforming various sex acts on Lord Killian’s guests. Even the image of Lady Emilia on the couch and Lord Killian thrusting into her. Was that what his future was going to be like? Was he going to be used, over and over again, fucked and abused until he remained nothing more than a broken shell of his former self? Was that his life now?
Rowan rolled onto his side and pushed his face into the pillow as he began to cry. He wouldn’t show weakness in the presence of others but he was alone now, in the safety of his own rooms. He could cry in here. He could scream his lungs out and wail like a banshee and no one would hear. He was totally and utterly alone.
***
Forty minutes had passed since Folen had left Rowan’s room. By the time she had returned, Rowan was asleep. She walked to his bed and gently tapped his shoulder. “Rowan.” She softly called his name. “Rowan, child, wake up.”
Rowan opened his eyes, yawned, then rolled over to see Folen standing beside his bed. He sat up, leaning his back against the headboard as Folen sat down next to him.
“Where did you go?” He asked her, groggily.
“To get somethin that will help ya, child.”
Rowan looked skeptical, not believing at this point that anything could help him. “How can you help me?” He asked, looking down at his hands as he gripped the blankets tightly. “I’m as good as dead.”
“No, love. Not dead. But, if ye wish to feign death, that I can help ya with.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out an item no bigger than an acorn. She opened her hand and held it up for Rowan to see. There, sitting on her palm was a small brown pod with a green sprout just barely visible breaking through the shell of the pod.
Rowan narrowed his eyes as he inspected the pod. “What is it?” He asked.
“Anisseed. From the anisyel tree.”
“I’ve never heard of an anisyel tree.” Rowan told her.
“Ya wouldn’t. They only grow in Odon, in the Oanke forest.”
Rowan gasped, his eyes going wide. “Folen, that’s…” He stopped himself before he could utter the word for fear something lurking in the shadows might overhear.
Folen only nodded. “Fairy magic.” She said in a whisper as she placed the seedling in Rowan’s hand, curling his fingers over it then grasped his hands within her own. “You ‘an I both know what will happen if yer caught with this. Ya have to decide now if this is what ya truly want because there be no going back.”