Page 70 of Wench

Her throat tightens as she stares at her reflection in the rim. It’s the same face she’s seen in mirrors her whole life: a Hallomere, born to follow rules, to bend her neck. To smile through cruelty, to survive by silence. The world had carved obedience into her like scripture.

And yet, since stepping into Sherwood, her body hasn’t felt like it belongs to that girl any more.

Here, she breathes differently. Freer. Wilder.

And maybe this is what mortal men fear – what a woman becomes when no one else dictates her shape.

Lox’s hand tightens slightly around hers, grounding and warning all at once.

‘You don’t have to prove yourself to them.’

But maybe she isn’t trying to prove herself to them.

Maybe she’s proving something to herself.

She meets his gaze. His fingers are warm, steadying, grounding her. ‘I made my choice in the meadow,’ she murmurs. ‘And I make it again now. If I lose myself, then so be it. Perhaps I’ll like who I find even more.’

Marian clears her throat. Every gaze pins her, suspicion and curiosity tangled together. Her fingers tighten around the goblet until it bites into her palm.

‘I know many of you hate me,’ she begins, her voice raw but steady. ‘And you have every reason to. My father’s hands built your cages. My family name should forever be cursed in your halls. When I arrived here, I doubted everything I saw in these woods – the laughter, the loyalty, the love. But mostly, I doubted the part of me that wanted to belong here.’ She draws a breath, the mark on her chest throbbing. ‘Please hear me when I say that my loyalty does not end with one moment. One choice.’

The whispers grow, but she pushes louder, stronger.

‘I hold no love for the Sheriff, nor for the man who shares my name. If you need proof, then let me give it. I know the Sheriff’s delivery schedules. His wagons. His stores. Let me help you burn his empire down, one shipment at a time.’ Her fingers tremble as she lifts the goblet. ‘Tonight, I sever obedience to the men who would use my body as a warning to every girl who forgets her place.’

The liquid burns as it travels down her throat. Sweet and sharp, fire and ice at once. The taste of earth and lightning floods her mouth. Heat blooms in her chest, scorching every vein until she gasps. The world lurches. For a moment she thinks she’ll fall, but then the warmth steadies and spreads. All that she declared – obedience, silence, her father’s name – unravels and falls away. She sways, lighter and rawer than she has ever been. The vine over her heart pulses and the forest hums.

Literally.

It is a bone-deep note, the kind that loosens the teeth and widens the eyes. Lanterns swell and dim in time. Somewhere across the clearing, a child starts to laugh for no reason and claps both hands to their chest as if startled by joy. The Elders exchange looks over the rims of their goblets. Rían’s eyes are sunburst-bright with glee. Will’s mouth breaks into a smile before they snatch the goblet from Marian’s grip.

‘I sever,’ they say, voice rough, ‘the arrogance of judging others before I know more, and my habit of assuming I’m the only one who knows where the knives belong.’

Laughter breaks the tension as the goblet makes its way around their table, finally landing in front of Lox. He slips one hand over the bowl of the goblet, thumb brushing its rim. ‘I sever the lie that guardianship is only a wall and never a bridge. I sever the pride that has kept my hand from asking, and my heart from wanting what would make me stronger.’ He lifts the cup to the crowd. ‘I keep Sherwood. I keep my people. I keep my teeth.’

He closes his eyes and drinks, jaw working like someone taking something bitter and promising to make it sweet later.

Rían takes the goblet from Lox with a mischievous wink. ‘With that, the Severing is complete. The Keeping has begun and will carry us through this equinox to the next.’

The clearing erupts.

Drums roll and pipes trill. Voices rise, half-song and half-howl. Wind jostles leaves and lanterns swing wildly on their cords as if the forest itself is drunk on what’s just been set free. Hands slap the tables, mugs clatter, and laughter breaks like surf over rock. The fae push away from the tables and charge toward the heart tree.

All around her, fae whirl in circles, skirts and pointed teeth flashing, braids unravelling as they toss their heads back and laugh. Little John has already been hauled into a dance, his massive form surprisingly deft as he twirls two children in wide arcs that make them squeal. Will sings sharp harmony to a bawdy ballad that Allen strums, their blades clinking when they stamp their heel against the earth in rhythm.

Marian lets herself sway, the pulse of the forest pressing into her bones, the wine softening her edges. Someone drags her into the circle then, hands on her wrists, spinning her in a whirl of bodies and music. She laughs, hair flying, skirt tangling around her legs. Her heart beats wild as the drums, her tattoo thrumming with each turn. When she stumbles, another hand catches her, warm and calloused and steady.

She looks up to find familiar mossy eyes staring back at her, sparking with hunger. Lox draws her against him and his palm splays low at her back, fingers pressing just above the swell of her hip as her body arches into his.

He lowers his head, lips brushing her jaw, his breath hot with the spice of fae wine. ‘All I can think about,’ he murmurs as his fingers slip beneath the edge of her tunic, ‘is how I’d rather be on my knees again, with nothing between my mouth and the sound of you breaking.’

Marian shudders. She presses her hips forward, rubbing against the rigidity that meets her.

‘If we stay out here,’ he growls into her ear, ‘the wine and merriment will make us forget ourselves. I will take you in every way you’ll let me, ruining you sweetly against all the trees of Sherwood until your moans replace the birdsong.’ His hands travels up her side, thumbs grazing the underside of her breasts through the thin fabric, as if daring her to call his bluff.

Heat floods Marian’s chest, her thighs tightening around a pulse that has nothing to do with the drumbeat. She fists the front of his tunic, tugging until her hardened breasts flatten against the hard plane of his chest. Lantern light flickers over his antlers, casting sharp shadows across his face that make his hunger look holy.

Her lips brush his jaw as she whispers, ‘How about we start with the roots in your room? I’ve shared you with Sherwood enough for one night.’ She takes the lobe of his ear between her teeth. ‘I want you all to myself.’