Disclaimer: I don't own the Dark Artifices, Cassandra Clare does.
Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read this story so far. A special thank you to The Purple Warlock for your lovely reviews. I'm so glad you like the story and I hope you'll like this chapter just as much. Enjoy and let me know what you thought in a review.
Chapter 2: Punishment
In the next few weeks, the Hunt went on as normal, with one exception. Mark was no longer the only one that the Hunters mocked. Although Kieran was a prince of the Unseelie court, that rank had been stripped from him when he had been forced to join the Hunt and the others mocked him for it. They jeered at him, calling him Princeling and, in voices too low for Gwyn to hear them, they called him names that were much worse.
Mark couldn't help feeling a certain amount of sympathy for Kieran. After all, didn't the Hunters mock him for being a Shadowhunter every day? Didn't he ride alone, as Kieran did, because the others hated and shunned him?
He considered trying to speak to Kieran several times but he always dismissed the notion quickly. Kieran seemed determined that he would ride out his exile alone and Mark did not want to make an enemy of him when there was no need to.
One day, news reached the Wild Hunt that the Clave had hanged a group of Faeries for treason. Those Faeries had had friends in the Hunt and those friends now turned their fury on Mark.
"Look what your people have done now, Shadow-spawn!" Snarled a Hunter with a heavy silver cloak, "More Faerie blood spilled by Nephelim hands. Someone must pay for it."
The Hunter moved towards Mark, but Mark did not flinch. He had faced punishment from the Hunt before and he would not show weakness in front of them.
Without a word, the silver-cloaked Hunter pushed Mark down onto his knees and drew a coiled whip from his belt. He leaned in close to Mark and spoke in a voice that was full of a boiling hatred.
"Repeat after me Angel Boy," The hunter hissed, "Say, I am not a Shadowhunter. Do it, or I swear that I will whip you bloody."
Mark looked up at him. The other Hunters were gathered around them, most were smirking but Kieran, Mark noticed was not. In fact, he looked ... slightly sick. It made no sense to Mark but he put it to the back of his mind as he turned back to the Hunter in silver.
"I will not say it," Mark said, his voice strong and steady. "I will not say it, because it is a lie."
"Then you will be punished," The hunter said, and he ripped the shirt off Mark's body and brought the whip down hard across Mark's back.
Kieran watched the whipping with a sick feeling in his stomach. He did not want to watch the Hunters hurt Mark but there was nothing that he could do to stop them because they would punish him as well as Mark if he tried.
When it was over and Mark lay bloody and unconscious on the ground, the Hunters moved away but Kieran stayed. He carefully approached Mark and knelt beside him. He noticed that Mark was shivered so he lifted him gently in his arms and wrapped a blanket around him to keep him warm. He looked down into Mark's sleeping face. He was beautiful, Kieran thought and brave, to have taken the whipping without any visible signs of fear. Kieran felt Mark stir and looked down at him. As he watched, Mark's eyes began to flutter open.
As Mark, slowly regained consciousness, he became aware that he was in someone's arms. He opened his eyes and looked up, into Kieran's face. He shifted slightly and winced at the pain going through his back.
"Don't move too much," Kieran warned him quietly, "Your wounds are quite deep."
"This is not the first time that I have been punished by the hunt," Mark told Kieran, his voice sounding dry from lack of water. "But it is the first time that someone has helped me."
"I could not simply leave you," Kieran said, meeting Mark's eyes with his own.
"And why not? The others always do." Mark said, a tinge of bitterness colouring his voice.
"You may have noticed that I am not like the others," Kieran answered, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "And besides, I like you, Mark Blackthorn."
Mark looked at him in surprise. He had never expected those words to ever come out of the mouth of one of the Fair Folk.
"I think ... I think I like you too," Mark said, and for the first time since joining the Wild Hunt, he found himself smiling.