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Chapter Text

The spring air had a certain chill to it today, an unfriendly post-winter frost making itself comfortable in the wrong season. Cold air stung the fairy’s face as though it were a reminder of the cruel and unforgiving winter that had only just passed. Perhaps the weather was mocking her, a day that should have been warm and bright turned gloomy instead. Clouds were forming overhead, clouds that looked dark and foreboding, but Marianne could care less. Slender fingers tightly gripped the boutonniere she had made for Roland, magnificent indigo wings carrying her in a random direction as tears stained her chilled cheeks. 

Despair and betrayal replaced the desperate love and adoration she felt deep in her heart only moments ago. She couldn’t see where she was going, her vision blurring as her wings began to tire from their desperate fight with the breeze, their fight to keep her afloat and to get her as far as possible from her home. Despite this, she forced herself to continue her flight. She didn’t want to stop for a moment, if she stopped she’d have to process everything, she’d have to think about her next steps, she’d have to make a choice about the fate of her marriage… Would she have to let go of Roland? No, that was something she didn’t want to imagine. She’d fly until she couldn’t anymore, anything to keep the pain from reaching its cruel climax.

As if the day couldn’t get any worse, those angry clouds finally decided to take out their frustrations on the Fairy Fields. Droplets just slightly smaller than Marianne’s head began falling all around her, causing her to panic. Her fragile wings couldn’t handle the heavy rain drops, threatening to rip them to shreds. One drop, then two, then three and four– each one coming dangerously close to knocking her from the skies. A sloppy descent had to be made, eyes being wiped clean of her blinding tears frantically. Feelings of despair and betrayal were now replaced by utter fear and panic. She tucked her wings in, plummeting towards the ground at terrifying speeds. It was inevitable, she was going to crash!

A few goblins were working to remove the primroses that had blossomed earlier in the day, though upon noticing the lightly falling rain they opted to hurry back into the safety of the forest. Rain couldn’t break through the forest's vast canopy of leaves so easily, and if it did? It was far less than what the Fields would experience. As they strode back to the forest, primrose petals in tow, they’d hear a shrill shriek from somewhere above. Alarmed, they looked towards the ear splitting noise– a noise which was only getting louder and louder. “DUCK!” A large goblin bellowed, covering its head as it crouched down. The others followed suit just in the knick of time; Marianne’s wings extended at the last moment to slow her down and break her fall, not that it helped much.

Violently, she tumbled past the goblins and through the border of vines and brush that divided the Fairy Fields and the Dark Forest. There was no way she could slow herself down as she rolled down the hill, not without breaking her bones or ripping off her fingernails by digging them into the dirt beneath her. Her body bounced against the cold ground, bruises were sure to form if she made it out of this alive. Twigs, rocks, tree roots and branches surrounded her; it was a miracle she hadn’t hit anything yet. Surely at this speed a knock into any hard object would spell her end. Upon realizing this, her left wing had unfurled to balance her, despite the risks such a feat would pose. A ripped wing was better than dying, right? Her velocity slowed with the motion, albeit only a little, the thorns of a berry bush snagging her wing and tearing through it. Pain shot through her body, igniting her limbs like electricity. Was she screaming? She didn’t know, any noise her tiny frame made at this point was involuntary; she was just trying to survive.

Though her wing was effectively in tatters, the thorns of the berry bush had slowed her down enough to come to a rough stop a few feet further. The princess couldn’t feel her body, she couldn’t even breathe. She rolled onto her back with what little strength she had left, staring up at the unfamiliar forest’s canopy. The world around her was fading fast, both heavy and light footsteps were approaching her from all sides. Familiar words sounded like gibberish, nonsensical and confusing; unknown voices debated and fought amongst themselves. Rough hands pulled her from the plant litter of the forest floor, sending waves of pain rippling through her mangled form. The strangeness of the day made Marianne feel like she was dreaming and she weakly chuckled, closing her eyes. Maybe she’d wake up from this nightmare shortly. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Bog King sighed in frustration as he was brought the unconscious fairy. Another problem to add to his endless list of daily issues. Icy blue eyes flitted over the battered body of the fairy, then up to Thang and Stuff and the entourage of curious goblins that stood nearby. “What do ye expect me to do here? Just bury ‘er somewhere, she’s good as dead anyways.” His tone rang with annoyance, his hand waving about dismissively. Sure, if any of the fairy folk or elves or… other light-dwellers saw a fairy enter the forest only to never return again, it’d likely cause outrage. Perhaps a war would break out. The border, however, was often patrolled; all outsiders were chased away when they got brave enough to venture too close. He knew the rumors of elf-eating toads and carnivorous plants were spread far and wide; villages hadn’t been settled near the forest in decades due to rumors like that. As if they had elf eating toads, the thought in and of itself was laughable. The plants ate more elves than the toads ever would. 

He cracked his neck and shook his head, ridding himself of the random thoughts crossing his mind. The point is, he knew there was almost no chance the light-dwellers saw this fairy enter the forest. Occasionally, Marianne would shift or gasp as her body fought to regain consciousness, to stay alive. She was hanging on by a thread, and surely the cold and aloof treatment wasn’t helping. The cruel king watched her with mild amusement as she lay on the stone floor. There came a sick satisfaction with watching the weak suffer.

Griselda waddled up from somewhere behind Bog, slapping him on the arm as she approached. “Now that’s no way to treat a fine, young lady!” Bog shot her a cold glare, which she returned tenfold. Her voice grated on his ears as she spoke and she continued to nag as only a mother could. “I thought I raised you better.” She chided, causing the king to roll his eyes. “It’s a fairy, no’ a ‘fine young lady’.” He emphasized his statement with air quotes before folding his arms across his chest. Long claws tapped against the exoskeleton of his bicep, his frustration clear. “Since when did we care what happened to fairies?” He nudged her with his foot, inspecting her torn wing and wincing. That had to hurt. “It’s like you’ve never heard of diplomacy before! This gal is likely someone’s beloved daughter or sister. Might be able to rack up a few positive points with the fairy folk if you patch her up.” She nudged her son with her elbow, then looked to Stuff and Thang, who had been quietly bickering about who would get to keep the fairy’s shiny bracelet when she died. “What are you two doing, standing around? What do we pay you for– go get the medics!” Stuff nudged Thang, “Yeah, what are you waiting for?” Thang’s forehead creased as he and Stuff hastily waddled off, “You weren’t doing much of anything either!” Their bickering continued down the hall until their voices were well out of ear shot. 

Bog straightened out, his carapaced body creaking with the movement. His wings flared and vibrated behind him, his neck elongated. A domineering pose, paired with a frightening scowl as he growled his words. “It’s a fairy stumblin’ into our lands durin’ the spring; Primrose season.” The thought of his least favorite season caused him to grimace. His eyes narrowed, he wasn’t having his mother’s excuses. “She was probably after a love potion, pathetic thing.” Griselda stood in front of him now, unswayed by her son’s fearsome disposition. In her eyes, he was having a temper tantrum like a toddler. As they continued to argue, the medics, both frog goblins like Thang, came in and swept Marianne onto a stretcher made of leaves and branches. “Put her in the dungeon when yer done mendin’ her.” Bog called after them, to which they nodded in response before exiting the room. “Pshaw,” Griselda threw her hands up towards Bog, “When are you going to let go of that ‘no love’ rule of yours?” Her son skulked back to his throne and fell into it with a loud clack as his rough body connected to the hard seat. “Not now, mother. I don’t have time to deal with this conversation again.” Talking to her was beginning to give him a headache and he pinched the bridge of his nose, an exhausted sigh forcing his cracked lips apart. “Regardless of whether she was after a love potion or not, she was trespassin’. An intruder! She broke the peace treaty, she’s no better than a prisoner now.” He hissed with a certain venom, his voice raising to get his point across. Any of his other lackey’s would’ve cowered under the display, but his mother was simply unamused. 

Talking back to his mother was a bad decision, as she nagged Bog for at least an hour or two about his duties as a king and a man; which then turned to nagging him about when he was going to get over his love aversion and find a sweet young thing to marry. Demands for grandkids kept being made and the Bog King found himself ready to claw his eardrums out so he wouldn’t have to listen to her anymore. “Stop!” He clapped his hand over his mothers mouth to silence her, fuming at this point. “If I take care of the wee thing, will ye stop talkin’ about lo…” He seethed, unable to get the repulsive word out. “Will ye just stop talkin’?” Griselda nodded, a muted noise of agreement being made. The simple exclamation would suffice and Bog dropped his cupped hand from his mother’s mouth. “Great. I’ll go check on our guest of honor.” Obviously he was less than enthused, but he’d do anything to get away from the woman.

Chapter Text

His head pounded as he made his way down to the dungeons, a million thoughts racing through his mind. He rubbed slow circles into his temples with the knuckles of his spindly index fingers There was no rush to his gait as he descended the staircase into the depths of the dungeon. A moment was needed for him to get caught up with the day's happenings.

Even if we patch her up and let her go on her way, she’d likely spread more atrocities about the Dark Forest– about goblins! A war could break out.

But what if she were to tell the truth? The honest truth about her treatment in the forest, how they saved her from the brink of death? It was equally as likely, wasn’t it? No, absolutely not, not in Bog’s mind. Scary stories were told of monsters in the woods, the mushrooms would often recount. The goblins sent shivers down fairies spines, but talk of the repulsive king would always be the cause of the light-dwellers nightmares. Bog knew how the fairies were raised to feel about goblins. Not that the feelings were entirely unwarranted, goblins weren’t exactly the kindest beings in the lands; plus, the two factions had a long and messy history despite the recent century of relative peace. Bog liked to think under his father’s, and his father’s father’s rule, that the goblins had become much more civilized than they once were. Sure, they could be rather savage in their beliefs and traditions, but they weren’t barbarians.

It’s not like the fairies were as innocent as they believed themselves to be, they had cut goblins down like a lumberjack cuts trees. They were ruthless, tearing families apart, forcing goblins into servitude… Not that it mattered now. His grandfather had put an end to that, now Bog just had to protect his people, keep the treaty intact; the ever migraine-inducing job he was raised to do since birth. It wasn’t the easiest thing, that’s for sure. Goblins may have evolved but they still caused a fair amount of trouble.

She wouldn’t have a nice thing to say about us, those little light-dwellers only see us as monsters.

His hands dropped to his sides and he came down the last steps. A somber frown replaced his near constant scowl.

And I’m the most monstrous of all.

There was a pain in his heart; insecurity tugged at his emotions if only for a second. Approaching footsteps brought him back to reality. His body was rigid and tense once more, he stood tall as a king should. Any feelings that reflected on his face were wiped clean, that unpleasant scowl returning.

The footsteps started sounding familiar, like those of the medics. Each step they took caused a mucousy, squelching noise to echo through the dungeon. The two were discussing lunch when they rounded the corner, nearly running right into Bog’s legs. Yelps of surprise rang from each of them and they stumbled back. Nervous looks were exchanged between the pair, the shorter of the two bowing his head quickly. “Sire!” The large one mimicked the others movements and spoke in a deeper voice, “Sire, the intruder's wounds were severe, but we did our best in mending her. She’s stable, for now.” Neither frog dared make eye contact with their fearsome king, save for tiny anxious glances they cast upwards sparingly to assess his reaction. Bog cracked his neck then arched forwards to glare at the little creatures. “And where were ye two goin’? Shouldn’t ye be stayin’ with our guest ‘til she’s fully recovered?” The frog goblins squirmed uncomfortably under their king’s judgemental gaze. “Y-yes, sire!” The shorter one squeaked, “But w-what about lunch?” He looked up at the king, his eyes wide and pleading. “The guards said they’d alert us if her condition gets worse!” The larger stated. Bog rolled his eyes and stood upright, staring at them silently. Their discomfort was clear in the way they constantly shifted their weight from foot to foot, casting sideways glances towards one and other. “Fine, go.” He still stood in their way, but they weren’t about to refuse an escape! “Thank you, your majesty!” They yelped almost in tandem as they hurried past him, “But make it quick!” Bog called back, their footsteps hastening as they ran up the stairs. The king smoothed a hand over the ridges of his scalp and entered the dungeon.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The dungeon was cold and damp, water droplets dripped from the tree roots that forced their way through tiny cracks in the stone and dirt walls. A bioluminescent plant near the stairs gave off a soft blue light that contrasted the warm orange of the spiked glow berries that lit the place. A tall, plump goblin was stationed outside Marianne’s cell. Occasionally he’d peek over to make sure she was still breathing, sighing in relief whenever he saw the rise and fall of her chest. As Bog approached the guard bowed his head respectfully before stepping off to the side so the King could look into the cell.

Marianne slept on a large, brown mushroom. A thin cotton blanket was draped over her legs and she rested soundly; soundly as she could, that is. Every now and then she’d shiver or whimper involuntarily. For a split second Bog felt pity as he watched her. Fairies were such delicate little things, so weak and unfortunate. He’d never fully understand their plight; he may be monstrous in appearance, but that very same appearance made him physically strong and sturdy.

“Sire, the procedure documents.” A rolled up parchment was presented towards Bog, notes from the medics he’d just ran into. Couldn’t they have delivered it themselves? He scoffed as he took the parchment, silently pleased that his servants were being so well organized after the last council meeting. It meant less paperwork for him.

Long digits ran over the rolled parchment, the pages unfurling. Barely legible script was lazily scrawled over the worn pages, detailing Marianne’s injuries and treatments. Bog’s scowl softened as he read through her ailments. Her right leg had nearly snapped in half and it was likely she’d fractured a few ribs. Her left wing was torn to shreds, it was unlikely she’d ever be able to fly again. There were a multitude of documented bumps and bruises, scrapes and scratches, and a few deep cuts scattered along her torso. “What happened to her?” He asked the guard quietly whilst flipping to the next page. He skimmed over the treatments administered. A variety of potions and tinctures were used to numb the pain and speed up the healing process, though in very low doses as the medics hadn’t ever worked on fairy folk; who knew how her body would react to the foreign medicines? Bog ran his thumb over his jaw as he continued to read, the guard speaking up. “Apparently she fell out of the sky, sire.” The king snorted at that. “Not a strong flier, eh?” Spider silk had been used to stitch up her deep wounds. Her wing was patched to the best of the goblin’s ability, then heavily bandaged. Her leg had been wrapped and equipped with splints. “Why’d ye fall out of the sky, girl?” He wondered aloud, flipping through the next few pages.

Once he felt he’d read everything of use in the document it was handed back to the guard. At that exact moment the guard’s stomach roared, demanding sustenance. Bog blinked, his dry lips pursing as he stared at him. An awkward chuckle from the guard followed as he took back the parchment. Bog sighed heavily and waved him away, mildly annoyed. “Go on. Hurry up, get somethin’ to eat. I’ll keep an eye on her.” The goblin wasn’t about to refuse any niceties from the king, quickly hobbling off with a doofy smile plastered onto his face. The footsteps faded and the dungeon was eerily silent. Bog clicked his tongue as his icy hues inspected the woman. He’d heard and read so much about fairies, but were they really all that?

What’s so special about them? Squishy little things.

He tapped a claw to his cheek as he thought. Curious eyes flicked over the sleeping figure, noting the visible details of the dimly illuminated woman. Messy nutmeg colored hair stood up in random directions, as if she’d never brushed it in her life. Did she even own a comb? Her smooth skin looked clammy and she was pale. No doubt from the near death experience; either that or,this was just her natural skin tone. Admittedly, he respected her ability to survive such a dangerous experience. Falling out of the sky mid-flight often resulted in a swift death.

She’s a tough girl. Not much to look at though, I thought the fairies would be a bit more… Breath takin’.

The vibrant, shimmering indigo of her unbandaged wing caught his eye and his lips parted, an expression of awe creeping over his gruff features. Now that was something spectacular. Such dark wings seemed uncommon amongst her kind, and Bog had always liked things that were different.

He cleared his throat, putting his hands on the bars of the cell. No one was around, right? He had never been so close to a fairy before; at least, never this close to a calm fairy. His grip on the cell bars tightened and he pulled the gate up with ease, taking an apprehensive step towards the woman. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. It’s not like he was taking an interest in a fairy of all beings, he was just doing… Research. Fairies weren’t exactly an enemy to the goblins anymore, but every year the differing factions seemed to inch closer to war, constantly stepping on one and others toes. The risk was always present, therefore wanting to observe the possible enemy wasn’t strange.

He cracked his neck before he stretched it outwards as though he were trying to take in as much of her as he could without getting too close. Why was he so nervous? It was just a fairy. He still wasn’t able to see much of her. Another step was taken towards the mushroom she rested on. There was dried blood spattered on her disheveled white dress. He could see the pores of her face, the sweat that trickled down her temples. Swollen eyelids adorned her delicate face as though she’d been crying. Intrigue tugged at Bog’s mind. Did the rain force her out of the sky? Was she fleeing something? Did she cry from the pain of her wounds, or from something else? His fingers fidgeted at his side as he towered over the girl. The fact that she was still alive was baffling to him, she looked like a wreck.

That single, magnificent wing caught his eye again, pulling him from his ponderings. Had fairies always had such fuzzy looking wings? He’d never noticed. An amused chuckle left him and he compared hers to his own, crouching next to her and extending his wing to the side where it’d be visible with a look over his shoulder. His smooth and iridescent, slightly torn wing glistened in the dim light, whereas hers practically sparkled. The textures were entirely different, and he felt giddy– excited as he experienced something new. Upon closer inspection, he could tell her wing was coated in tiny, colorful scales that gave them their shimmering effect. His fingers danced over her wing as if of their own accord, but Bog did nothing to stop them. A smile crept over his lips, an odd expression that he hardly wore anymore; but it suited him well. His eyes were shining, he was enjoying himself. “S’pose I see the appeal.” He whispered to the sleeping woman, as if giving her his approval.

Marianne began to stir, a pained whimper filling the otherwise silent room. Bog tried to hush her, to calm her as best he could. He pulled the blanket covering her legs over her chest then hurried over to a supply closet in the hall. The king returned with five more blankets, clearly too anxious to rationalize just how many he’d need for her. The other blankets were quickly unfolded and placed over her. He gently pulled them up to her chin, leaving his hand hovering above the blankets for fear that any quick movements would startle her further. “Yer fine, yer fine…” He reassured her– or was he reassuring himself? Why was he so nervous? No, he knew why. He didn’t want her to awake and see his monstrous face, he didn’t want her to panic.

He didn’t want to feel like a beast.

Despite his best efforts, Marianne’s eyes fluttered open. Radiant amber hues glinted in the light of the cell, meeting the king's own frigid blues. He tensed his body, prepared for her bitter judgment…

But it didn’t come.

She made for the hand that hung over her, barely having the strength to lift her arm. Perhaps she sought comfort through her pain– the familiar warmth of another person? Who knows. Bog’s breath hitched in his throat. Her soft fingers were cold as they gently gripped his own. He held his breath, staring down at her. Her pupils dilated, then narrowed; adjusting to the dark room as best they could. Her lips parted as she studied his eyes, “Beautiful…” The words were strained, her voice weak. The grasp of her fingers on his own weakened, her arm falling against her chest as her breathing deepened. Those stunning amber eyes were now hidden behind heavy lids. She was asleep.

Bog remained frozen above her, entirely taken aback by what just happened. She had held his hand. She called him beautiful. Beautiful? No one had ever…

Did that really just happen? Is this… A dream?

Shaking hands stroked his cheeks as he considered this. Was he hallucinating? He gently slapped his face, blinking rapidly. This was no dream. He hadn’t noticed how shaky his breathing had become, how fast his heart was thumping in his chest, threatening to break through his thorax. His mind was racing, his jaw hung agape. There was no way he’d notice the approaching guard, having returned from his lunch break. The  guard cleared his throat and spoke up. “Your majesty? Is something wrong?” Concern was evident in his tone, he hadn’t ever seen the king acting this way.

“No! No… Just…” Bog regained his composure, attempting to scowl despite the tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he walked out of the cell. An unfamiliar, warm and pleasant feeling radiated through his core. His body felt light, he chewed the inside of his cheek as he relived the situation in his mind. “I’ll be back this evenin’ to bring her dinner. Keep her safe ‘til then.”

The guard barely had time to speak before the king was off, flying up towards the main floor of the castle.

Chapter Text

The weather had calmed by the time evening rolled around. The weak sunlight that broke through the canopy of the forest soaked the grim castle in fiery hues and wispy pinks before any warmth of the daylight was washed away entirely. Deep azure tones and the silvery glint of moonlight laid their claim, the claim of night.

Bog had entered the dungeon with a plate of soft fruits and an herb infused bone broth. He knew the fairies had a fondness for sweeter foods than what were often found in the forest, and after his earlier encounter with the woman he’d sent a group of gatherers over to the border in hopes of finding something more palatable for her. The bone broth was his mother’s recipe, something he drank while recovering from spars as a kid. He thought it might aid her in a quick recovery. Why was he being so thoughtful? Why did he suddenly want to make her feel welcome in his home when before he thought she was a waste of resources, a burden on the castle? His heart pounded loudly and he could hear it in his ears, practically deafening. He felt the blood rushing to his gaunt cheeks as he recalled the word that dripped from her frail lips, sweet as molasses– beautiful.

He paused his walk towards the cell, the less than familiar feeling of his nerves wracking catching him off guard, a sharp inhale being sucked through his jagged fangs in response. His teeth clacked together within the confines of his maw as his thoughts raced through mind; a flurry of confused frustration.

What am I doin’? This is… stupid.

The cell was well within Bog’s line of sight at this point, the same guard from earlier having spotted his king long ago and deliberately looking anywhere but the king's scowling, and surprisingly flushed, face. Bog swallowed hard, forcing the building reluctance down– pretending it didn’t exist within the stoic king.

It’s… It’s diplomacy, just because she’s a prisoner doesn’t mean we have to treat her poorly.

His mothers words repeated themselves– he might be able to rack up some points with the fairy kingdom if he treated the prisoner and returned her. She… She clearly didn’t see him as a monster. Perhaps it was an accident that she stumbled into the forest, maybe she wasn’t after a love potion after all, was this all a misunderstanding?

It was probably a slip of the tongue. Who knows what she saw, how those medicines are affectin’ her wee mind? No, no, fairies never venture so close to the border. She was clearly up to no good in the first place, and the rain just messed with her plans.

She couldn’t be trusted, of course. It was unlikely she’d be returned to her kingdom, but… On the off chance that she was trustworthy? Bog had always wanted to strengthen ties between his kingdom and theirs. To have a remarkable legacy of his own as king, just as his grandfather did. This could be his first step towards that reality. That would all be decided in due time, it’d take a while for her to recover. This line of thought could be reassessed when she was back in her right mind.

Bog cleared his throat, raised a brow and gestured towards the cell, causing the guard to hastily clamber on over and open it; the silent order was well understood. “S-should I go, your majesty?” The large goblin asked with a nervous, yet eager tone. “Aye. Go rest for the evenin’.” Bog confirmed, shooing him away with a flick of his wrist. The goblin excitedly punched his hands into the air before running off and Bog turned his attention to the fairy.

“How are ye doin’, tough girl?” He asked, expecting no answer in return. He placed the plate of food on a nearby toadstool and pulled a shoddy wooden seat up to the side of the bed, where he’d plant himself as he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. The seat was much too small for him, but he couldn’t care less at this moment. The arteries in her neck pulsed visibly through her thin skin, yet another thing the goblin king had never seen before. He moved to gently tap her shoulder, aiming to wake her so that she might eat– but he hesitated. Was she even strong enough to eat? The idea that the dreaded Bog King might have to spoon feed a fairy was preposterous, and his stomach tied itself into uncertain knots at the mere thought.

It was important that she eat, though. How else was she supposed to get her strength back? He needed to find out if she was trustworthy enough to return to her people, to get her out of his metaphorical hair– and if she wasn’t? He needed to know so he could prove his mother wrong and let the girl rot in her cell. Use her as an example to strike fear into the hearts of the Fairy Kingdom. She’d brought such distasteful emotions to his surface, allowing strange thoughts to pollute the oceans of his mind. She was a burden on him, tedious– it was imperative she get well soon. The sooner she recovered the better, he wanted her to recover and to… To go away, to get out of his life before it became even more complicated than it already was. He wanted her existence to be cast away just as swiftly as she had been swept up onto the shores of his soul. He didn’t like feeling such strong humanity, empathy, and… Dare he feel care for another? No, never again. The horrified scream of someone he’d held close, someone he’d allow himself to care for stained his memory at the mere thought. He’d help her recover, only so he could determine her fate. She was as worthless to him as any of the other prisoners that these cell walls had housed.

Wake up, fairy– so that I can pass my judgment. Wake up and…

And…

He found himself at a loss as his thought finished before he could smother it entirely.

Talk to me again.

He wanted to hear what interesting things she’d have to say next. He wanted so desperately for him to prove his deeply ingrained pessimism wrong. Those unknown feelings he’d been trying to keep down all day felt as though they were clawing up his torso, tearing apart his insides during the process and threatening to pour out of his throat, burning like molten lava as a truth he wanted so desperately to ignore stared him dead in the eye with a hot fury. What was he supposed to do with this small revelation? It was small, wasn’t it? Then why did it feel so big, so heady and disastrous? He couldn’t risk having hope.

There was no more time to explore these thoughts. Marianne had awoken at some point and was watching him with half lidded eyes as he waged a war within his being. Those large amber orbs studied him with a glimmer of fascination. “It’s you…” She observed weakly, her surprised voice hoarse as though she had been in a desert for days without water. Bog felt his heart stutter in his thorax, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to keep his cool. “Yes– well… It’s… Yer right, it’s me…”

“Am I dead? Are you one of those… Angels?” Her puny voice was nearly lost between them and Bog had to strain his ears to gather her words. A look of shock struck his features, his sharp brows rising and pointed chin tightening as he restrained a bark of incredulous laughter by curling his lips to an astonished grin– a grin directed towards a woman who was clearly mad. “I think we’ve got different ideas of what an angel is.” He retorted sarcastically, moving to grab the plate of easily digestible foods he’d brought. “But… You’re just like them. Glowing, beautiful.” The plate nearly slipped from his fingers at the notion. The fabled ‘angels’, fairies with magnificent, feathered wings much like those of the birds that dominated the skies above. Said to be ethereal beings, bringers of peaceful deaths. Nurturing gods of the high skies, benevolent and ever so kind. A calm smile from them was said to turn the most vicious men to saints; they radiate with innocence and purity– beings of light.

A stark contrast to himself, dark and brooding as he was… And to think, the monstrous man was once more called beautiful– no, ethereal. He felt his grin dissipate, his lips being pulled downward. A sinking feeling brought him to a cruel conclusion. She really was hallucinating, wasn’t she? Of course she was. Any other possibility was vastly quixotic. She was high on a medicinal cocktail made to speed up her healing process. But… At least she was able to wake up, to speak. She’d make it through, he was sure of it. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with his tumultuous emotions anymore, he’d be rid of her. “Yer probably hungry.” He changed the subject, taking one of the blankets he’d earlier draped over her and neatly folding it. It’d be placed under her head, ever so gently which caused her to groan in pain. “Yer okay…” He cooed far too softly, his chest swelling with warmth despite the depressing realization he’d just had.

With her head raised ever so slightly now, he deemed she was safe to eat without choking. “I brought ye some fruit… And soup.” Clearly she was running out of energy, her eyes lazily trailing down towards the plate he held. “I… You probably can’t move very well, can ye?” He asked, secretly hoping she’d spring up and help herself to the contents of the plate. A slow blink was all he got as an answer and he returned a heavy, humiliated sigh. Thank the gods he’d sent the guard away, this was beyond embarrassing.

He brought a tiny chunk of strawberry to her lips, “Open yer mouth.” He demanded, the words coming out much harsher than he meant them to; clearly he was used to being a strict king. He didn’t have the proper skillset to produce an affable bedside manner. Marianne didn’t flinch at his dominant behavior, parting her dry lips ever so slightly and revealing the inside of her wet, pink mouth. Bog felt himself tense up, he felt like he was behaving far too familiarly with the woman. This was intimate. The piece of strawberry was dropped into her mouth, Bog suddenly feeling like he’d be even more embarrassed if he accidentally made contact with the woman’s brittle lips. She swallowed it down with some difficulty, clearing her throat as though she’d nearly choked.

He realized she couldn’t exactly muster up the strength to chew even the tiniest of cubed fruit. The next piece would be mashed between his fingers so she wouldn’t struggle to swallow it. Her mouth opened again, this time without any demand from Bog and he felt the tips of his ears heat up. Why was he feeling so disquieted?

He puffed out his cheeks and blew out a hard breath before bringing the next crushed berry to her lips. Her chin angled upwards as he made his approach as if she was trying to help him feed her. Because of this, his fingers briefly grazed the corner of her mouth. A shiver ran up his spine, he could feel her humid breath as it tickled his rangy claws. He recoiled after abruptly dropping the fruit into her mouth, this time she swallowed with ease. “P-perhaps some soup would be… Would be better.” He acknowledged. This moment of innocent intimacy was almost divine, something Bog had only dreamt about– if not for it being shared with a prisoner, a fairy at that, he might have felt ecstatic and lucid. Her head tipped, an attempt at a nod despite her fragile state. Her eyelids were becoming heavy, she looked about ready to pass out again. Bog hurried his movements, determined to get a bit more sustenance into her frail body before she slept. “Stay with me just a bit longer…” He requested in a tone that was something akin to a begging plea that shocked him. “I mean, so ye can… Ye need to eat.” He tried to save himself afterwards, though he didn’t really need to– the fairy would likely forget this moment. Deep down, he might’ve known it was said to reassure himself more than anyone else.

The bowl of soup was brought to her lips and he gingerly snuck his hand under her head, trying desperately to avoid causing her excessive pain. He could feel the various lumps of her bruised skull pressing against his digits, paired with her surprisingly lush hair brushing over his craggy palm. He was about ready to launch himself into the surrounding ravine to avoid dealing with the embarrassment that seeped through the cracks in his carapace, wreaking havoc on his fleshy core and pounding heart. He pushed her head upwards, and she protested with a whimper– not that she had the ability to stop him from shifting her. Once she was tilted somewhat upright, he tipped the bowl just enough for a bit of the thin broth to flood into her mouth. Her nose scrunched, the foreign herbs likely being bitter and unpleasant as they acquainted themselves with her taste buds. It seemed like she wanted to pull away from the soup, her eyes flicking towards Bog with a bothered look on them. “Ah-ah, one more sip… It’s good for ye, will help ye get yer strength back.” Deep amber eyes that one could swear were specked with drops of honey and lemon, so very sweet and sour, gave the man a begrudging look, brows pressing down towards her eyes– about as intimidating as an angry pup. A smirk twisted at his lips. She gave in to his demand, understanding his reasoning as best she could, and turned her gaze back to the soup, taking another gulp. “Good girl.” He praised, which caused her to return a smirk of her own– a hint of one, at least. “Thank you.”

All her energy had clearly been expended while eating and shooting Bog sassy expressions. Her eyes fell shut and she took a deep breath, forcing herself to fill every vacant space in her lungs though her ribs screamed in agony. He rested her head back on the makeshift pillow and quietly stood up, plate in hand. “Goodnight, tough girl.”

“W-wait…” She croaked, her eyes still closed. The lines of her face creased with what Bog could only assume was unease. “Won’t you stay?” The words were sighed, breathy and desperate. Was she scared of being alone? Bog’s lips pulled into a straight line and he idly scratched at his cheek, debating his response. “Y-ye know I…” He started, then paused– his mouth closing. He wet his lips before opening them and trying to reject her request, but the words wouldn’t come. Awkwardness lay heavy on his side of the room, the resting woman being entirely oblivious to it. With some light indignation, he relented.

The plate was returned to the toadstool and he sat beside her bed in that tiny chair once more, now overly aware of his every limb. “Aye, I’m… I’ll stay.” His voice was almost robotic in tone, as though every normal part of his brain had been fried by this entire encounter. How was he supposed to stay? He was wildly uncomfortable, his lanky form forcing his knees into an unnatural position and his arms dangling stiffly at his sides, not to mention the rush of adrenaline the interaction had been pumping through his veins– he could hardly sit still. But the way her face softened and relaxed at his words forced him to bear through the discomfort.

Maybe he’d sneak away later, but for now the hideous goblin king would play the role of a silent guardian angel to his prisoner; to the strange, hallucinating fairy.

Chapter Text

The day started as any other in the grandiose palace; morning rays trickled through the large window of Marianne’s bedroom, laying warm kisses over her dormant eyelids. A trio of pixies buzzed around her head, chirping in unison, “Wake up, wake up, wake up!” Marianne began to stir, shielding her eyes from the ever brightening sun as she pushed herself upright. “Alright, alright, I’m up!” She responded whilst the pixies fluttered about, spouting off about the day's main event; the wedding. The noise fell on deaf ears, the scene felt familiar and at the same time, completely foreign. Marianne rubbed her sleep encrusted amber hues and scanned the room briefly before feeling a sharp stab of pain in her left wing.

A look of confusion plastered itself over her pristine features as she looked over her shoulder, only to find she didn’t have any wings. The wingless fairy. She remembered, now, the confusion of her sleep wearing off. Everyone doubted her ability to rule, even herself– she couldn’t even carry herself through the winds as all of her citizens did, how would she ever be able to understand them? To bring the kingdom prosperity and success, to keep her people content and safe? Not that it mattered at the moment, this was her wedding day. These undertones of dread were just the constant side effect one experiences when told they must one day be great, the burden of the crown.

She stood up from the velveteen petals of her bed and stretched her arms forward, finding them now resting along Roland’s shoulders. The ballroom encompassed them, along with a sea of foreign, masked faces draped in luxurious golden fabrics. The wedding they’d had was marvelous, though it seemed to flash by in the blink of an eye. The reception left Marianne feeling somewhat out of place, out of her element. This wasn’t her, this wasn’t right… Was it? No, no. This was planned from the start, from the moment she was born she was meant to be the future queen of the Fairy Kingdom. It was something that she was excited to do, if not a bit nervous. Marrying the loveliest man to ever grace the fairy folk was a natural first step– someone her father liked, someone she was lucky enough to like just as much, someone fit to be king. Perplexingly beautiful emerald irises seemed to scan the room, as though his mind was elsewhere. The future queen’s eyes, though, remained affixed to his sharp jaw and perfect cheekbones in admiration of his natural glory. This is where she was meant to be, she was head over heels in love with Roland. He wore a glittering lace clad mask of his own, which framed his features impeccably– he was almost too perfect. When did they agree upon a masquerade theme for their reception, anyways? Marianne couldn’t exactly remember. Perhaps it was one of Roland’s last minute changes, he did enjoy being unpredictable.

Something inside the woman felt deeply protective of Roland. He was too perfect, far too perfect for her. He knew what he wanted, what he was doing. He’d be an excellent king; at least… She truly believed he would. Would she be fit to rule alongside him? Royal blood may run through her veins, but she felt too young to be queen. Too… naive? She couldn’t help but tightly curl around him. He’d keep her grounded, she knew that. This was someone she could trust, someone she felt would protect her and guide her in the right direction. He was a natural born ruler after all; the way he worked a room, the way their future subjects melted into his palm like butter… She’d push herself, learn to rule as a queen fit for such a charismatic man. His large hands were loosely planted against her waist as they swayed and Marianne spoke in a warm voice as a feeling of bliss made her heart thrum against her ribs, her confidence being renewed by her own inner monologue, “This is the happiest day of my life. I love you.” The future king’s vibrant gaze finally met her own, though there was a strange glint to his familiar eyes. “Me too, buttercup.” She might be the only wingless fairy in the kingdom, but he made her feel like she was flying. A smirk tugged at his lips, and he departed from his new bride.

The room spun as she was suddenly twirling with her father, the deep purples and delicate glittering patterns on her dress twinkled like the milky way on a moonless night. Though she felt beautiful, she stood out like a sore thumb amongst the much more neutral tones of the masked fairy folk that had surrounded them throughout the evening. Dawn joined into their father-daughter dance, interlocking her fingers with Marianne’s own. They formed a circle, spinning and giggling together without a care in the world. It was just them in the room, now, the reception had surely ended hours ago; but there was so much joy shared between them that they wouldn’t dare let go to waste. Why couldn’t it always be like this? None of them wore masks, they were free to let their guards down despite being vastly public figures. “I’m so proud of you girls.” Their father declared, squeezing either woman’s hands in his own– but something far off caught his attention and he froze.

Dawn followed suit, her giggles falling away as she and their father stared across the room, slack jawed with furrowed brows. Disappointed and worried looks were cast to Marianne, who was suddenly pulled into a tight hug between them. Marianne peeked over her shoulder, following their stares, only to find Roland entangled with another woman. A bewitching redhead with an elegant, silky lime dress that complemented Roland’s ridiculously green outfit perfectly stared up at him with adoration in her eyes and he returned the look in kind; a look Marianne had never received before. He’d never stared at her that lovingly– but… She had seen him give those same looks to her father’s bejeweled crown. Their fingers intertwined as they stood together, and he brought her hand up to his lips. A kiss pressed against her knuckles, tender as can be. Though betrayal stung her heart, Marianne knew this scene all too well. Roland’s affair became public knowledge after the wedding, after he had been crowned King. Despair filled her heart just as warmth did moments ago. Her attention returned to her family, only to find they were now wearing full face covering masks themselves. They were suddenly surrounded by a sea of judgemental fairies, their subjects. They weren’t able to let their guard down, it was impossible; their masks were a requirement. Without them, they risked being eaten alive. Her hands moved to her face, desperate fingers searching for her own mask; she felt terribly exposed. Had she not been wearing it all evening?

Where did her mask go? She needed her mask. Without it, the evening would be ruined; she’d make a fool of herself. Laughter erupted from the ocean of unrecognizable faces, Marianne felt painfully aware of her entire being now; how she clearly didn’t fit in with the rest of her kind. A dark mark on the bright history of the Fairy Kingdom. They were laughing at her, and she knew it. She was a failure as a queen, she knew it. She needed to escape, to hide away from the cruel onlookers. Where were the doors? The laughter was so loud, so grating on her ears that they began to ring; confusion polluted her mind– she just had to get out. She began to run in any direction, trying to flee from the judgment that seemed to follow her every which way she turned. Vicious claws from the laughing masks grabbed at her gown as she ran, tearing away chunks of fabric and slicing the fragile skin beneath. The pain of her new wounds made her eyes water, tears like diamonds dripping from her cheeks.

Where was Dawn? Where was her father, where did they go? Everyone in the room was unfamiliar, even Roland and his mistress weren’t anywhere to be found. A sharp pain stabbed at her temple, a growing headache radiating from there. Panic took over, Marianne began feeling dizzy and nauseated. This wasn’t her home, where was her home? This isn’t how anything was meant to go. Her legs felt weak, blood continued to pour from the wounds left by her people and she finally collapsed to the cold marble floor. Her fingers balled into a fist, that fist then collided with her temple as she tried to rid herself of the pain she felt– this painful reality. Each knock of her knuckle to her skull shook her internally, her vision slowly blurring. Was she blacking out? Her people began closing in on her, overtaking her.

Before they could, though, a surprisingly warm hand grabbed at her fist, forcing her to stop her self directed act of violence. Who was it? Who was stopping her? She tilted her head up towards the figure that stood above her, curiosity mixing with the flurry of emotions within her. A shadowy being with iridescent, feathery wings and such icy blue eyes she thought she might freeze looked onto her. Marianne’s breath hitched, “Beautiful…” She heard herself mutter without any intention to actually speak. The warmth the figure radiated seemed to grow with that, lifting her effortlessly back to her feet.

With a blink of her eyes, everything was fine once more– the princess stared up at her ceiling as she lay in her bed. It was the night before her wedding. The stress of it all was causing her to make up strange scenarios in her head. The wounds on her body had long since been patched, no… They’d never even been there in the first place. Still, her body ached; perhaps she’d been lying down for too long. An evening walk through the palace would help her clear her head, surely– that, and a newly implemented rule not to drink wine before bed would stop this from happening again. She pulled a long, violet robe over her body. The bottom of the robe trailed a few feet behind her like the train of a breathtaking wedding gown as she stepped through the palace halls barefoot. Moonlight illuminated the hallways from the many windows scattered throughout, tall pillars casting even taller shadows that seemed to twist and turn of their own volition as Marianne walked. Eerie, perhaps– but peaceful somehow. She felt less alone because of them.

Her stride slowed, before halting all together. Her amber gaze dropped and she practically bore a hole into the floor with her empty stare. Had she ever stopped to think about herself in all this? Had she ever stopped to consider what she wanted, what would make her happy? Adventure… All she had wanted in this life was adventure. Being a princess meant being cooped up, being forced to live a certain way from the day you're born, being monitored and protected… What was freedom like, she wondered? While in her solitude, allowed a chance to look inward and reflect, she finally felt as though she had wings. They spread behind her, flapping gently as if testing their own strength. Perhaps she’d be able to fly soon after all. A curious look was taken behind her, and her disappointment surmounted when she saw her lack of wings. It was just the robe, draping and dragging behind her like sagging wings.

The shadows began to shift, and she felt as though she were being watched. The shadowed man from before stepped out from them, though they seemed to swirl around his legs like he belonged to them. His gaze was soft as ever, though it pierced her very core. Eyes like a violent ocean during a storm caused her core to melt– as if his eyes were a reflection of her very being. “It’s you…” A wetness trickled down her face, when had she started crying? A tender hand suddenly caressed her cheek, wiping those tears away.

The hallway felt like it was stretching all around them, rain began pouring down from what Marianne thought was the ceiling, though it never made contact with her skin. None of this was right. A thought finally occurred to the princess; “Am I dead? Are you… One of those angels?” Protectors of the deceased, guides to eternal peace– the shadow’s wings lay folded against his back, but their iridescent shimmer in the moonlight seemed to expand into a radiant rainbow glow. Magnificent, just as the angels were said to be. He’d keep her safe, protect her even from herself.

Whispers filled the room, as though each droplet of rain carried a story she’d never heard before. Days and nights felt as though they passed in an instant, time moving as though it cared not for Marianne or the shadow. She couldn’t help but feel relaxed, however odd the situation. Despite not having any notable features, the man seemed to be smiling at her. “I think we’ve got different ideas of what an angel is.” He retorted in a quiet and vastly amused voice that almost made Marianne laugh. “But you’re just like them…” Her hand pressed against the back of his own, where it lay on her cheek. “Glowing, beautiful…” The angel seemed to withdraw at that. His hand fell from her cheek and he seemed about ready to retreat, but not before pressing his index finger to her plump lips. An unfamiliar taste forced its way into her mouth, bitter heat slid down her throat and into her belly and she grimaced; but she felt reinvigorated, as though she’d received a brand new strength she’d never felt before. It was as though he poured the essence of life back into her.

“Thank you…” She muttered, her lips moving against his finger. The being gave a slow nod of acknowledgement before stepping back into the shadows. Marianne began to panic and moved her hands towards him, grasping the air between them. “Wait, won’t you… stay?” The request sounded pathetic, like that of a frightened child. The shadow hesitated for what felt like an eternity, then moved to fully envelop her in the haze of darkness. The last thing she remembered was the strange magic the storm in his eyes seemed to cast upon her, they were beautiful as can be. She felt safe in his dark, nurtured– the stumps on her back where her wings should have been since childhood finally started to sprout. With his help, she knew she’d one day fly on her own.

Then, she woke up– for real this time, in an unfamiliar, chilly and damp cell.

Chapter Text

Marianne finally stirred from her long, long sleep. Though she had been semi-conscious here and there, her memories were fuzzy overall; near nonexistent. She could only recall traces of her strangely vivid dreams–

Icy blue eyes that seemed to stare directly into the soul, cold as glacial waters and stormy as can be– and yet she felt completely safe within their rough seas.

A flash of a memory tugged at her mind, and she shuddered; but the dreams started fading from her as soon as her amber hues caught the dim light from somewhere off in the prison. Despite the light itself being so dim, her eyes struggled to adjust and her lashes fluttered with the jarring onslaught of the sudden brightness– any light at all was overwhelming to the woman who had slumbered for many days. The sound of water droplets from somewhere nearby made her sensitive ears twitch, and her skin pricked when the chill in the air set into her bones. She shuddered, shrinking into the warmth of the mountain of blankets draped over her. 

After a few more blinks of her heavy lids, it clicked that her environment was entirely foreign. She really couldn’t remember anything in the slightest, what had happened? Where was she? An attempt was made to sit up, but that didn’t go as planned. A flash of white filled with electric sparks blurred her vision as pain rippled through her, each and every nerve ending in her body feeling as though they were filled with red hot fire. She couldn’t stifle the agonized groan that clawed at her throat, and instead resigned herself to her original lying position. Heavy breaths escaped her as she collected herself while the staggering hurt faded to an apparently constant throbbing she somehow hadn’t noticed before.

For a long moment, she stared blankly at the ceiling. Even as her breathing normalized it still felt to be a rather difficult feat; each breath was thick and uncomfortable, as though bricks lay on her chest. Her golden gaze drifted along the cracks within the compacted loam above as she tried to remember something, anything about what had happened. She tilted her chin down with a small wince, looking over her frame as she shimmied off the blankets that protected her from the cold. Splotches of purples and black covered her creamy skin– bruises, and intense ones at that. No wonder she could hardly move. Her left hand moved up and over her sides as she tried to feel for wounds, noting the location of each one she found.

The inspection continued as she mentally checked her wings, her back going rigid as the muscles from her neck down to her rear tensed– each one vital in helping her fly. Everything was intact, but her senses raged. Something was clearly wrong, she just didn’t know what. Through clenched teeth she managed to stifle a shout as she pushed herself upright, the strands of sinew that held her body together cried out with the movement. With a jagged breath, she forced her wings to extend despite the protests of her shrieking muscles. 

Her wings spread to either side, an onset of adrenaline numbing her pain as she drifted closer to panic. How could she not, afterall? Something was wrong with her wings, she could feel it within the depths of her soul. The very things that made her a fairy, that brought her such bliss, true freedom– something was terribly, horribly, incredibly wrong with them and she didn’t know what.

Her right wing fluttered as it extended, the tiny violet scales shimmering in the dark cell like a dark sky full of stars. The left, however, was wrapped tight in bandages and couldn’t spread fully. That adrenaline rush lended her some strength as she tore through that which confined her wing. At the sight of it, her gaunt face paled– it was worse than she had thought.

The forewing was ripped from the base to the postdiscal space, each torn vein cauterized and wrapped. Some effort was clearly put into trying to save the wing; the tears were patched with an iridescent slice of dragonfly wing, likely from a recently deceased mount. It was common practice in the Fairy Kingdom when someone’s wings were ruined. A last ditch effort to save them.

And it hardly ever actually worked. Marianne knew of three people, only three , who had managed to fly again after their wings were shredded; three out of the hundreds of her subjects who’d lost theirs during the war or in freak accidents. Though they lived, they were as good as dead after learning they could no longer take their place amongst the sky. Depression would set in, made worse by the fact that they were often looked down upon by the other fae-folk. Suicides were common amongst them, if they didn’t dissipate mentally first. Those were the ones who even survived, who didn’t succumb to wing rot in the few weeks after the surgery.

She could hear the blood rushing through her body as her heart began to race, complete and devastating dread setting in. The memories of her accident flooded her mind and she felt her wing rip all over again, she felt her ribs crack and her the bones in her leg shatter. The pain was fresh, and she couldn’t stop herself from whimpering. She was so mad and hurt back then that she hadn’t even considered her own safety– the repercussions of her actions…

Now she might never fly again…

Never feel the wind kissing her cheeks as she soared over the palace…

Never hear the glorious sound of her strong wings beating through the air…

She’d never fly with her beloved sister again– or her darling Roland.

She’d rot and wither into nothingness, sadness feasting on her from the inside out.

Marianne was spiraling, her thoughts were racing and she couldn’t calm herself. Her nails dug into her palms hard enough to draw blood as she let out a distraught wail, fat tears welled in her eyes before spilling down her scraped cheeks. 

But before she could lose herself, movement in the corner of the room caught her attention a split second before a craggy hand with long, spindly fingers gently fell over her knee. A soft voice hushed her gently, “Hey, hey… Yer okay, yer safe…” The stranger cooed with a heavy accent, kneeling before her bed and looking up at her with familiar piercing blue eyes. She, to her own surprise, didn’t shy away from the touch or the comfort the man brought; but she could hardly make out his features. She wondered why his eyes were so known to her as she quickly wiped away her tears– before her dream replayed in her mind. 

Safety, this man was her salvation, the only reason she survived. 

The room, though musty, was tidy– a small desk sat in the corner by an even smaller window which barely illuminated the cell. A stack of story books Marianne vaguely remembered the plots of sat atop the desk, next to a few very official looking documents and what smelled like a chunk of an apple slice. There were a few vials of unknown substances, too; likely medicines. This was her medic, her doctor, and given the cleanliness of her skin, the recently changed wound wrappings, the fact that her stomach felt full of warm broth and berries… He’d taken excellent around the clock care of her. Every instinct told her to be wary, to see this man as a potential threat, but she couldn’t. Perhaps it was due to the medicines she’d been healed with, or those reassuring eyes and his warm palm, but she felt safe.

“W-who are you? Where am I?” Her voice was froggy and weak, surprising her as she pressed her palm to her throat and coughed softly.

“I…” The figure hesitated as he knelt before her. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “I’m no one important. Just been… Takin’ care of ye.” He swallowed, as though his words were a half truth… But Marianne didn’t notice. “Ye fell into the Dark Forest durin’ a rainstorm. This is the castle, ‘nd yer in the dungeon.” 

Marianne froze, each word building a sense of dread in the depths of her stomach. If she had the energy, she might puke from the stress the man's words brought on. “T-then… You’re a…” The stranger tensed, as though predicting her next words and assuming they’d be something cruel. Marianne nearly stopped herself from continuing, worried she’d say the wrong thing. “G-goblin?” The figure’s shoulders sagged in apparent relief, warm breath kissing Marianne’s fingertips as he sighed in response. “Yes, I am. Does that… Frighten ye?” His head canted and he watched her as she paused, chewing and churning on the question he posed.

Did it frighten her? To some extent. She’d heard her whole life how terrifying goblins were, but this one was… Soft spoken. Gentle, and clearly caring. He didn’t seem to want to tear her limb from limb, or eat her tender flesh. Auburn hair that seemed to have been well brushed while she slept tickled her cheeks as she shook her head, “Not entirely.” She admitted. “You… Took care of me. Thank you.” The adrenaline began to fade from her being and she leaned back against the wall as her body weakened once more. When she shivered, the man was quick to pull her mound of blankets back over her shoulders. 

His sharp features caught in the moonlight, and Marianne stayed silent as she studied him. His strong chin jut out and was flecked with thorn-like stubble. He had thin, cracked lips, pointed ears just like her own, a long nose, and a prominent brow bone. To some, he may have been unpleasant to look at. The stark contrast to her own features nearly blew Marianne away, she’d never seen someone like him before. Someone so perfectly imperfect, no one like him existed where she came from. “Beautiful.” She muttered under her breath, and from the way his spine went rigid, she assumed he heard.

An awkward silence befell them for a long moment until the stranger broke it.

“Y-yeah, ah… I wasn’t yer only caretaker, of course. I just… Was a helper.” He sheepishly ran his hand over the back of his neck and Marianne nodded weakly in acknowledgement. She shrunk into the warmth of her blankets, breathing deeply as exhaustion suddenly hit her. “I… My family is probably worried sick. I should get home…” The man hesitated before he spoke, “Ye should focus on healin’ up, first. Next time ye wake, perhaps ye could send them a letter. I’ll make sure it’s promptly delivered.” He assured her, his tone again reeking of half-truths that Marianne was too tired to notice. She mumbled something in agreement, sleep nearly overtaking her when the man stated under his breath, “The treaty was broken, though– I… I’m not sure ye can leave.” He sounded remorseful and Marianne’s eyes shot open as she searched for his gaze. Her heart sank. “W-what?” He simply shrugged and let his eyes drift to the floor. 

Suddenly the ground was incredibly intriguing as he avoided her pathetically confused expression. “Well, the treaty… Once ye crossed the border, ye became a prisoner of the Dark Forest. Ye broke the law, accident or nae.” He loosed a breath and stood up, moving to grab a few documents from the desk as he continued to speak. “Plus, it’s an awfully happy coincidence that ye ‘fell from the sky’ durin’ primrose season. Sort of looks like ye were aimin’ to collect petals before gettin’ caught in the rain.” He clicked his tongue, his sympathetic voice hardening at the mention of the coincidence. It was clear he suspected her of having such idiotic intentions.

Marianne’s eyes flashed with ire at the random accusation, “I was doing no such thing, I don’t need a stupid love potion–” She trailed off, realizing that she did, in fact, need a stupid love potion. Desperately. A love potion had the potential to solve all of her problems, to get her life back in order, to save her marriage. “I… At least, that wasn’t what I was after! It was an accident.” The figure's jaw stiffened and shook his head, “Accident or nae– coincidence or nae… There are laws to follow. Rules to live by– lest the other neighborin’ kingdoms think the Bog King is weak.” He deliberated, as he leafed through the documents and paced back and forth. 

Marianne pursed her lips, the name sparking a wildfire in her. The Bog King. That man– no, that monster was going to keep her here– lock her away and leave her to wither away in this cell. Or, worse. The things she’d heard of the king of goblins, the king of filth, left her questioning if he’d use her for nefarious, perverse purposes once she was well enough. “You… You have to convince him otherwise, you have to help me!” She pleaded, reaching an arm out to clasp at his elbow, “Please, I can’t… Stay here, I have to get home…” She decided not to mention her status as princess of the Fairy Kingdom– if what she heard of the king was true, it’d only make her situation worse. 

A few minutes of silence tainted the air, and Marianne only began fuming further while the other weighed his options. “I’m sorry, tough girl. My hands are tied. Try to rest, now…” He moved to leave the cell, stepping out of her grasp. Rest wouldn’t find Marianne any time soon, though. The fairy had the wrath of a thousand suns burning within her fragile, broken form and despite her pain she made it overwhelmingly clear. “Coward! Coward, you won’t even stand up to your bastard of a king!” She screeched, that anger in her soul boiling over– her body shaking as she continued to yell after him; and the man bristled but remained silent, his hand moving to open the unlocked cell as he whistled for the guard to retake his position in front of it. “You’re just like him! The worst of them, a damned monster!” She spat at his feet as he took a single step out of the cell. 

His wings flared out to his sides and he was fuming as he turned around, suddenly standing directly in front of her. He gripped her jaw between his thumb and fingers, allowing his claws to dig into her bruised cheeks– a warning. “Hold yer vile tongue, girl. Before I lose my patience.” He hissed, and Marianne was frozen, tears welling in her eyes as fear struck her features; she suddenly remembered that this man was a goblin. Whether he took care of her or not, he was not a friend. He was a creature made of rot and filth and all the bad things in the world. The man shifted, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck from one side to the other as a low growl escaped him, his lips curling down to reveal his jagged teeth in a silent threat. He dropped her face and turned on a heel, skulking off as the cell was closed and locked behind him. 

Chapter Text

That same night, Bog sat in the throne room long after most everyone in the castle had retired for the evening. The only sounds echoing through the stone halls of the grim fortress were that of the night staff scuttling about, and the occasional heavy steps of a guard on patrol. Bog mulled over the happenings of the day, replaying them in his mind repeatedly as he tried to make sense of what had ensued. His chilly leer fixed on the skylight above, revealing a particularly lonely moon as it climbed its way through the cloud strewn sky. Bog waded in the silvery moonlight, staring with such intensity that the moon itself might claim a voice and give him a solution to each and every problem on his never-ending list. If only.

Hurt had plagued his heart; hurt that paired with complete and utter shame. He didn’t want to be the monster in the story anymore, he never had. Though he’d grown bitter as he aged, hopeless even, he still had a soft spot in his chest that widened every time he interacted with the woman locked away in the castle’s dungeon over the last few weeks. He wanted her to see him as an equal, a friend. He wanted her to see that goblins had the capacity for caring and kindness. 

The fairy hadn’t known she was addressing the King himself as she unleashed her fury in a storm of cruelties directed towards him; she couldn’t have known, and Bog knew that. He knew his reaction was unreasonable, but she’d been so on the nose as she flung the word ‘monster’ at him that he couldn’t stifle his own storm of emotions. Monster, monster, monster; it was the role he was assigned since birth, something he often tried to wear with pride. To be feared is to be powerful, his father always told him much to his mother’s chagrin. A monster is all he knew how to be, and he hated it. Was there nothing more to him than that?

He pressed his scruffy chin into his palm, staring blankly below at the steps to the dais as he pondered. The fairy had every right to be upset at him. To be completely and utterly horrible to him. He had imprisoned her for breaking a treaty he put in place for, what the world saw as, selfish reasons. Perhaps when the treaty was first set in place, it was for entirely selfish reasons; his rejection, even with the use of magic, had scarred him. As he grew older, he realized the moral implications of a love potion and found himself rather relieved it didn’t work; even if the reason it didn’t work was because he was so unlovable.

It really could have been an accident that she ended up in the Dark Forest, but he was so jaded and untrusting he wouldn’t allow himself to entertain the thought for even a moment. His mother had also chewed his head off after he let her in on the day's happenings. She berated him for being so foul and aggressive to the woman he had imprisoned in the castle and mentioned that he could release her back to the fairy kingdom as a show of good faith, but Bog seemed to scrap that idea after what he had done today; he’d only tarnish the reputation of the goblin’s further should he return her now. Trust was not so easily given, and in this case? It wouldn’t be so easy for him to earn again.

Broad shoulders rolled as he angled his head from side to side, cracking his neck as he lamented her expression. Fear filled amber orbs had stared up at him, but she hadn’t lost any of that raging anger despite it. He could see that flame roaring within her, and he almost admired it. So many had keeled over at the mere sight of Bog and his horrendous features, had keeled over and caved to his whims when he bellowed out a growl, but she had some fight in her…

He found that tidbit rather refreshing, the hint of a smirk dancing over his craggy lips.

He hadn’t had so much excitement in years, so much fun– even if that fun was at the expense of another…

A multitude of emotions bubbled within his carapace and he was delighting in each one; when had he last felt so many?

That smirk was quick to fade as reality set back in.

He wouldn’t be able to approach her again- at least, not in his usual ways. He had worked so hard to help her, to care for her in her time of need, only to ruin it with his mindless actions. He cursed at himself under his breath. How desperately he had wanted to let her know it was a mistake; but the King within him roared in protest at the mere thought. He wouldn’t ever beg anyone for forgiveness, nor would he apologize for his mistakes– his prideful father had taught him never to kneel for another, to instead understand that every action had a consequence. Apologies were never to fall from his lips, lest weakness eat away at his empire.

I did apologize to her, though…

He had, hadn’t he? His eyes widened and he clenched the arms of his throne, knuckles whitening. Dread set in as the realization hit; this woman was weakening him. His heart thrummed in his chest and he exhaled heavily through his nostrils, calming himself. Moving from his throne to idly wander the halls, he clutched a hand to his chest. The gentle clicking of his staff against stone as he walked did wonders in recentering him. 

She truly was weakening him, wasn’t she? He shook his head in disbelief. If that’s the case, then it was better this way. He wouldn’t try any longer to befriend her. He was fine with it if she feared him. He’d smother any hope at uniting their two kingdom’s through friendship or niceties. He’d ignore her presence in the castle, let her rot in her cell… He’d be the beast everyone considered him, and he’d enjoy it.

Without even noticing, he had ended up in the kitchen where a hobgoblin was filling a wooden bowl with warm oatmeal, honey, and a cluster of plump berries, which was quickly handed to the Goblin King without a word; the usual morning routine. Breakfast for the prisoner. It wasn’t until he had descended the staircase to the dungeon and stared directly into her cell that he realized he was on autopilot. The fairy glared up at him from a cross legged position on the mushroom bed. Her deep eyes held flecks of white hot rage. The guard at the cell gave the duo a nervous side eye before he was waved away by Bog, who entered the cell reluctantly. It was too late to turn back, after all; he’d feel like a proper idiot if he retreated from the prisoner with his tail tucked between his legs.

He placed her food on the edge of the bed and her body tensed, her response was a snarl – though the subtle flinch that accompanied it didn’t go unnoticed. His hands raised, his palms flashing warily as if he were approaching some wild beast he meant no harm to. He didn’t turn his back to her as he stepped towards the chair by the desk, slowly lowering himself into it. Uncomfortable silence filled the air and the fairy made no move toward her meal. Instead, she watched Bog like a hawk.

“You should eat somethin’.” He murmured softly, not daring to meet her bristling gaze as he fiddled with his thumbs in his lap. “Leave me alone.” She hissed, thick venom dripping from her rasped words. He threw his hands up in defeat, holding them to either side of his head as he finally willed himself to meet her eyes. “Yesterday was… A mistake. I didn’t… I shouldn’t have behaved like that.” The woman blinked, a look of surprise claiming her features. “I…” Bog started, his breath hitching as he resigned himself to… Apologize. “I’m sorry. I don’t want ye to think poorly of goblins, or to… To fear us.” He gestured to her defensive positioning, the tensing of her shoulders, the rigidity of her spine– surely the stiffness of her already weakened body was causing excess pain and she was merely playing it off. 

She scoffed in response, though her body did relax– if only by a hair. “It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? You proved me right.” Bog forced down every defensive urge in his being and nodded, his eyes dropped to his lap once more. “Perhaps.” He wanted to say more, to admit that he wanted to make things better. To start fresh again. He couldn’t admit those things, he wasn’t a man allowed the luxury of simple emotions. He was a king, and kings had to keep themselves in line.

It felt like hours had passed in malicious silence, but the fairy finally started eating. Each bite was tiny, pathetic, a show of just how little energy she still had. She was finally able to feed herself, at least; though Bog found himself a bit disappointed he wouldn’t be able to feed her by his hand anymore. When she finished, she put her tray on the floor and hid herself under blankets, dismissing Bog without words. He scoffed at her childish behavior, rolling his eyes and picking up her tray before departing. 

Suddenly, her voice broke out and he looked back to find her peeking out from the pile of linens. “Wait!” He halted in his tracks, lofting a brow. She seemed embarrassed as she quietly asked, “If… If you’re really sorry, can you… Bring me some books next time? Something to do other than count the seconds?” Prisoners weren’t allowed to have fineries, were they? Then again, the Bog King himself usually wouldn’t bring a prisoner each and every meal either. A nod from Bog was met with a look of relief before the fae woman disappeared under her linens once more.

Chapter Text

The damp cell that was beginning to feel uncomfortably familiar to Marianne changed over the next few days. Surprisingly soft pillows made sloppily with tufts of animal fur and delicate leaves adorned her bed, along with a few petals from assorted swamp-dwelling flowers with differing textures for her to use as blankets. In the corner of the room, a shoddy wash basin had been added, as well as a cabinet for storing the few outfits she had been gifted. Stacks of books were scattered throughout her room, Bog’s desk having been moved to the hallway now that she had recovered more. Bog had hoped that these small luxuries would make the woman much more comfortable in her cell, but alas; even the most luxurious prison is still just a prison. Her mood remained grim.

Silently, he entered her cell and set a tray of food down by her side whilst she rummaged through the piles of novels, not bothering to acknowledge his presence. Since her arrival, she had been moody and switched quickly between hot and cold with Bog. Even he, socially inept as he was, understood why.

“Did the medicine I had sent down help numb up the pain ye were feelin’?” Marianne swiftly responded without words, a book on bioluminescent mushrooms that’d bore any mind half to death was thrown at his chest. It bounced off the thick carapace there and he hooked one foot behind the other as he leaned back against the bars of her cell, arms folding over his chest. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Honeyed eyes didn’t raise to meet his figure, too focused on the task of sifting through the ever growing mound of boring novels. One in particular stood out, looking much less ancient than the others though its dusty mauve bindings may have begged to differ. Its spine was thoroughly creased and indented; it appeared to be well loved. Thin fingers reached for the book, her weak body having gained a hint of strength in the last few days. Cross legged on her bed, she pulled it from the floor and onto her lap. Hazy memories of that angel-like figure at the foot of her bed, flipping through the hand-scrawled pages of the book flashed through her mind and the fairy finally looked to Bog. “You know, for a goblin… You’re rather gentle.” She raised the novel, waving it at him. “Never expected a goblin would provide such good bedside-manner. Reading fantasy-romance novels to me… I mean, I'm surprised your lot even have these sorts of books in the first place.” 

Ice-cold eyes narrowed and Bog’s jaw tightened. He might’ve even blushed before performatively rolling his eyes and nudging the tray of food that sat at her side, wholly untouched. The topic she tried to explore was shut down, avoided at all costs. With only semi-playful malice lacing his tone, he spoke. “Instead a’makin’ small talk with a scummy goblin like me, y’could fill that obnoxious mouth with y’berries and bone broth. ‘S not like y’gonna heal if y’don’t eat.” The well meaning king received a look that could kill as Marianne huffed, tossing the book to the side. “What’s the point? It’s not like anything will improve just because I’m no longer injured.” Her lower lip jutted outward in a pout as she hugged her knees to her chest, gingerly moving her broken leg. “I’m a prisoner. Trapped. I’ll never see the outside world again… Never fly again." At the mention of flying, her freshly unwrapped left wing extended lamely, the holes within them now highlighted by their dragonfly-wing patches. No signs of wing rot had began yet, much to Marianne's relief, but she wasn't allowed to move it much for fear of further damaging it whilst it was healing. It ached as she flexed her shoulder blade and willed it back into its furled position tucked behind her spine. Bog's pointed features were intimidating, but he so often looked to her with pity in his gaze that she didn't see him as intimidating himself. It was pity she hated, but understood. His icy blues slid to meet her eyes after her wing was hidden once more. "Why do you even care, anyways?” 

Silence filled the air between them, the water droplets leaking from somewhere within the cell sounding violently loud. Bog remained silent, searching for words-- an explanation that would satisfy her question. He palmed his scruffy chin and cracked his neck as he thought. A mischievous look crossed Marianne’s features and she swung her good leg over the side of the bed, deciding she'd stir the metaphorical pot after popping a single chunk of berry into her mouth. “Oh, I know why you care. You intend to fatten me up and offer me to that King of yours. He must enjoy plump fae women." She teased, chuckling softly at her own joke and looking down to the bowl of broth at her side. She was sick of the stuff, but whatever herbs it was infused with worked wonders in making her feel reinvigorated again. Pulling the bowl up to her lips and slurping the warm liquid within fueled her with near instant energy as she continued with a light tone. "What will he do with me, I wonder? Eat me alive? Tear me limb from limb? Or worse, is he a depraved monster who’d keep me locked in his bed chambers?” She snickered, until the reality of her own grim joke sent a chill down her spine. She had heard the stories about the things Goblins would do to solitary fae women.The bowl was set down onto the tray again, that thought alone was enough for her to lose her appetite.

After the sudden shock of what Marianne just said to the aforementioned King so very unknowingly had dissipated, it took every fiber of his being for Bog not to explode on the woman who shot such a foul accusation his way. His breath caught in his throat, fists curling at his sides and jaw tensing as he stood up straight, domineering in his disposition. He stared down the length of his nose at her, nostrils flaring while white hot rage blinded him. It took a second for the fairy to realize just how mad her ‘joke’ had made him. A joke about the King– his King. A vile accusation that insinuated what type of horrid man he was– what type of inhumane monsters Fairies thought Goblins were. When her gaze met his, she no longer saw the man she knew but instead an unpredictable monster with ire in his eyes. It was enough to set her on edge and she scrambled back in the bed pressing herself against the wall. If it wasn’t for the sharp sting of her injured wings she might’ve pushed so hard against the loam behind her that she’d become one with it.

For a moment, she had forgotten her place; the boredom of being a prisoner made her want to stir up some sort of entertainment. But it was evident she crossed a line. 

Time stood still as Bog stared down the princess. The fairy could hear her heart pounding in her ears and for the first time since arriving she felt true fear-- nothing like their first argument where she spat at his feet and he grabbed her face and threatened her. Compared to the aura of anger that swirled around him now, that was akin to child's play. The corners of her eyes stung, then widened like a frightened deer’s might. The man’s face contorted, lips raising to produce a snarl that revealed his horribly jagged fangs-- fangs he could use for violence, surely. He suddenly turned to her cell door, throwing it open violently. “Think of y’situation before y’speak, fairy.” A look darker than any she’d seen from him before was cast over his shoulder, wings buzzing with pent up rage. The words carried no threat themselves, but Bog’s tone certainly did. His patience had all but run out with a comment like that. 

He didn't lay a hand on her this time, and thank the gods for that. Because that moment very well could have been her end.

When Marianne’s cell was locked and the heavy clacking of Bog’s feet against the cold stone below grew distant, her bruised arms laced around her core and she exhaled shakily before gasping. It was like she couldn’t get enough air in her lungs, each breath feeling less satisfying than the last. Hysterics, she hyperventilated until she collapsed in on herself. The cell walls felt like they were closing in on her, she needed to get out! The fairy rolled from her bed to the ground, crawling desperately towards the tiny window in the corner of her cell. She shoved the piles of books in her path away, not caring about the damage they'd take. It was hard, torturous to get her body to move in the way she needed it to-- and though she made it to the wall, her legs were still far too damaged to hold her weight. The stinging of her eyes turned to burning hot tears that poured endlessly down her cheeks while she stared up at the unreachable window. It mocked her, holding freedom behind it-- so close, yet so far. How long was she to remain here? Was this truly her new life, forever? Had her family been searching for her? Did they know the danger she was in? Because until now, even she hadn’t been fully aware of it. 

Pressing her tear soaked cheek to the freezing silt wall, she allowed herself to wail for the first time since arriving here. She begged it for her freedom, as if it held the power to morph and shift to her will should she say the right words. As if it would warp and form an opening she could climb out of-- or better yet, swallow her up and spit her back out in the Fairy Kingdom. But it did not, and she was reminded that this situation was... Hopeless.

After sobbing far longer than her tears actually fell, Marianne slid into an exhausted half-sleep. She was too on edge about whatever punishment may be coming to her for much of the night to find respite in happy dreams, but her body couldn’t refuse the call of rest when her puffy eyes fluttered shut between frantic wails. Every noise from the prison and connecting castle had her jolting upright despite the protests of her aching body and the helpless situation she was in. When half-sleep finally gave way to deep slumber on the hard floor, it’d be painfully short lived. 

The fairy awoke hours later with a yelp as fabrics of moss and leaves were thrown at her, chilly eyes practically glowing as they looked down on her in the dark of the room. Nausea rushed over her and she nearly dry-heaved from the stress of it all. “Shh!” Bog hissed. “Put this on. Now. Hurry.” He spoke with authority, each word a demand rather than a request. What was happening? Everything felt so unreal as she did what she was told without objection, hastily fumbling her way into the oversized moss strewn cloak. “Head down. Keep your wings flush against your back.” He commanded, to which she complied as he slid his arms under her and hoisted her over his armored shoulder. Her breathless whimper reminded Bog just how fragile fairies were, especially one in her state, and he winced. Oops. Regardless, he needed to get moving before the castle began to stir– and so he did. 

She didn’t dare ask where they were going, too scared of the answer she might find. Surely she was on her way to be executed by the king himself for her earlier words. And even if she wasn’t free in this life, she had some hope her soul would find the freedom it so desired after her death. "Please don't hurt me." She pleaded under her breath, causing Bog to freeze in place. His spine was rigid, and though she could feel the irritation seeping from every crevice in his carapace, his words were soft and reassuring. "I'm not going to." His steps continued, his pace hurried.

The castle was asleep, save for a few guards on their evening patrol. Bog did his best to avoid their routes, though he didn’t need to. The Goblin King looked as though he was carrying a lump of leaves and moss to the armory for a special clothing request to be made once the tailor was working next. Still, he was worried about the implications that could arise from his actions. Brows were already being raised at how he had been caring for the prisoner, his authority may be questioned. He had a reputation to uphold, lest his title be challenged. He could only use the excuse that she was a 'pawn in a gambler's game' so many times, even if he did intend on using her to gain some sort of favor with the fae folk, he needn't be so... involved with her. His mother, on the other hand, was adoring the attention he gave the girl and had often made many of the fairy's meals herself. Regardless of how this woman had him feeling, he wouldn't lose his throne for her.

The light of the moon crept ominously through holes in the wooden stump that was Bog's sprawling castle, and before Marianne could decipher where they were going, they were already outside the castle walls. Chilly air nipped at her cheeks and she pressed a hand against Bog’s shoulder blade just above his wing– lifting herself so she could look up towards the endless night sky and gasping unintentionally. Bog huffed and jostled her lightly-- “What about ‘head down’ do y’not understand?” He hissed back at her, to which she ignored. How long had it been since she’d stared at the stars? Nearly a month, now? When did she last appreciate such a view? Defeated, he sighed and continued on until they stood under a thorny bramble arch adorned with navy blue night blooming flowers. Much more delicately this time, he lifted her from her spot over his shoulder and slid her down his front. He kept an arm wrapped around her waist, cautious of her damaged wing but holding her steady so she could stand with his assistance. She could feel the bones in her legs creaking as she stood on them, favoring the leg that didn’t bear a hefty cast. It hurt, but gods it felt good to stand after laying and sitting for so long. Her muscles had grown weak during her recovery, but she was recovering at the very least. She gawked up at him, flabbergasted by the whole situation. He really wasn't going to have her punished? And-- he took her outside. Could he get in trouble for something like that? He held her so very tenderly that it made her heartbeat thrum in her ears. Could these gentle actions really be coming from the same man who earlier seemed as if he'd have her killed for her words?

Her attention was caught when he gestured around the area with his free hand. Marianne finally noticed her surroundings. Bright white moonflowers were bursting to life around them, filling the air with a lightly lemony scent and soft moss sprawled for yards beneath them. There were hints of decay and loose brambles spread about, but despite that nature flourished around them. The air was fresh, and a chilly breeze that usually would make the fairy shudder instead felt like a blessing to her flesh. She'd been stuck inside for so very long now... The sky was filled with stars and speckled with fireflies that zipped by way up high. The breeze made leaves and flowers around them rustle, a sound as sweet as a symphony made just for her. Bog guided her to a makeshift stone bench in the center of the gardens. This… Wasn’t what Marianne was expecting in the slightest. She collapsed onto the bench, bewildered. Bog stood before her, taking the sights in himself. It’d been a while since he last visited these gardens, gardens that held an array of pleasant and unpleasant memories. Finally, he looked back to where she sat on the bench and started. Though he himself was sharp and rigid in his appearance, he looked as though he fit in perfectly with such a bewitching scene. 

Bog broke the silence between them. “I… Am not so good at dealing with impertinence. I swear, I hear the worst from y’one day and think yer mouth can’t get anymore foul, but y’manage to prove me wrong the next time I visit. And it makes me so...” His claws curled towards his palms, balling into frustrated fists that were then dropped to his sides. "Angry. Y'make me so angry." With a sigh, he stepped towards her and dropped exhaustedly onto the bench next to her, pinching the bridge of his nose. His arms trembled, whether it was with nerves or residual anger from their earlier interaction was up for debate, and every few minutes his wings rattled behind him. The moonlight danced off of them beautifully, and were Marianne less baffled she may have been awe-struck by them. They looked like stained glass, iridescent and mesmerizing.

He looked down to where she sat at his side and reached a spindly hand towards her, pulling down her hood to reveal her face. The action made her flinch, to which he found his lips curling down. Eyes that usually held such frigid cold within them offered now the warmth of sea water on a summer's day, vulnerability sparking within. When he spoke, it was little more than a pleading whisper, “I don’t want you to fear me, fairy. ‘M not a monster. Goblins aren’t monsters. ‘M not good at controllin’ m’rage, but..." He paused, searching for his next words carefully. "I don't want t'be your enemy. I don't want t'hurt you." The admittance seemed to strike a chord somewhere deep within him, it was something that was so very opposite to what he was bred to be.

"I can’t give y’the freedom y’want– I don’t even fully know what’s t’be done with yeh.” The scaly skin of his neck tightened as he swallowed hard, “But I promise, I’ll try t’make y’comfortable here in the mean time.” 

The soft words felt foreign to him as they escaped his lips. There was something scary about how desperately he wanted the fairy to like him, to approve of his home and his care and his rule without knowing he was the one pulling the strings. He was the one trapping her here, and the longer she stayed trapped the more he realized he couldn’t easily let her go. He didn’t want to let her go. Nor did he want to make an example of her, no– he wanted her to remain by his side. She was but a piece of a world he’d always longed for. “If y'focus on healin' instead of mouthin' off, maybe I'll even teach y'how t'fight. Give ye less reasons to be so... afraid of us." It seemed far fetched, but the idea made him loose a breathy chuckle. 

Marianne’s eyes flitted between either of his, searchingly. Calculating. After everything she’d done, he wasn’t going to hurt her? He was offering to teach her how to fight, even though that in and of itself came with a risk? He was… Soft. He could, to some extent, be trusted. Long forgotten words from her father echoed in her mind, ‘if you should find yourself stuck in an un-winnable situation, use any means necessary to survive until you can win.’ This goblin was making it clear he wouldn’t harm her, that she could feel safe with him. He wanted her to feel safe with him. Perhaps he was a fool, someone who thought all fairies were dimwitted and kind, well-- she had spent long enough being kind in this life, and she had never been dimwitted sort. 

It was obvious by his unnecessary actions that he’d taken some kind of liking to her, and that was something she could use against him. There were ways she could twist this unfortunate situation in her favor. Perhaps she could find a way to get her hands on a primrose petal, free Sugar Plum and get a love potion in return… She could find a way to escape and go home– to fix her life back in the Fairy Lands. So many possibilities... Perhaps this wasn’t a curse after all, but instead it was the blessing she needed. This life was hers, and she was determined to master her own fate for the first time in her life. Long lashes fluttered as she came away from her thoughts and re-entered reality. Bog couldn't help but wonder what thoughts stole her from where they sat in the moon-lit garden, and as he was about to seek some sort of answer to the things he said angled her head, auburn locks tickling her cheeks with the motion.

Marianne took a deep breath in, then exhaled a sigh of relief. It was as though something inside of her had found peace for the first time in a while. “... Okay. I’ll... I’ll behave. And heal.” Though she had indeed resolved to do these things of her own volition, she couldn’t stifle the scoff that followed. That very scoff caused Bog to chuckle quietly. “Tough girl." The nickname he'd given her fell from his cracked lips, and paired with a little smirk. "Then, let’s try this again, shall we? What’s y’name, fairy?” He leaned back on an open palm, cupping the edge of the bench behind him as they spoke. The rage he had earlier felt was now nowhere to be seen. The woman hesitated, worried that her real name may be recognizable to him. Then again, it was a common enough name… Right? She needed to show him that she was willing to trust him, to earn his favor and play into whatever interest he had in her. Amber eyes slid off to the side as she considered this, then back up to meet his own blue hues. “My name is… Marianne.” 

"Marianne.” He repeated with a little smile, then inhaled nervously whilst fidgeting. Should he compliment her name? He didn't know, what would be the polite thing to do in this situation? “It’s a… It’s pretty, uh… Nice to finally put a name to the face.” He admitted, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck as he stalled. Marianne stared up at him with those enchanting golden flecked orbs expectantly, awaiting the moment he would reveal his own identity to her. “I suppose it’s only fair y’know mine, too?” Though he asked the question aloud, it seemed more like he was confirming that with himself. “I’m sorry, Marianne. I lied t’ye, when we first met. Said I was just helpin' t'aid ye in yer recovery, but that wasn’t the whole truth.” Marianne’s brows knitted together, confusion gripping her gaunt features. What did he mean-- Was he actually more important than she thought he was? He was more than just the King’s medic? 

His thin lips parted, words he was dreading the reaction to about to fill the air between them. Truths about to be revealed. And just as he was about to start, he heard the distant horn which signaled a message from the border; a message that needed immediate response, a message that he couldn't risk the mushroom's or his guards incorrectly conveying. Bog jumped to his feet and looked to his castle. He already knew that the message likely involved his fairy captive. He was quick to pull her hood back up and over her head, “I have t’take y’back t’yer cell now. ‘M sorry.” The statement was rushed, and the goblin didn’t wait for a response from the startled princess as he hoisted her over his shoulder. They had to get back, now.

Chapter Text

The Fairy Kingdom had been devastated since the loss of their Crown Princess.

Those foreboding rains that had, unbeknownst to them, swept Marianne into the Dark Forest and nearly stole her life had set the perfect stage for Roland to work his manipulative magic.

By all accounts, it had looked like the Princess had a sudden change of heart and left the loyal man awaiting her arrival at the altar.

He spun such a beautifully weaved web of lies, forcing out tears that streamed down his perfectly sculpted visage and wailing about the woman’s desire for freedom and adventure over her responsibilities! It’d become accepted by most of the Fairy Kingdom that she had abandoned her station, her people, and her future king for such selfish reasons as that.

The story came as a surprise to Dawn, who swore on the Kingdom that her older sister wouldn’t have done such a thing! She mentioned that Marianne had gone to give Roland a boutonniere before she disappeared, reiterating that she loved Roland and her Kingdom!

Unfortunately, Roland was able to further twist that into his convincing lie that the Princess had gotten cold feet and had perhaps been lost to the storm soon after. He made no mention of seeing her— or what she might have seen of him on that fateful day. Nor did he mention her tearful retreat towards the Dark Forest.

King Dagda was hesitant, unsure of what to believe. Sure, Marianne loved Roland and her people— but he knew his oldest daughter had always craved adventure. She was so very similar to her mother in that way.

The notion that she may choose herself over her station made sense to him, even if he didn’t want to believe it. But he had to confirm it for himself. He sent his best scouts out to search for any trace of his daughter, knowing he needed to get the truth from her directly. The King had faith that his eldest daughter was alive and well, wherever she may be.

Roland was ‘committed to finding his runaway bride’, or at least— he wanted it to appear that he was. He played the part well, despite his own belief that she’d been eaten alive; picked apart by the savages of the Forest.

Reports of his ‘findings’ were turned in daily, usually detailing some lie about his investigations or the heroic acts he partook in. Given that, and his ability to shed tears at a moments notice, the kingdom was convinced that he was as faithful and dutiful as ever.

The sympathy he’d gained from his fib only inflated his massive ego, and whilst his kingdom searched for the lost princess he lounged about the fairy fields. He also did a fair amount of lounging within the lush beds of his various mistresses— such perfect little secrets in which he took full advantage of his free time enjoying.

The King did his best to soothe his remaining daughter in the mean time, ordering Sunny to look after her when Dawn admitted she felt like her father’s affections were smothering. Roland and Dawn grew closer, too— Dawn found Roland’s efforts in searching for her sister heroic and had faith that he was doing everything in his power. Rumor even spread that, after being left at the altar, King Dagda may pledge Dawn’s hand in marriage to Roland.

The rumor had no truth to it, but the idea did make Sunny’s heart ache fiercely and he began doing more to court the distraught Princess he so adored. Though she wanted to search for her sister, too, Sunny convinced her it was too dangerous and instead tried to occupy her time with songs, games, and outings.

It took weeks, but a scout had finally found a lead on her whereabouts. The scout returned to the King with scraps from her wedding dress and a handful of glittering violet scales that had been torn from her wings during the fall. They were found at the entrance to the Dark Forest, just beyond the freshly harvested primrose boundary that divided the two lands.

The King was devastated, his mind churning with miserable ideas of what horrid fate befell his darling daughter. The letter was drafted that same day, and sent to the border with haste.

———

The reinforced, decaying tree stump that served as Bog’s mighty castle was buzzing with chatter— the mushroom’s had delivered their own account of what they witnessed occurring at the border that had, as always, been misconstrued and was entirely unintelligible. He didn’t even bother trying to make sense of the gibberish Thang tried to convey, and was quick to shove past the frog-goblin and into the throne room.

“What are ye all doin’— where is the letter?!” He roared, his voice cutting through the rabble and stopping everyone in their tracks. His vicious leer sliced through the crowd, leaving his servants shuddering.

Lurching forward, he snatched up a particularly alarmed goblin by the jaw, claws digging into its cheeks as he brought the startled creature up to his height. A wide snarl displayed the mangled, dagger-sharp teeth in his maw and emphasized his underbite as he growled. “Bring it to me now, before I start rippin’ heads off and mixing’ yer innards with slop for the dragonflies.”
The goblin, who was eagerly attempting to nod whilst being held by its head, was thrown to the side with no delicacy. It crashed into a wall with a thud, hard enough that the creature saw stars.

“NOW! BRING IT TO ME!”

Bog’s bellowing voice left the room scrambling to meet his demands, a reminder as to why he was such a fearsome king in the first place. Sure, he’d been a little soft with the prisoner— and perhaps a bit less of a menace to them since she’d arrived; but his ferocity should’ve never been doubted.

While each and every goblin in the castle began their frantic search, Griselda sauntered into the room with her usual relaxed gait. “Oh, relax your thorax! I’ve got it right here! And ooooooh— it’s a juicy one!” She waved it around for all to see, her shrill voice ever so grating.

Bog’s head snapped towards her. “Mother! Ye took the… Bah, forget it, give me that!” He stomped towards her, grinding his teeth and ripping the parchment from her hands.

The Fairy Kingdom didn’t often reach out to the Dark Forest. Occasionally, one of their fae would go missing and Bog would have to deal with the accusations the Kingdom slung his way, but little would come of it. The treaty covered his forest well enough.

He’d never actually had to take a living fairy as a prisoner during his rule. The treaty did allow for it, the other options being war or a trade of said prisoner for supplies and resources, but it hadn’t been necessary. Usually the Forest itself took care of trespassers.

Bodies and bones of recovered fae who fell victim to the wrath of the Forest were occasionally returned to the Kingdom if they fussed enough, and so long as they were free of goblin-inflicted wounds— namely, goblin-sized bite marks— the issue would be resolved.

Now, he had a prisoner. A prisoner he had personally been caring for. Would they be requesting her return? The notion made him bristle and he couldn’t quite put a finger on why. Was it because he’d be losing a source of newfound entertainment? Maybe. He had begun looking forward to their daily routine and her bouts of sass.

Icy blues raked over the fanciful document, scrawled with a frilly penmanship and smelling of… Lavender? Bah, fairies and their ridiculous flairs. His brows lowered as he hastily consumed the information on the page. When he finished reading, the paper slid free from his grasp and fell to the ground, where it’d lay less than a second before Stuff and Thang clambered for it.

“What’s it say?” Stuff demanded, whilst Thang held it less than an inch away from his eyes. “I don’t know! It’s written in some loopy language! Maybe the fairies are going to come and kill us?” He suggested. Stuff huffed, crossing her tiny arms over her chest, “I hope they kill us after the Spring Brawl.”

“QUIET!” Bog barked, snatching the parchment back from the duo. “Everyone, OUT.” Stuff and Thang looked to each other— that demand probably included them, too, and they waddled off with the rest of the goblins.

Griselda remained, grinning brightly in a way that Bog found terribly distasteful, given the horrid news of the letter. “What are ye smilin’ for? This is a disaster!” He threw his arms towards the sky in frustration, angrily cursing under his breath before skulking to the dais and collapsing on the step just before his macabre throne.

“Whaddya mean ‘what am I smilin’ for’, this is great! She’s a princess!” Griselda declared, wiggling all six of her stumpy fingers with glee. Bog gawked at the tiny, deranged woman.

“Did we read the same letter? The one with all the threatenin’ undertones?” Spindly fingers gestured to the paper before it was viciously crumpled and thrown to the side as he continued, “The one that declares they found remnants of her dress at the entrance of our forest and gave us ’til sundown tomorrow to produce th’heiress to the throne alive and well, or else they’d take matters into their own hands?!”

And if the princess had perished to the brutal forest itself, then what? Would they invade his lands— throw themselves into a possible war for suspected foul-play without proper evidence? Typical; he’d expect nothing less from the foolish and prideful fae. Bog’s stomach churned and his temples throbbed. Too much— the situation was far too much for him to handle on such short notice.

Griselda pressed her hands to her hips and leaned to the side, “Oh, by all means, it’s a terrible letter! Very threatening, very scary!” Her wide grin didn’t falter. Bog squinted at her, did she hear herself? His fingers slid along the scaled skin of his cheeks. In this moment, he was all too tempted to punt his mother across the room for being so… daft.

She pointed an accusatory finger his way, “Don’t look at me like that, what I mean is— we have the princess! She’s alive and well!” The tiny woman sang the words, spinning excitedly.

“She can barely walk! Her wing has been torn to shreds, she’s got countless new scars!” Bog rebutted, “They’ll assume we tortured her! Ye know they will!”

Griselda shook her head, “Noooo— you’ve grown close to her, haven’t you? She’s basically your girlfriend! I’ve seen the way you dote on her!” The smaller goblin clapped her hands together eagerly, “Maybe we could unite our kingdoms through marriage!”

A look of horror crossed Bog’s face, though his cheeks darkened in shade at the thought. “Stop.”

He cleared his throat, regaining his composure with a roll of his eyes. He continued without further acknowledging his mothers poor attempts at playing match maker— “The Princess practically hates me. She’d have nothin’ nice t’say about us. Returnin’ her could lead t’a war of its own!” The situation felt un-winnable.

“Okay, okay, so maybe the ‘marriage’ idea was a bit far-fetched, but she isn’t like the other fairies, is she? You said it yourself, she’s different! We might be able to trust her! If the fairies knew the fearsome Bog King worked ‘round the clock to mend a fairy he didn’t even know was a princess, it could change their perception of us!” Griselda chimed, ever so hopeful— ever the optimist in their two-person family.

“Can you even hear yerself talkin’, mother? Yer livin’ in a fantasy. Reality isn’t that kind.”

“Then what do you suggest we do, your royal highness?” Griselda mocked, “Cause to me, it looks like you’ve only got one option! Trust the girl!”

Bog pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his staff. “I don’t know!” The words were grumbled as he moved towards the room’s exit. “I need space t’… t’think!” And with that, he left his mother to her own devices within the throne room, his staff clacking along the frigid stone beneath his feet as he went to clear his head.

———

Bog wandered the halls of his castle aimlessly for what seemed like ages, searching for an answer that’d appease both the Fairy Kingdom and himself, his own selfish desires. He didn’t want to lose his prisoner, whether she was a princess or not.

A pang stung his stone-like heart, though they’d decided to ‘retry’ their first meeting, she chose to leave her status as a princess out of it. Did she truly fear invoking the wrath of the Bog King so much?

Did she trust him, her savior, so very little?

He knew what she thought of him— such horrid things. But, she didn’t seem to fear him when he played the role of her primary medic. For the first time in his life, he hadn’t been treated differently based on his title. It had been refreshing— and… In truth, he thought they could develop a friendship.

He knew now that was wishful thinking. He’d almost trusted her with his identity, but she couldn’t return the favor. To her, he was still just an evil goblin.

That’s what trust gets you.

Would it even be beneficial now to reveal his identity to her? To know the ever hated Bog King was her caretaker? Had she been any normal fairy, there existed the chance she could like him for who he was despite his title. Not now, though. Both royal families had their hands coated with the blood of the other.

His own father— the Rot King— had acted as the hand of eternity, sealing the fate of the Fairy Kingdom’s now deceased queen.

King Dagda’s grief was so strong that he was unable to properly command his armies and the tides of war turned to the goblins favor. He was forced into signing the treaty Rot’s father, Dread, had tried to put into place long before the war had been waged in the first place.

Rot was a ruthless king, more stubborn than Bog ever was. More cruel than Bog ever wanted to be. Though he respected his father and the era of ‘peace’ he brought, no matter how tense that peace was, he certainly didn’t want to be just like him. His teachings did come in handy, though— being so feared that no one dare stand against him had lead to a comfortable rule.

He wasn’t as evil as his father, but Bog certainly could be if he needed to. There were times where he caught glimpses of his father’s face in his own reflection— the horrid man lived on in him.

Bog pinched the bridge of his nose and furrowed his brows. When the story was put into perspective, he could understand Marianne’s distrust of the Bog King. A deep breath was taken through his nostrils, then exhaled through dry lips. His feet would guide him to the dungeon, as if the familiarly damp air there would help him find the answers he was looking for.

Chapter Text

As Bog descended the stairs, his tired gaze slithered to the confines of the cell the princess had been bound to. Somehow, he’d managed to sneak her back into the dungeon earlier without anyone noticing— but she didn’t go in without being a complete pain in his thorax first. While he was dropping her off she had bombarded him with so many questions that it made his skull rattle, and he’d ignored her entirely.

When his eyes met hers, his palms began to feel clammy. The princess was sat on the ground by the bars of the cell, holding the book she had mentioned the previous morning and tapping her foot impatiently. 

“You’re back, finally!” She breathed, exasperated, “Took you long enough! You just… Ran off without answering any of my questions!” The book she held was gently tossed off to the side as she rose to her knees, gripping the wooden bars of her cell tightly. “What’s going on? Is something wrong— are we safe? Is it…?” Her words trailed off, leaving her lost in silent thought a moment. 

“The Fairy Kingdom?” Bog practically read her mind— she couldn’t help but wonder if they were looking for her. His rasping voice was surprisingly soft. A sparkle of desperate hope shone in her rich, amber gaze before being smothered by the weight of reality as Bog stared her down. His pupils narrowed, eyes clouded by something unspoken. A thick tension polluted the air between them. 

He approached her cell, curling his blemished hand around one of the bramble branches dividing them. A hollow chortle fled his lips and he shook his head. Marianne studied his cold eyes, which were host to an emotion she couldn’t quite pin.

“It was, actually. You forgot t’mention a wee detail when y’were makin’ yer introductions t’me, Princess.” The final word was practically spat, holding a certain ire within it. 

“You lied to me.” 

Marianne swallowed and retorted hastily, “I didn’t lie! I just— didn’t…” Her tongue made to wet her dry lips, stalling as she searched for the right words. “…tell you.” Her nose wrinkled, the right words clearly hadn’t come. “I’m sorry— I was afraid of what would happen if he found out.”

Bog knew exactly who she was talking about. No, she didn’t know the man she spoke to was the very man she feared— but it didn’t stop the damage of her words. They stung like vinegar on a fresh wound, igniting an agonizing spark through his thorax. He took a shaky breath. “Well, he certainly knows now.” Bog scoffed, the bitter irony tainting his tone.

She stared up at him helplessly, her grip tightening on the bars of her cage. “Then… What happens now…? Am I going… home?” The thought of her departure caused Bog’s wings to vibrate— to which the girl flinched.

Realization settled into his very core, while he was building some trust with her— enjoying his time spent with her, she had grown fearful of him and his outbursts. 

She was still just a prisoner, and he was her captor. 

Guilt wracked his nerves as he stared down at the pathetic, broken down fairy. He tried to make her time in his castle comfortable, but she remained a fly in a web— trapped, and afraid.

Bog swallowed the lump in his throat, wrestling with his confusing emotions. His prideful side was screaming at him, accusing the girl of betrayal and ridding himself of any blame; she got herself into this mess, and he was just upholding the law of his land as any king should. And yet, a warm current in the waters of his mind whispered words of understanding to him. He felt empathy for her situation. Perhaps even a hint of care for the girl.

“I don’t know yet, Marianne.” He told her the truth. 

A truth that remained regardless of whether he was acting as her mysterious, surprisingly gentle goblin care-taker or the ruthless and evil Bog King. 

“They demanded the King meet them by tomorrow evenin’. But it’s… Difficult to say what will happen.” Mostly true. He left out the threatening undertones and the demand for her return by tomorrow; that couldn’t happen, and it’d be unnecessarily cruel to get her hopes up.

Her brow furrowed with worry. Even she knew the complicated situation she was in— never had a member of the royal family been one to break the treaty between the lands. Whether it was an accident or not, it made sense that she was taken and treated as a prisoner. 

But, the man standing before her hadn’t known of her royal status for weeks and yet he still took such careful care of her. She was given more luxuries than any captive she’d ever known of. The goblins were… kind enough. Maybe there was a chance they’d let her go home.

She snickered as she recalled the few times she’d overheard goblins mumbling about eating her, only to turn around and delicately change her bandages and apply medicines to her wounds. 

With a breath, she admitted— “I miss my home.” Her un-bandaged wing wilted behind her, sagging loosely on the ground as she wrapped an arm around her midsection, an attempt to self-soothe. “Things weren’t… perfect— but I miss it.”

Bog realized something as she spoke— he hadn’t a clue how the fairy ended up in the Dark Forest to begin with. “How did you… End up here?” He gestured between all around them. “What happened to make yeh fly as far as the Forest when a storm was comin’?” It was at least half a days journey to the border from either Kingdom under perfect conditions. It’s not like the Princess could’ve taken a wrong turn in her castle and ended up in such a place.

Marianne’s eyes sparkled once more, but not with hope. This time, they sparkled with a wetness that pooled in their corners and spilled down her cheeks. Her face angled to the side, away from his as she thought. Would she share her tragedy with him? 

When she remembered the day of the storm, she felt a mixture of hurt and shame. Some voice in the depths of her mind chastised her, claiming that the whole mishap was her fault. It was her fault Roland fell into the arms of another. She wasn’t enough to satisfy him. If she couldn’t even keep her betrothed content, how could she satisfy the needs of her kingdom? Was she fit to be queen in the first place?

She felt that she wasn’t worth the same love that she so freely gave. Perhaps she wasn’t worth anything. 

Whether or not that was true wasn’t of any debate in her mind; to her, it was an irrefutable fact. It was the cold reality that gnawed at her innards; she wasn’t enough. But she wasn’t ready to admit that to herself— nonetheless to the goblin in charge of her care.

But there was a solution to her problem. 

Something that could make her enough, even if through synthetic means. She could force Rolands love— and, in the mean time, search for some way to keep him invested in her and her alone once its effects wore off. It wouldn’t be forever— it was a temporary answer! That’s all she needed.

She’d find a way to prove her worth to him and everyone else who doubted her, but until then she’d use every trick up her sleeve.

Swallowing her emotions, her glittering gaze returned to his. “It’s… Complicated— but I’m sure I can make it right… I can fix it.” A hiccup jostled her weak body, which she attempted to then pull up the lengths of the bramble bars of her cage. On one wobbly leg she rose, avoiding putting any pressure on her broken limb.

Hope seeped back into her fraught expression. “I really think I can fix it… With your help.” She plead, now only a few inches below his face as she peered up at him. His usual hunch disappeared and he stood tall in response as though her nearness stirred discomfort within him. His brows raised— somehow, her sudden change in demeanor felt alarming. Desperate determination seemed to consume her, despite her position. 

“My help?” Bog repeated, skeptical. A puzzled look overtook his craggy features, the tips of his ears flattening as he thought on what that might entail. 

What she meant dawned on him only half a second before she mouthed the very words he loathed; love potion.

The king’s jaw clenched and he took a step back, a hand covering his mouth. “No— ye… This was…” He tried to make sense of it, stumbling over his words. A bitterly amused snort escaped him, “Was this yer plan from the beginning…?” He questioned, his head canting to the side, his eyes squinting. “Clever girl.” 

Horrified, Marianne leaned forward on the brambles and tried to grasp his hands before he could fully retreat. She managed to capture the tips of his clawed fingers in her palms, squeezing them tightly as she desperately begged. “No! No, it wasn’t the plan— there wasn’t a plan!” 

He threw her hands away from him as though her touch could sear his flesh. He stepped back, further away from her cell.“You played me!” Bog growled through gritted teeth, any feelings of remorse for her situation being wiped away with the apparent revelation. 

“It’s just a solution to a problem! Not some master scheme I planned!” She shouted in reply, frustration hanging from her every word. 

But it was too late. Bog had painted a new picture of the woman in his mind, ever so quick to distrust the Fairy. To some extent, it made sense for him to be so quick to hasty judgements; time after time, he’d been insulted, disrespected, and mistreated by those around him. And now, the fae woman did the unthinkable. She was asking him to break the laws of the land for her; the laws of his land. The very law he put into place. 

The plates along his shoulders raised like hackles on a cat, wings flaring behind him. “Of course not—“ He mocked, “Just as I was beginnin’ t’trust yer words, ye ask for a love potion. Of all the damn—“ He cut himself off, throwing his fists into the air and bellowing so loudly it felt as though the castle might cave in. 

Marianne stared at him, wide eyed and silent as the grave. 

“I won’t be fooled again.” He seethed, stepping forward and arching his neck, dipping his face towards hers. 

“As for what will happen to yeh?” A vile grin spread over his rough lips, his craggy mug lighting with sick satisfaction. “I will be th’one decidin’ that tomorrow.” 

He paused, allowing Marianne to come to her own conclusion as to what his words meant before meandering towards the stairs, his staff clicking the ground in time with his painfully slow steps. “Ah— I never did get a chance t’introduce myself, did I?” A glance was cast over his shoulder, “M’name is Bog— as in, th’Bog King.” His fist pounded against his carapace as he made his introduction, hissing his departing words without turning around. “It’s a pleasure t’finally make yer acquaintance, princess.”