Michael would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous.
He'd gone to his room to prepare himself for the journey, gathering the materials Caiden needed to do his research on the Northuldrian runes. Well, possible Northuldrian runes.
He was passing over some notes and books when there had been a knock at his door.
No surprise when he opened it, he found Elsa standing there.
And Caiden, ever observant, seized his opportunity to take his leave, sparring a respectful nod to the queen.
But the moment she kicked the door closed behind him, she near pounced on him like a cat. The aggression made him growl as she seized his mouth, giggling like a young woman as her hands clawed at his tunic, ready to shred the fabric to pieces.
Michael indulged her, and himself, as she pressed him against the wall. His hands had roved all over her, the generous curves and small waist, tangling into her long, heavy hair. She'd kissed and kissed him, breathless and panting, and then licked—actually licked along the hollow curve of his jaw.
He couldn't stop himself from cupping her backside and lifting her up, her legs wrapped around his waist as if the was the most natural thing in the world. He turned and pinned her against the wall, moaning into his mouth as he pressed their hips together.
She pulled them apart long enough to stare into his eyes – the hunger in her own nearly undoing him. But she managed to find words as she cupped his face in her hands. "Come back alive, please."
"I'll always come back to you." He near growled.
Now, sitting on horseback heading towards the temple – Danika a red-tailed hawk flying high above him – Michael still can't shake the phantom feeling of Elsa's lips on his.
He's memorized her snow-covered lilac scent by now – a wisp of it still lingering on his hands, on his mouth – and he finds it surprisingly calming. A comfort of sorts.
Elsa had followed him down to the stables as Kai prepped a horse for him, Elsa insisting it would be faster than on foot. Danika declined the mare the queen had ready for her before shifting into the same hawk that swoops past his shoulder before arcing high into the sky.
Michael thought the temple was a lot closer before when he chased that demon out of the castle, but then again, he might've been so consumed by the rush of the event that he lost all sense of time. He only saw that demon's shadow darting back and forth between the trees. Pink begins to stain the clouds behind them, the golden disc of the sun sliced in half over the horiozn.
As they travel up the familiar road, Michael looks over his shoulder to see the hills leading down to Arendelle. To the houses glowing with a buttery warmth, to the glittering castle housing the lovely and kind Snow Queen.
He didn't think being away from her would affect him this much – then again, he's barely left her side since his arrival, come to think of it. The distance . . . the time it would take to come back –
Michael shakes his head. He shouldn't think about it. Elsa can take care of herself, and they have Caiden guarding them as well. The cambion can slice a man down before they even set eyes upon the sisters.
A caw sounds from above and Michael looks to find Danika circling overhead. She must've found it. He nudges the horse into a canter, keeping a lazy hand on the fletching of the arrows in the quiver mounted on his saddle, the bow an impressionable weight at his back.
The overhanging tree limbs and funneling path becomes familiar, an eerie silence washing over him like whispering sand.
It's more than just animals quieting at the sight of a predator. This silence feels like a ripple, because the sound comes and goes.
As if it is approaching.
The trees seemed to lean in, their entwined branches locking tighter, a living cage keeping even the smallest of birds from soaring out of the canopy.
He mentally tries to prepare himself for what he is about to see, excitement mingling with fear. He hadn't felt such suffocation when coming here before.
The ruins come into view, and his stomach sinks like when the ocean is slowly consuming a dying ship. It doesn't help when the horse immediately starts to whinny and whine when they round the corner.
"Easy," Michael has to coo, but the poor thing won't have any of it. It huffs and stomps it front hooves, shaking its head as if trying to break free from the reins.
Closer and closer the silence creeps.
Without much choice, and Danika slowly making her descent into the ruins, Michael decides to tie the horse at a thick branch a few meters away from the site. The poor mare seems content, if still a bit uneasy. Not that he really blames her.
He dismounts, filling the quiver at his back with the arrows tied into the saddlebag. He pats the female's powerful flank and makes the rest of the trek on foot.
He looks up in time to see Danika's shadow dive down into the ruins, her flicker of light barely visible. But moments later her humanoid form saunters out, meeting him at the front.
He takes in every detail, every exit, every weakness as they entered the large courtyard beyond the shattered wall.
It is so still. As if everything, even the stones, is holding its breath. As if it has been waiting.
The sensation only worsened when Michael wordlessly leads her into the faint outline of the main building.
"Odd." Danika admits. "I didn't think I'd have this feeling ever again."
Now that he has his own magic, he knows what she means.
That distinct humming that thrums through the stones.
The whispered prayers of long-forgotten worshipers still being heard, giving power. The echoes of the power that had dwelled here long ago.
"I never noticed it until now." Michael says, swallowing past the tightness. Danika places a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Over here is a portion of wall that has depictions of the Fae."
"Fae? Really?" Danika breathes as she follows his finger.
"I don't know if there are any connections."
"This place must be old." The shifter says as she runs her hand along the wall, her gaze drifting about the pale stone. "Legends speak of the Fae settling her over five hundred years ago."
"Wonder what drove them out?"
"More importantly, let's hope that threat – if any – is long gone too."
Michael motions for her to follow. "She had me right about here, then that's when the runes showed up. And she just – she just emerged from the shadows."
Danika kneels over the cracked stone, her blue-painted nails grazing through the dirt and nature's debris: acorn shells, pinecones, crusty leaves, and dried pine needles.
Nothing.
Disappointment has Michael slouching his shoulders. "Maybe there really isn't any connection with this place regarding the sisters."
"Other than it's still some kind of powerhouse. A kind of, conduit, almost."
"Let's have a look around, just in case." Danika nods, and as she turns Michael stops her. "Listen, I really appreciate you guys coming out here. I know it probably wasn't your first choice, but it really means a lot." He rubs his hands together, fiddling with his fingers in a similar way he's seen Elsa do.
"I'm not going to lie, it's nice to be back. I didn't realize how much I'd been missing it; which is exactly what Caiden is afraid of. He's worried that the rush that comes with the uniform will get it's hooks in and, I won't give it up until my dying day."
"I hope I didn't ruin anything you had going."
Danika scoffs, but doesn't look to him when she says, "Please, I couldn't say yes fast enough."
"If it's too much trouble for you –"
"Let's not worry about it now. This isn't the time." She sharply says.
Michael nods. With a wink, Danika shifts into a lean hound with a coat of steel-colored fur. She begins sniffing around the stones, her tail waving back and forth.
Michael continues to saunter around the open courtyard as she disappears between two large blocks. Something tells him he won't find anything around here; this woman too mystical to human and leave evidence behind. He doubts they're going to stumble upon any secret room where they'll find a table loaded with evidence and tells of who she is.
He kicks around some pine needles and dust, some odd part of him hoping to find some trace of the runes.
As he looks out over the span of land before him, his heart sinks as he spots the blackened circle he caused when his fire first erupted.
A radius he didn't dare measure, but one Elsa had managed to quench.
Somehow.
All too soon, his spine tingles – the feeling of flower petals drifting up his spine – and a whispering voice as thin as a summer's breeze.
Michael has his bow loaded and aimed at the pockets of shadow around the glitter white stones.
"Michael!" Danika exclaims, her pounding feet breaking past a different set of stones.
He could've sworn her skin looked paler, her citrine eyes glowing.
Then he hears it: a whisper, as if cloth is dragging over root and stone, a soft and comfortable exhale, bare feet padding in dirt.
"I never thought I'd see the fly walk into the spider's web." Her voice is at once one and many, old and young, beautiful and grotesque.
The blood rushes from Michael's head. He forces himself to take a breath. And another. Then he says in a too-quiet voice: "Show yourself."
Danika swears, the sound of defeat in her tone makes him want to run. But still he hears the whine of her sword as she draws.
He aims his bow where he thinks he heard the voice, and she appears just like before.
Her perfection never ceases to strike him stupid. Her raven-black hair still floats on an ebony wind, her skin still as pale as moonlight. Her eyes which he distinctly remembers being violet now look black and depthless in the shadows.
Fearsome in her perfection, utterly still, eternal and calm and radiating ancient grace.
He is more unnerved when she prowls towards him in a down of cobalt – nearly identical to the one Elsa had worn.
Run, some primal, intrinsically human part of him whispers. Begs. Run and run and never look back.
He manages to process what she said and stupidly answers. "Are you, Fae?"
She smiles, revealing sharp little canines. "How many sleepless nights have you had trying to uncover my secrets? Well, allow me to put your mind at ease: I am no more Fae than I am any other person denizen of the magical world."
Not an answer. A move to get him on uneven footing.
This could work to your advantage. You can get the answers you need right here, right now. Go back to Arendelle in a matter of minutes. Just—breathe.
Breathing, as it turns out, is rather hard when a woman who looks like she drives men to madness for amusement is observing every flicker of his throat.
"I see you've brought a little pet, too. How adorable." Those obsidian eyes flick to Danika, who has shifted into a large cat with a coat of obsidian. She stalks towards him, nearly placing herself in between him and the Fae Queen.
He could have sworn there was disapproval in the Fae Queen's smile.
The silence is as thick as fog. Not one creature dares to make a sound in her presence.
No exchanging pleasantries, then. She is going right for the throat. He can handle it. He could ignore the pain and terror to get what he wants. So Michael smiles just as faintly and says, "You told me to find you when I'm ready. You never said I couldn't bring a friend."
He makes a point of lowering his bow despite Danika's growl of warning.
"Indeed. Though, I sense you're here for more than one curiosity." The Queen of Faedom lifts an elegant hand, gesturing to the warrior. "Believe it or not, I'd be happy to answer any question you have."
"Excuse if I'm not too believing on your words." Michael nearly sneers.
"What have I ever done, dear boy, to make you not trust me."
"You threaten the lives of the Queen and Princess of Arendelle. All seemingly for sport if it's not power or the throne that you want."
She giggles, the sound like grating against his bones. "I don't care about them. I care about you."
Michael bites his tongue hard enough to keep his gods damned smart ass mouth shut.
Her venom-coated smile grows. "I have been waiting a long, long while to meet you. And as I do not travel much, I could not see you. Not with my eyes, at least." The queen's long nails gleam in the light. "You're a very difficult man to track."
"A force of habit; not sleeping in the same place twice."
"Oh, what a horrid life to live." She muses with a terrifyingly innocent pout.
"I've managed." He ground out.
The Fae Queen cocks her head, eerily similar to an owl. "But now you are here," she says, seeming to come closer without moving. "And a grown man. My eyes across the seas have brought me such strange, horrible stories of you. From your scars and steel, I wonder whether they are indeed true. Like the tale I heard once that an assassin with eyes of sapphire was spotted in a wagon bound for—"
"Enough." Michael glances at Danika, who is listening intently, as if this were the first she was hearing it. "I know my own history." Michael flexes his fingers cradling the bow string, keeping them ready to draw at the thought. Who is this woman? And how does she know his entire history? Why bother making a move now, out of every other time? "I'm an assassin, yes."
Just speaking the word aloud—the damned word he had dreaded and hated and tried to forget . . .
"And your other talents?" the woman's nostrils flare—scenting. "What has become of them?"
"Forgotten. I never knew I had them, so I never bothered to try. Training in the army kept my attention."
Those violet eyes twinkles, and Michael knew—knew that she could smell the half-truth. "You are not in the army anymore," she purrs.
Run. Every instinct roars with the word.
"If you wanted to kill me, why wait until now? When I'm grown and in my prime? Were you just looking for a challenge?"
A crow's laugh. "There are legends whispered over fires about the other skin I wear. No one has lived to tell anything beyond shadows and claws and a darkness to devour the soul. I wanted to see how deep your magic goes, how rooted it's become in your skin."
He could still feel the burn of blue wildfire exploding out of him from the runes that were once at his feet, still see Elsa's face as he lost control of it. One wrong move, one wrong breath, and he could have killed her.
"Show me," She whispers with a spider's smile.
Run. Run.
There is a faint pulse in the air, a throbbing against his blood. A tapping, then a razor- sharp slicing against his mind—as if she were trying to cleave open his skull and peer inside. Pushing, testing, tasting—
Fighting to keep his breathing steady, Michael tightens his fingers around the bowstring as he pushes back against the claws in his mind. The woman lets out a low laugh, and the pressure in his head ceases.
"Your father hid you for years," she says. "He always had a remarkable talent for knowing when my eyes were searching for you. Such a rare gift—the ability to summon and manipulate flame. So few exist who possess more than an ember of it; fewer still who can master its wildness. And yet he wanted you to stifle your power—though he knew that I only wanted you to submit to it."
Michael's breath burns his throat. "Shut your mouth," he says, his words trembling as he fought the pain of the searing memories. How does she –
The Fae Queen goes on, "Look at how well that turned out for him."
Michael's blood freezes. Every self-preserving instinct went right out of his head. "You don't dare, talk about my father. Or my mother." He speaks so low, from so deep in his shredded soul, that the words were barely more than a growl.
Against his volition, his body straightens, every muscle going taut, his bones straining. Magic, but deeper than that. Power that seizes everything inside him and took control: even his blood flows where she wills it.
He can't move. That invisible, talon-tipped hand scrapes against his mind. And he knew—one push, one swipe of those mental claws, and who he is will cease to exist.
"Let him go," Danika says, bristling, but doesn't advance forward. He didn't even see her shift back. A kind of panic has entered her eyes, and she glanced from him to the Fae Queen."
"I'd forgotten that human minds are as fragile as eggshells," the woman croons, and runs a finger across the base of Michael's throat. He shudders, his eyes burning. "But you are no mere human, Michael. I'm sure the trolls told you that.
She angles her head slightly.
"You could only imagine my surprise when I looked and found those porous eyes staring at me." Her fingers entangle in his hair, brushing his bangs off his forehead, revealing the scar hidden beneath. "Such an abhorrent invasion of my privacy."
She traces a taloned nail across his neck.
Had he retained any semblance of control over his body, Michael might have vomited.
"Let. Him. Go." Danika's face is twisted with such feral rage that it strikes a different, deeper chord of terror in Michael.
He opens his mouth, readying for words, but – nothing. Only gaping lips and wheezing sounds that resemble a fish out of water.
When the woman looks to him, she flutters her long, fanning lashes. Another white-toothed smile. "Alas, the elder one couldn't see much. Such adorable infant magic. shredded with one swipe of my claws."
Those same invisible claws lazily caress his mind again—then vanishes.
Michael sinks to the ground, curling over his knees as he reeled in everything that he is, as he tries to keep from sobbing, from screaming, from emptying his stomach onto the floor.
His bow scatters away from him, but he could care less.
"Does your little queen know about your checkered past, sweetheart?"
So many questions. So little strength. His mind is reeling, spinning as the world had spun when he plunged into that well of magic he never knew he had.
The whispering of her skirt comes closer, Michael unable to move despite the tingle that slithers up his spine. Then a cold hand caressing the back of his head in a mockery of solace.
"I have to say, Michael. When I found out the truth, I was very impressed. All this time I had no idea – the power lurking inside you. It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?"
"Stop." He says, the word trembling.
"Why? Are you afraid of the truth? There's nothing to fear, my dear. What you have concealed, you shall become, Michael. You will burn the skies. Flesh with turn to ash. You need to know the truth, and I do plan to tell you."
"Which is what?"
"Your magic has a deeper root than blood, my dear." She drawls. "Something deeper and more powerful than anything this world has seen."
"Is that why you want me? For my power?"
"In a sense, yes. But not in the common way. Believe it or not, I'm looking out for you. This kind of power isn't natural, even on the concepts of magic."
"The runes – the ones you used to awaken this power . . ."
She smiles, and it is not a thing of beauty. "The Old Language, though powerful in its own right, not too common these days. I needed to find an alternative to awaken your magic. It's how we are alike, you and I. Power beyond the comprehension of scholars and mortals alike."
"I don't want it." The first truth he's told.
"The choice was never yours to begin with. The power exists, and no matter what you wish, no matter where you go, no matter how you squirm, there is nothing. You can do. To stop it."
"You're lying. There has to be a way; I just have to find it."
"Your determination really is adorable. I can see how you charmed the Snow Queen."
Michael looks straight in those death-dealing eyes. "Leave her out of this."
"I didn't bring her into this. You did. The moment you came into her life. Does she know of the horribly delicious things you did in your time in the war?" She says, then slowly adds, as if she savored every word. "Does she know of the men and women you tortured; that you know how peel a man's skin from his bones and keep him alive while doing it; of the king you beheaded like a trophy on a hunt?"
"Shut your mouth," he growls, the voice not his own.
But she kept staring at him, her smile growing. "Does she know of the monster that prowls beneath your skin? Of the thing you keep shackled behind that grief-stricken little boy?" she leans closer until her lips brush against the outer shell of his ear. "If she ever does find out, she will never accept you. Never love you . . . and you know that."
"Be quiet!" he surges to his feet. A dagger drops into his hand, but his hand hits air, a force so condensed it ripples like water.
With a swing of her hand, Michael is sent flying across the courtyard into a slab of stone. His back arcs in pain and stars dance in his eyes.
Danika pounces on the woman in a blue of claws and fangs, but the woman dissipates into wisps of black smoke. Without missing a beat, Danika shifts back into her human form near sprinting for Michael as he pushes himself to his knees.
The woman reappears, the smoke gathering and filling into a solid form. "It's time she learned the truth, and if you don't tell her, I will."
"Why?" Michael breathes, the impact having knocked the air from his lungs.
"Because you need proper guidance. Proper training, and all she can offer you is a handful of snowflakes. You deserve better."
"How do you know what's best for me?" Michael growls as he leans on Danika who lifts them both to their feet. The anger and the fear dragging him down into an inescapable exhaustion.
Another dangerous smile.
The Fae Queen lifts a moon-white hand to rest over her heart. "A mother always knows what's best for her child."