Chapter 1: Living Nightmare

Keenan lay asleep, bare bodied in his bed, the summer girls all around him. Aislinn would take up the winter staff soon and he was going to be tied to her, so he was celebrating his last little bit of freedom by making love to every single summer girl who would have him... only all of them.

Suddenly in the midst of his after orgasm slumber he heard one of his birds that made home in the nooks and crannies of his of his loft squawk with distress. He bolted upright, disturbing the couple girls that had rested their heads on his chest.

"Keenan, what's wrong?" one of them mumbled, it was hard to tell which in the mass of naked female bodies entangled in the summer green sheets.

He was already lacing up his boots, "I heard a noise, I'm going to check in out." he replied simply.

He gabbed his coat off of the chair by his bedside and headed into the main corridor of his loft, where he found a dead bird, frozen solid and split apart with ice.

"Poor thing," he whispered, draping his coat over his shoulders as he picked up the exotic bird. He tugged on a wing, trying to pull it into a more natural position, a few wings came out. Keenan snarled with agitation, the ice had fused the wings to the body.

He felt a chill run down his spine and immediately understood.

He shivered and stood up, "A late night visit, Beira?" he said, without turning to face the mother he had always despised.

"Not exactly, darling," her saccharine voice replied, she grabbed Keenan's shoulders and spun him around so he was facing her. Not an unexpected move from Beira, but Keenan's jaw still went slack.

Standing around and beside her was an army of what seemed to be the entire dark and winter courts' fey.

Keenan struggled and failed to hid his fear when he asked, "What is the meaning of this Beira?"

Beira gave a motherly sigh, holding onto his shoulders no matter how hard the young monarch struggled, "When you get scared you always revert to arrogant rage," she smacked him with enough force to severe a mortal's head.

His head snapped back and he got a chance to view the nightmare happening behind them. His fey being chased, captured and killed by the two plotting courts. He heard Tavish scream from the next room.

"Tavish!" exclaimed Keenan. Tavish had been like a surrogate father to him, if he died...

Keenan bent his back up again to look at his mother, blood running down his chin from where she'd struck him.

"Let go of me, Beira!" he growled in an inhuman voice.

She laughed, "Sorry, dearest," she lifted Keenan higher and hugged him tightly, crushing his body against hers. He screamed as a mixture of shooting pain and numbing cold came over before going completely limp in her embrace, hanging back over her arm.

The last thing he remembered was Beira finishing her sentence, "I need you alive." while a large dark faery slammed his youngest adviser, Niall, against a wall and and started to undo his belt.

"Wakey, wakey, darling," said Beira early one morning, disrupting one of his usual nightmares- well, he wished they were only dreams...

Beira shook Keenan hard, but he'd grown used to that enough to sleep right through it. What really woke him, as always was the bump of the iron shackles against his chest when he dared move.

Before he even had a chance to rub the crud out of his eyes, Beira had him by his hair and was dragging him into her kitchen.

She tossed him hard to the floor, threw him the mop and walked away.

"Get to your chores, darling. I'll be back in a couple hours to check up on you."

Keenan lifted his ringing head off of the floor, and stood up rubbing it, "Don't bother, Beira! I'm not going to do it anyway!" he shouted after her.

Beira chuckled, her smile never leaving these days, "Whatever you say, darling."

She walked through the kitchen doors and out of sight.

Keenan threw the mop hard against the wall, with enough force to make it shatter like glass before sitting down on the floor to sulk like a peeved schoolboy.

Beira, wood-sprite slaves quickly cleaned up the mess he had made. The others continued to hustle and bustle in the restaurant like kitchen.

Beira didn't come in once in all the time he spent just watching them. She rarely spent anytime in this part of the house, she didn't like the heat coming from the ovens. Keenan enjoyed the warm air, however, and sometimes pondered why he was even allowed in this room. He dismissed the whole thing as Beira trying to make sure he didn't freeze to death on her. He chuckled at the thought, it was a pity really... it seemed like such an easy way to go...

His chin fell to his chest and he stared down at the chains on his ankles, he sighed and closed his eyes, soft but bitter words on his lips, "How could Donia do this to me?" with that he nodded off on the floor, tears on his face.

He awoke to being poked with something.

"Go away, Beira," he mumbled, batting away what felt like a piece of a broom handle. Beira wouldn't bother to use something to touch him with...

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to see a single wood-sprite holding a piece of the broom he'd broken only a little while ago, she obviously didn't want to get to near him because of the iron shackles on his wrist and ankles.

He sat up, she backed away, "What do you want?" he asked her.

"It's not about what I want, it's what the mistress wants," she recited perfectly, "and she wants you to be the one to serve her lunch to her."

"Oh, so that's what she wants, huh?" she nodded, Keenan laid back, "Tell her she can go to hell."

Even though his eyes were closed he could still tell a look of horror had spread across the wood-sprite's face.

"WHAT? NO. Unlike you I have no desire to anger the mistress and she will be if I don't get you off your butt and serving her meal to her!"

Keenan opened an eye a crack, "That's your problem."

The wood-sprite was surprisingly furious, "You-YOU-!" she took a deep breath, "look, you've been here for years now, why can't you just submit to Beira like the rest of us?"

Keenan stood up, walking past the sprite and over to the stove where he warmed his hands, "Because I'm not like the rest of you, I don't belong to this court or Beira," he replied in a matter of fact type voice.

"You do now-"

Beira walked in, terrifying the wood-sprite so much her words left her.

"What's taking so long in here?" she asked, her face bearing a small pout.

Keenan rolled his eyes, a mortal habit he'd picked up over the years.

"I-I- um..." the wood-sprite stuttered.

Beira took her hands out of her muff and walked up to the spite, sighing in the way she always did.

The young wood-sprite did her best not to back away for fear of provoking her further, "Mis-mistress, I-"

Out of no where one of Beira's hands came up and delivered a hard smack across the face of her servant, "Speak clearly or don't speak at all," she said.

The wood-sprite's hand went to her stinging cheek, she looked over with anger at the young monarch, "Your son is refusing to serve you, mistress."

Beira directed her eyes to her disobedient child, her eyes were filled with what someone less experienced with the winter queen might confuse with amusement, "Oh, so he is," she said moving toward him.

Keenan returned the look she gave him with one of unmasked disgust and anger, which got even more inflamed when Beira grabbed him by his chin and jerked him to her, close enough she could see the flash of lightning in his eyes that he always got when he was terrified.

Beira smiled, "Darling, you might as well give up now, there's really no way out of this."

Keenan tried and failed to jerk his head out of Beira's grip, "Never!"

Beira shook her head in fake exasperation, grabbed the chains on his wrists and jerked him into the living room.

"Have a seat, darling," she pushed him hard onto the couch.

Keenan shivered as frostbite formed on his chest and chin where Beira had touched him.

She sat down beside him and patted his thigh, "We haven't had a real mother-son talk since I brought you here."

Keenan tried to get up but Beira held him in place with a finger in his chest, "You aren't going anywhere, dearest."

Keenan sighed and sat back.

They sat together in awkward silence for a while, the only noise that could be heard was the sound of ice creeping across Keenan's thigh where his malicious mother's hand rested.

"Why do you hate me?" she asked him finally.

He stifled a laugh, "Oh, I don't know, the iron shackles on my wrists are a bit distracting..."

She squeezed his thigh hard, he managed to tug away before the frostbite had spread to the worst possible place, "There's no need for such sarcasm, darling."

"You asked me why I hate you, how could I resist?"

Beira's expression was finally showing her frustration, "I've been kind to you so far, but you and I both know I'm capable of the opposite," -she stood and brought her face very close to Keenan's letting her chill pour out with her words, "You are my son, like it or not, I know you through and through, and fey don't change. So, if I have to, darling, I can and will break you."

Beira pressed an chilling kiss to his forehead, frostbit formed as it always did.

Keenan sat up, further closing the distance between them, "You may be able to keep me here, mother," -he lowered his voice then, trying to hide any trembling or uncertainty in his words,"but you can't break me, I'm too old for you to threaten me now."

Beira crossed her arms, "Oh, really?" she challenged.

Keenan took the bait, "Really." he said in his strongest voice.

Beira sat down, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him over her knee, raising her hand high right before his eyes, "Your not too old for me to spank you."

When Beira raised her hand Keenan couldn't hide the fact that he trembled, it was like being a little kid again... when Beira used to lock him in the closet... when she used to beat him... when Keenan was helpless. He was helpless then, and with Beira's elbow digging into his back, securing him in her lap, he was helpless now, "Beira, don't, please."

"Oh! So now you're sorry for being so rude to your mother," she still had her hand up, she raised it higher.

Keenan could no longer hold back the tears, wincing in preparation for the harsh smack that.. never came? All Beira did was a little pat, then a long circular rub that gave Keenan slowly spreading frostbite. Beira did this for what seemed like hours to the boy over her knee, not allowing Keenan to move either way. All he could do was lay there and weep golden tears into the couch.

Beira sighed contently, "Ah, if only your precious summer court could see you now, crying like a baby over my knee," she said as she rubbed harder, he wept harder.

"I wonder what it must be like for you," she continued, "to know that every innocent death is on your hands. The slaughter of your own court and now the mortals' dropping like flies all because you're a miserable failure."

"It isn't- It's not- my f-fault," Keenan whispered weakly.

Beira laughed and patted his butt again, "Oh, darling, even you don't believe that."

Beira's was right about that.

She grabbed him by the back of his shirt and threw his back against the couch. He cried out as the newly formed frostbite came into contact with the fabric. In fact, he was still crying when Beira pulled out a blood red handkerchief from between her bosom and used it to dab his eyes dry.

Beira chuckling stuck in his brain all the way through this torture.

She yanked him close to her by the chains that bound his wrists, "Just like your father," she laughed, the chill pouring out with the sound making Keenan ache, "far too easy to break. Now go get me something to eat from the kitchen." Beira patted his cheek, he only stared, "Or I could always finish what I started." she threatened.

Keenan got up hastily and went into the kitchen. Beira watched him as he rubbed feeling back into his bottom.

She laughed softly, this was the first day out of years she'd truly begun to get through to her son. His anger was turning from her to himself, along with his hatred. It was a slippery slope from here, and Keenan was sliding fast.

Keenan went into the kitchen, the wood-sprite with a mark on her face giving a sort of 'serves you right' sort of look as he passed her. Keenan didn't even return her gaze, just grabbed Beira's meal, walked out and set it in her hands. He even submitted when she tugged him down to kiss his cheek. When she let go, he went back into the kitchen and sat down in his usual corner for the rest of the day. Beira seemed to think at this point it was crueler to leave him alone with his thoughts then to bother to put him to put him to work.

Why did Donia- he sighed,- maybe it is all my fault.

That night when Beira looped the iron chains on his wrist and ankles over the headboard and baseboard he didn't even fight in the slightest. He just laid there.

When he was completely secured Beira laid one of her thick, still bloody, fur blankets over him.

She smiled over him, tucking him in smotheringly tight, "Sweet dreams," she said, blowing as much of her cold out with words as possible before kissing him goodnight.

Bathing in self-pity, Keenan ignored the frostbite that formed where her lips touched his skin. His head was so light now...

"Poor baby," said Beira, Keenan had just passed out, she fiddled with his long bangs, "he never could take the cold very well."

She pulled her hand away and chuckled softly, He's not completely broken, she thought, but he's broken enough for someone weaker to handle.

Beira walked out, running her hand over the length of Keenan's body, smiling with satisfaction when she felt him shiver.

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