~Zaire~

Zaire wasn't surprised that the sentry wasn't leading him toward the Dark Court palace at all, but rather toward a steel structure that resembled buildings in the mortal city. Only there were no windows, no artistic architecture - just ugly metallic walls. Zaire was being led further away from wherever they were hiding the other half of his soul, and he frowned when he could only taste the faintest hint of her. As the sentry halted in front of one of the flat steel walls, Zaire lifted an eyebrow at him. There was no visible door, but when the Fae traced a small, hardly perceivable rune on the surface with his claw, an opening materialized.

While he followed the sentry in, the Fae male quickly schooled his emotions to reflect a placid, uncaring nature, and Zaire chuckled darkly. The sentry had indeed learned to hide his intentions around the King and Queen, by muting his emotions into something that resembled a bland nonchalance. Zaire was annoyed that he was impressed by the honed skill. The moment that the opening closed back up behind him, Zaire couldn't even taste the phantom of his mate's emotions. The walls of this building must serve as some sort of block, and his chuckle died instantly at the realization. At least a dozen sentries lined the corridor as Zaire made his way through, and each one shared the same insipid flavor. He could have been fooled that they were Light Fae, given how fucking emotionless they were all pretending to be. Was this some form of new training the sovereignty had come up with? It was as clever as it was dangerous. It was useful for the royal guard to be able to shield their feelings from the Dark Fae that weren't apart of the inner circle, but it was ill-advised to be ignorant of the fact that it could be used against them  as well. 

The corridor opened up to a vast space that was definitely reminiscent of the throne room in the palace, except instead of ancient tapestries and fixtures of gold, everything was cold and grey. They had even built a ridiculous dais out of the metal, and it took everything Zaire had not to roll his eyes. The matching thrones were not studded with rare jewels, but carved with protection runes, and the towering walls were completely bare - not even a portrait of the King and Queen to spice up this hellhole. And sitting upon the thrones, were the despicable heads of the sovereignty, who stared down their noses at him. There were at least two dozen more sentries stationed in this substitute for a throne room, and two envoys on either side of the dais. All of them had their eyes fixed on the ceiling above.

The King and Queen, however, stared right at Zaire with unflinching focus. The sentry who had escorted him approached the dais and knelt in front of them, bowing his head. The Queen was the only one to glance down at the sentry before looking back up at Zaire expectantly, as if she thought that he would kneel as well. The expression on the King's face displayed that he knew very well that Zaire would do no such thing. 

"Pathos," The King greeted, his voice measured and cold. Zaire wasn't near enough to the dais to taste their emotions, but he didn't need to. He knew that they were uneasy, and possibly surprised that he had bothered to pay them a visit over the mortal they had captured. Maybe even excited that their little scheme would get them what they wanted most. 

"King Roan," Zaire grunted with a minute nod. Referring to him by the undeserved title was all the respect he could muster. Zaire kept his eyes fixed on Roan, but he could see the Queen glaring at him in his periphery for not addressing her. 

"Have I inconvenienced you?" Roan asked, with a subtle quirk of a smug smile on his lips that wobbled slightly. He wanted to give the appearance that he wasn't worried about the outcome of his treachery. Something in his eyes told Zaire that this was the Queen's idea and not his. Pathetic.

"I suppose you have," Zaire shifted his weight slightly, wishing he could slay them both right there and watch their blood drip all over their garish dais. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Roan shifted as well, stiffening his spine. Zaire was surprised that he still possessed a backbone, considering his Queen clearly had his balls tucked away in her figurative purse.

"I thought that you had no desire to be bound," Roan managed a shrug. "Is that no longer the case?"

Zaire stifled a growl, and his shadows rumbled beneath his skin. 

"Let's hurry this along, shall we?" Zaire couldn't help but let his impatience reflect from his tone, choosing not to answer the infuriating question. 

"So you have  come to negotiate for the mortal," Roan forced a derisive laugh, as if it was comical that Zaire had done so. "I have to admit that I am a little touched. Who knew that the legendary Pathos possessed a bleeding heart?" Roan flicked a sideways glance to his Queen who did nothing to conceal her twisted, satisfied smirk. 

Zaire willed himself to give no response because if he did, it would be a murderous roar. Of course the King would taunt him, as it would be the only opportunity he would have to do so, in all of eternity. Zaire's fingers flexed, his claws eager to draw the blood of the vindictive, cowardly royals. 

"I am sure you know that we would like something in return - for our troubles," Roan subdued himself to say, implying that seeking out and imprisoning his mate was something that they had done for Zaire, as a favor  to him. "A blood rite should suffice. What do you think, dear?"

The Queen giggled shrilly, her lips stretching back to reveal her too-round teeth, "I think that is a generous offer, my love. Wouldn't you agree, Pathos?"

Talon's theory was correct, but it failed to shock Zaire. His friend had known the ways of the Dark Court for centuries, and he had surely seen his fair share of similar ultimatums and blood rites, before the act of hunting unbound mates had been forbidden. Zaire made a point to ignore the wretched Solitary Fae, and instead focused his attention solely on Roan, as if the weak female was just a buzzing mosquito in his ear, unworthy of a swat.

"I'll do it." It was Zaire's turn to shrug as if he was careless, as his stare fixated on the King's forehead. "Shall I take a wild guess at what it is that you want from me?"

"No need," Roan sneered with a wave of his hand, clearly not amused by the fact that Zaire was unbothered by the nature of the blood rite, as it was obvious that he knew exactly what they would ask him to swear to. The King turned to one of his envoys and barked at him to bring the necessary tools for the ritual and the envoy scurried away, quickly returning with the sacred chalice, and the ceremonial blade. Zaire gnashed his teeth as the King stood and came down from the dais, with the chalice in one hand and the blade in the other. It should have made Zaire want to laugh - that the King did not command Zaire to approach him, and was instead coming to him. Perhaps Roan wasn't aware of just how spineless that made him look - or maybe he was so excited by the fact that he was about to be free of his worry of Zaire taking the crown for himself, that he couldn't wait an extra moment. Once Roan was in his vicinity, he could taste the King's emotions. An inkling of shame for his fear of Zaire's power, but mostly elation that soon his fears would have no basis, and a sprinkle of sinful pride that he had, in some way, bested a Dark Fae that was superior to him. 

Even still, as he handed Zaire the ancient blade, Roan's hand shook - certainly at the thought of Zaire eviscerating him with it. But Zaire brought it to his own wrist and sliced his flesh with the razor-sharp edge in one swift motion, and as he held the gushing wound over the chalice, he swore that he would never challenge King Roan for the throne. Once the oath was made, Zaire's blood bubbled in the chalice like molten lava, and Roan grinned wickedly. When his blood calmed into a placid state a moment later, Zaire would be bound to the oath - as soon as the King drank the contents. The magic of the blood rite would ensure that Zaire would die if he chose to break his vow. Zaire's shadows wrapped around the gash in his flesh - attempting to seal the wound and stop the bleeding - and he allowed them to do so, while he watched the King greedily guzzle every last drop. 

From the dais, the Queen cackled in malicious delight, throwing her head back as she relished the end of the ritual, and the sealing of the blood rite that had most likely been her  devious plan that had come to fruition in front of her. Zaire scowled at the sound, turning to lock eyes with the sentry who had escorted him.

"Take me to her," Zaire seethed viciously, "Now!"

.   .   .

As soon as they stepped foot on the Faerie soil outside of that revolting metal building, Zaire felt his mate's presence again, but it was weaker. Far too weak. He couldn't taste even the faintest hint of emotion on his tongue. No!  She was close to death - he could feel  her life force withering away, hanging on by a fraying thread. The sentry stiffened beside him, and took off at lightning speed. The Fae had tasted Zaire's sudden grief and the male knew exactly what would have been the cause.

The sentry barreled straight for the densely wooded area beyond the palace to a shrouded glen, one that couldn't be seen, even by the Fae, and before the two of them bounded through the shroud, Zaire could smell blood in the air. Its aroma was sweeter than any blood he had ever encountered, and he knew without a doubt that it was his mate's. A deafening roar scraped from deep inside his chest and echoed in the forest as he neared a stone building in the center of the glen. Zaire's shadows speared toward the bars of the cell, shattering the lock and reducing the bars to a pile of ash. The sentry hung back, kneeling in the dirt, with his head bowed - much like he had in front of the steel dais - as Zaire rushed inside, to find the little doll blindfolded and shackled to the floor, with the chains wrapped around her neck. 

"NO!!!" 

Zaire's shadows effortlessly obliterated the chains, and he dropped down to his knees, wordlessly commanding his shadows to remove her blindfold. Her dark hair was tangled and matted with dried blood and her beautiful eyes were dull. She was unconscious, but her chest rattled as her autonomic reflexes pulled air past her chapped blue lips, and her head lolled to one side. Just like he had thought, he had no choice but to bind with her. She would never make it out of the Dark Realm like this. Resolute, he brushed his fingertips across her cheek, and he had not a single fraction of a second to enjoy the softness of it, because as soon as their skin made contact, she sucked in a ragged breath and screamed in agony as the Mark burned into her forearm, forming the rune that would bind her to him. Zaire cringed at the taste of her pain, and at the feeling of the Mark searing his own flesh in the same way. He scooped her naked, writhing body into his arms, and held her tight to his chest as he stood to carry her out of the horrid cell that she had almost died in. She tried to kill herself, to hasten her own death, and he had been seconds away from being too late to foil her attempt.

When his own pain from the Mark subsided into a dull sting, he felt her body go limp as she lost consciousness again. The sentry's eyes went wide as he snapped up to stand, and only then was Zaire able to understand why Talon had wanted this for him. Power radiated off of Zaire like he was a live wire and the trees creaked as he walked, the leaves whipping back and forth as if he was a devastating tornado that threatened to level the entire forest. His shadows surged outward almost violently, and he could feel them gathering at his shoulder blades, forming more-than-sizable wings of swirling darkness. That emptiness inside of him had been filled by the other half of his soul, and he was overflowing with dark energy that spilled out of every inch of his body. 

The King and Queen were right to do what they had done. Harnessing this much power, not a single Dark Fae in the entire Realm would hesitate to bow to Zaire.