Trapped

So I guess men are men wherever you go.
Faerie or the human world, magic or mortal… they’re all the same.
Wonderful.

— Helen “Elle” Andrews

Trapped is the first part of Elle and Rys’s story. Following her trip through the fairy circle (as shown in the prequel, Tricked), Elle finds herself in Siúcra, the infamous Faerie prison. With escape seemingly impossible, she throws her lot in with her scarred Seelie cellmate—who might just be more than he appears to be…

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Excerpt:

It isn’t long before I learn what it’s like to be an animal on display at the zoo.

The guards all seem to find excuses to pass by my cell—and not just Dusk or Saxon, the two I initially met. There’s always someone walking through my empty wing, and if I try to convince myself they’re just regular prison patrols, it’s harder to do that when they stop and stare.

At first, it wasn’t so terrible. They brought me a prison uniform I refuse to put on, slipped a plate of food—including faerie fruit—through the gap at the bottom of my cell door, even offered me a jar full of crisp, clear water.

It could’ve been worse.

Once they make it obvious that they’re coming by just to gawk at the human?

Yeah. That’s rough.

I mean, I expected it, but the open interest coming off of some of the guards makes my skin crawl; it’s almost as bad as the outright disgust coming from the others. And I might not be wearing the thin, white uniform I tossed in the corner of my cell, but it doesn’t matter. They look through my leather jacket and jeans like I haven’t got a stitch of clothing on.

I’m just glad I learned how freaking important it was to keep my real name to myself. Who knows what the gawkers would compel me to do if they had it?

I’m powerless here, and not just because I’m a prisoner. No… actually, that’s not true. I have a tiny bit of power since I am a human. For the promise of a touch, I could probably ask anything of the guards—except for freedom. But I can’t follow through on it. All it would take is one teensy tiny touch and I’d lose any bargaining power I might have.

From what I can tell, the prison guards are all fae. All male, too. A majority of them are Seelie, with the same bronzed coloring and golden hair as Veron, Bram, and the fae captain, though I’ve seen a few that are the darker, more intimidating Unseelie, like Dusk.

Dusk… ugh. Just as I was afraid of, Dusk is my most frequent visitor by far. As much as I hate being locked in here, I’m grateful that the iron in the bars keeps us separated since he consistently finds excuses to check on me.

And I know it’s a false sense of security. I know all too well that he can open my cell door on a whim. But, for some reason, he doesn’t and I keep hoping it stays that way. I barely slept at all my first night, terrified that I’d have an unwelcome visitor once the fairy lights winked out and my cell went dark. A few torches line the wall; they’re not just for decoration, I discovered. As soon as the sun sets and the guards consider it “light’s out”, some kind of faerie magic sparks them to life. I can see a little. Not much, but it’s enough to prove that I’m all alone in my wing.

No one slips past my cell that first night. Or the second.

And then, on my third day in Siúcra, I finally meet the prisoner who shares the wing with me.

I’ve been waiting for this from the moment Dusk and Saxon first mentioned him. The two guards had purposely stuck me in a cell near a prisoner they called ‘the traitor’. Human lover. And while there was enough of a sneer in Dusk’s voice for me to lose any hope I might’ve had that my fellow prisoner could be an ally, I really, really hoped that maybe I was wrong.

I didn’t know what to expect. The fairy jail holds all kinds of inmates, and while I’m the only human—and female—that I’ve come across in here, I walked past so many different creatures when they brought me to my cell.

I saw trolls that reminded me of Iggy and Binky, the security for the Faerie market. A male dwarf even older than Parlo, who I’ll never forgive for selling me. A trio of winged fairies that shared a cell. Some small monstrous-looking creatures that just might be goblins. And I haven’t figured out what the cute little thing with the fox tail and pointed ears was, though I still flinch when I think about it snapping its fangs at me.

Then there was the wing that led right into mine. It was so much nicer than the rest of the prison. Gilded cells, mirrors built into the walls, and honest-to-God beds inside the rooms. That was where they kept fae prisoners. Not too many, only a couple that I noticed. I can’t imagine what they did—since Dusk said the traitors and betrayers are in my wing—but except for the same crystal-coated iron bars, they seemed more like suites instead of cells.

And then there’s my section. From what I can see from my corner, about four cells line each side of the row and every one is set up exactly like mine: narrow cot, stone floor, and the magical toilet/sink/tub combo that reminds me that while this might be jail, it’s still fairy jail.

It’s late when they bring him back, not quite light’s out but close enough. Unlike when I was brought to my cell, this prisoner is flanked by two guards: one Seelie, one Unseelie, neither familiar. Both of them have their swords at his back, but he’s not wearing handcuffs.

I wonder what that’s about?

He’s another Seelie. Like most of the other prisoners I’ve seen, he’s wearing a plain white jumpsuit that makes his skin seem more washed out than the vividly bronze shade that belongs to the other Light Fae. It’s more of a caramel color, dimmed to match the thick, tawny hair that spills down his back.

Long hair is the fashion for the fae. Some, like Veron and Saxon, wear it to their shoulders. Dusk’s pitch-black hair at least hits his chin. But the prisoner’s? His falls to the middle of his back and, Jesus, it’s a thing of freaking beauty.

I think of my hair. It’s originally a boring blonde color, but I’ve spent years dying it every crazy color you could think of. A couple of weeks ago, I put teal streaks in it; the dye job was actually the cause of the fight that had me storming out on my boyfriend—mainly because it took Jim two weeks to notice and say anything—and the unnatural color is one of the things that makes the faerie folk stop and wonder whether I’m really human or not.

So many looks, but I’ve never dyed my hair such a rich tawny color, golden brown streaked with yellow and a hint of orange thrown in for good measure.

Shame. It’s gorgeous.

And so is he.

Damn it. For the first time since I’ve been stranded in Faerie, I wish I had my easel with me. My paints. Even a pencil or paper would do. When I look at him, I want to paint him. Draw him. Anything.

When I look at him, I’m inspired.

And I know in a heartbeat that I’m in even more trouble than I was before.