Screams of terror echoed faintly on the winds of the world, tearing Rayce away from memories of Sera as he drowsed in and out of consciousness in a nest of long grass on a Scottish moor. He tried to push the screams away, but his curse pressed down on him even as he resisted it. The Eternal Forest was hungry for more, and it had chosen its next feast.

There was nowhere in the world to hide from the Forest's call; thousands of miles could separate the Hunt from a battlefield and still the sounds of death would reach him. Gwyn had never found a pattern to unravel the lust of the sinister trees. He had collected his grim harvests, both great and small, without question through the centuries, and the Forest would now expect Rayce to do the same.

He sat up as he heard the cries of children being slaughtered, and he clapped his hands over his ears frantically to block it out, but still they shrilled. Rayce could hear the snarl of monsters under the screams. His eyes squeezed shut. No, please!

Rayce sat paralyzed as the sounds of butchery continued unabated. He could practically see the blood pumping out of ghastly wounds as Mundanes fell prey to monsters in the night, and the harder he tried to force it away, the more insistent the Forest was in its need. His teeth clenched together and he hissed in pain as flares of agony ignited in his head. The Forest would not be denied.

Buried under the pleas for mercy, he thought he heard the sharp twang of a bowstring snap, and it gave him a glimmer of hope. Perhaps some will escape.

Staggering under the blinding, nauseating assault of the Forest, he stumbled back toward where he had left the Hunters camped, and he felt some of the strain ease as a reward for behaviour that pleased the Forest. A shiver of anticipatory pleasure for the feeding slid through his body and he reeled in disgust as he tried to separate it from his own emotions.

The pounding headache followed him back across silent hills until he found the muted glow of a few fires still burning low.

Most of the Hunters looked to be asleep, wrapped in thin blankets or huddled under cloaks close to one another. The few who were awake took note of his return, their black eyes glittering in the firelight while coloured irises flashed like wolf's eyes.

Rayce caught sight of his brother sitting alone, seeming not to notice him as he hunched forward to warm himself with the heat from his tiny fire. The light showed the ugly stumps that now rose from his shoulder blades when he shifted uncomfortably, trying to adapt to life without the great, black wings. Rayce regretted what had been done to Bael under Cadair Idris, but he couldn't change it now.

Careful to keep his hands relaxed at his sides to betray no sign of the Forest's impatience, he straightened under the mantle he wore and raised his voice.

"The dead call," he barked. "The Hunt rides."

Heads lifted wearily from dirty bundles of spare clothes, and he saw exhaustion in the eyes of many. The Forest worked them hard, and it was difficult for some of the lesser-Fey to recover their strength between journeys to deep Faerie. Others were not so easy to control.

"You are arrogant to believe that you may command us with impunity, little princeling." A tall, lithe Hunter rose from where he had been sitting with two others, some of the few who had disdained sleep. Dirty, white-gold hair fell in matted locks down his back, held back by what looked like a worn coronet worked in a delicate filigree of silver. His eyes were mismatched with black and a pale blue that was so faded that it seemed almost colourless. He wore chipped, white armour that was stained dark in places, and some pieces had been replaced from sets that didn't match. Vindictus, Gwyn's memories sighed in Rayce's mind around the throbbing ache.

"You are foolish to believe that I will not find a tree in the Eternal Forest for you just as easily as I found one for Kratus," Rayce threw back. He felt a flash of warning from the Forest as he made his threat. One sacrifice and the violence of the moment had been thrilling, but it needed its Hunters to remain intact to continue servicing its needs.

Anger burned in the Hunter's eyes, pride blazing to life. "I spent countless centuries at my King's side as one of his most prized advisors in martial strategy. I was not born to kneel to a Shadowhunter." He sneered. "Your kind did not even exist when I first opened my eyes in this world."

"Yes," Rayce said coldly. "I can see the regard your King must have had for you. So much that you've ended up here." He moved forward until his eyes were level with the Faerie's, and he lowered his voice. "And you would do well to remember that there has never been anyone quite like me before, Vindictus." Confusion clouded the Hunter's eyes, either at how Rayce had known his name, or for trying to figure out his ancestry; it didn't matter.

Because really, what was Rayce? Half-Shadowhunter, half-faerie, yes. But his Shadowhunter side had been tainted by the blood of the first demon, the mother of warlocks, Lilith herself. And the Seelie Queen had been among one of the few surviving Greater Fey, the daughter of a Greater Demon and an angel, the rarest of true Faeries.

A small, squat Hunter pushed forward. He lacked all the fine lines that marked Faerie gentry. Coarse, black hair sprouted around the nubs of horns around the mottled red and grey patches on his skull, and rough, uneven facial hair masked the lower half of his face. Lacking a proper razor, it was clear that he shaved with a dagger and without a mirror. His squashed nose was pinned over a cruel mouth that barely concealed the rotting or missing teeth within. Skinny legs tapered down in satyr-fashion to end in cloven hooves. Fiorinor.

His breath was foul with decay as he jabbed an accusatory, grimy finger up at Rayce. "What will you do, my Lord? Kill any Hunter who despises taking orders from a jumped-up Nephilim shit?"

Rayce's hand shot out faster than Fiorinor could follow, and he twisted the offending finger sharply. The crack was audible as it broke, and the Hunter grunted in pain, dropping to his knees, but Rayce refused to let go. "You don't have to like me, Fiori." He used the informal name easily, bolstered by Gwyn's familiarity with the Hunters. "You only need to obey me."

The Lord of the Hunt raised his eyes challengingly to sweep over the others who had now finished rising from their hasty pallets. Kieran stood in the darkness near the back of the crowd, his face obscured by shadows. Most of the Hunters bowed their heads to avoid Rayce's gaze, cowed into submission for now, but another of the gentry cast-offs stood with his arms crossed, unimpressed.

Midnight-blue hair fell over his right eye, hiding the Hunt's tell-tale colour so that he could pretend to the world that he still bore the twin black eyes of his heritage. He was a few inches shorter than Rayce, and his complexion was dusky, lending an exotic feel to his finely-sculpted face. He had clearly made an effort to keep himself free from the filth that marked so many of the other Hunters. Any wings, tail, or other token of Faerie heritage wasn't immediately evident, and Rayce wondered darkly if whatever had marked him had been cut away when he had been bound to the Hunt, as had been done to Bael.

He met Rayce's eyes and rose to the challenge he saw there. "How long can you watch your back, princeling?" He called across the distance that separated them. A few of the Hunters turned to see who had spoken and were unsurprised to find Azad.

The left side of Rayce's mouth twitched up almost imperceptibly. So, you want to play with me? With only a thought, he shifted behind the Hunter, his strong hands suddenly holding the two halves of his steelwood staff as he split it in a quarter of a heartbeat. When he rematerialized in a swirl of black wisps, the wickedly-sharp blades were crossed against the Faerie's throat, gently scraping the vulnerable flesh.

"Longer than you," Rayce whispered in his ear. He held Azad in the circle of his arms a moment longer to let the message sink in, and then vanished once more, returning to a safe distance to address the others. "Mount up," he ordered.

Ghostly horses coalesced and skeletal mounts rose from the earth as each Hunter summoned their steed. Rayce's own fiery black warhorse materialized at his side, snorting flames and stamping molten hooves, eager to carry him toward the field of death where the screams had already quieted in the wind. Only bodies would remain when they arrived for the harvest.

But he wasn't quite ready yet. Rayce crossed the trampled grass to where Fiorinor was scrambling up onto the red, scaled back of the reptilian mount he favoured. Casually, the Shadowhunter seized a handful of the Faerie's clothing and pulled him down, catching him by surprise. The creature vanished back into the ether as its master was dismounted.

Rayce pinned Fiorinor under one knee and held the bucking Hunter. "Except you," he said. "You will remain here until I summon you, as a reminder that you don't have to like me to serve me as a dog would its master."

Fiorinor snarled indignantly, and Rayce lifted a finger in warning. "Be silent." Helpless to disobey a direct order, the Hunter was forced to continue his struggle mutely.

"Sit," Rayce commanded, rising from where he had the other pinned. The ugly Faerie glared murderously at him, but complied.

"Stay."

Rayce mentally called his mount and swung himself up into the saddle. The horse tossed its head spiritedly, sensing the mood, and Rayce urged it forward with a light touch. He looked back over his shoulder at the Hunter who was now trapped only by the cloak's forced compulsion.

"Good boy."

Rayce dismissed the Faerie from his thoughts and lifted off from the moor, leaving the earth behind to race along the winds of the world to find the killing field for which the Eternal Forest hungered.

Miles melted away below the ill-assorted feet of the Hunt's Faerie steeds, and Rayce quietly despaired over how difficult it was to control the Hunters.

In the void created by Gwyn's death, Rayce lacked his predecessor's breeding and reputation. The others had each respected the big Faerie to some extent, and had served without rebellion for hundreds of years. Rayce had held the cloak for... well, he wasn't sure how long, but cracks were already running through the Hunt. Azad's mocking question haunted him. How long can you watch your back?

Savagely, he wished for just a moment that he could wipe out the entire Hunt.

"I'd do it," Sebastian's voice purred in his ear.

Rayce started violently and whipped his head back to look for his father, but there was no one there. What's happening to me? He hoped that none of the other Hunters had seen their leader jumping at voices in the wind.

Shaking off his father's dark suggestion with lingering unease, Rayce gathered up his scattered thoughts. Even if he could somehow bring himself to murder every Hunter before the Eternal Forest broke his mind, what would it mean for the world? The Fey depended on the ley energy of the earth, and the fastest way to renew it was through blood sacrifice to the twisted trees. The Heart of the World naturally produced the magic at its own pace, but not in sufficient quantity to satisfy the needs of both the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. He didn't understand enough of how everything was connected, but Gwyn's memories of why the Hunt had been formed were evidence enough that there would be consequences for the Fey.

And what about me? If the other Hunters lay dead at his feet, their blood on his hands, would he then turn his blades on himself? As long as he lived, a new crop of Hunters could be created and pressed into service. It would never end. He wondered if he could find the strength to take his own life to spare the world.

Sera's face bloomed in his memory and shame flooded through him. I could never do that to her, he swore. A world with Sera in it was one he still wanted to live in, no matter the cost. Thinking about her warmed him, thawing the ice that had been building in his heart.

He allowed himself to caress the most dangerous memory he had, and called up their last kiss, her final words to him. Have faith. His heart pounded in his chest, shattering the last of the despair's cold grip as hope dispelled it. Whether it was merely the memory of his fierce, beautiful saviour, or something more, he felt closer to her now than he had since leaving her in the rain on Seraphine's balcony.

The Hunt descended through heavy clouds, revealing a mosaic of rolling crops and fields spread out below them. Rayce could feel how close they were to the dead as the Forest relaxed its grip on his mind and he breathed easier.

As Rayce guided his steed to where the slaughter had started, he thought he saw a flash of light a few fields away, but when nothing more happened, he dismissed it as sunlight reflecting off metal somewhere, forgetting that it was too overcast for that.

The Hunt dropped from the sky all along the shredded ground that had been torn up by what looked like claws. Its length was littered with the bodies of Mundanes who had been brought down by... Rayce searched his memory, but came up blank.

"What would do this?" he wondered quietly to himself, appalled by the senseless, indiscriminate violence.

"Hellhounds, my Lord." Caelus stood respectfully a few paces behind him, and Rayce aimed a mental kick directly at his own ass for not realizing one of the Hunters had actually chosen to land near him. How long can I watch my back? Oh, a few hours, maybe, he berated himself sarcastically.

The Faerie watched him curiously, but without hostility. "I don't believe I can recall a time when such a large pack has broken through the wards at once, though." He moved forward, guiding Rayce across several properties and gesturing to indicate where the Hounds had started their butchery. "A dozen, I would guess, to have caused so much damage."

Vindictus was crouched over a pair of bodies nearby, carelessly looting wedding bands from their dead hands, and he spat into the red-streaked mud as Rayce and Caelus reached him. "Their blood will speed the recovery of the Forest; it looked terrible after wiping Alicante off the map."

Rayce's felt as if his heart had dropped through his stomach. "After what?"

A smile spread across Vindictus' face as he saw the effect his words had on Rayce. "You heard me, my Lord. Ashes and embers by now, I would think." He threw his head back and laughed uproariously, boasting, "My King was planning this before you ever squirmed your way out of your mother, boy!"

Confusion washed through Rayce as he tried to comprehend what the Faerie was bragging about. He seized Gwyn's memories and tore through them as he distanced himself from Vindictus. Caelus was a silent shadow at his side.

He found the day Vindictus had been given to the Hunt and was shocked to find that it had been barely two years earlier. No wonder the man was still so filled with pride; he hadn't been a prisoner long enough to have had it beaten out of him. Rayce rifled through the memories rapidly and learned that Vindictus actually had been in the Unseelie King's inner circle, but that he had overreached in his ambition.

Directing the incredible amount of energy into a single, devastating blow through the secret ley network hooked into homes and buildings in Alicante would leave the King incredibly weakened, nearly defenseless. Vindictus had thought to use the opportunity to eliminate the King in the aftermath and seize the Unseelie throne for himself, but his plans had been betrayed, and the Faerie Lord had consigned his advisor to the Hunt in a fit of irony. Vindictus would be enslaved to feed the Forest and watch from the sidelines as the city was destroyed, but Gwyn's oath would keep the devious Faerie in line. The traitor had accepted his sentence with a smile and had congratulated his old friend on outfoxing him in the struggle for power and for passing down such a fitting punishment.

"Is this all we are, Caelus?" Rayce felt his anger building. Betrayal after betrayal, plots under plots, back-stabbing back-stabbers.

"My Lord?"

"The Fey. The Fair Folk. Would the world think us so fair if they could see the ugliness in our hearts? Everywhere I look, I see Faeries clawing their way to the top over the bodies of friends and family." His eyes automatically lifted to search for his brother, and he saw Bael on one knee next to a dead man in a red flannel jacket, pawing through the pockets. Scavenging from the dead. What have we become?

The Seelie and Unseelie dead that the Hunt had taken to the Forest following his sister's ascension to the throne had been different. Most had been warriors, and had been slain in combat, died honourably with weapons in hand. Rayce himself had laid waste to entire squads of Unseelie as he had carved a path to the throne room for Arynessa and her allies. That was battle. He understood it. Had been raised on it. But this...

Caelus remained silent, unable or unwilling to answer Rayce's question.

Rayce looked around at the massacre helplessly. They should have been protected. He thought of his Shadowhunter blood and shook his head bitterly. In a different life, I would have protected them.

He followed the scar that the chase had left across the fields until he found his brother standing a short distance away from the red-coated man Rayce had seen him with, his back to the other Hunters, pillaging complete.

"Satisfied with your spoils, brother?" Rayce asked harshly, perhaps with more venom in his voice than he had intended.

"Very," Bael answered earnestly before he bowed his head slightly and excused himself.

Rayce drifted over to where a Mundane lay stricken in death, and his stomach lurched as he caught sight of a little girl curled in the arms of her father. He crouched down and gently closed the man's eyes.

There was nothing he could have done to save them in life, but he could still preserve their dignity in death. The Hunters had mostly finished their grim looting to pay their tithes to the Courts, and were beginning to summon the sledges they used to ferry the dead to deep Faerie.

"Leave them!" Rayce ordered, lifting his voice to carry across the fields. Stunned, bifurcated stares looked back at him in disbelief, and he drove the message home. "The Hunt will reap no harvest here."

He heard hisses and dangerous muttering pass between pairs and small groups of Hunters as they unceremoniously dropped the bodies.

"My Lord," Caelus warned softly at his side. "The Hunt has a duty to nourish the Eternal Forest. I do not believe that it is optional." His black and brown eyes were surprisingly gentle.

Rayce clasped the slim Faerie's shoulder in silent thanks, but he shook his head. Now that he knew the truth of the forest, he refused to feed the monstrous weapon that the Unseelie had twisted to their own selfish uses.

"Then I will bear the consequences."

An inhuman screech of rage shattered through his skull as the Eternal Forest wailed for its lost feast and Rayce couldn't help but drop to his knees in agony, hands clapped over his ears even though he knew by now that it was useless.

That was when a terrible clanging ripped through the air, audible to all of the Hunters, and its jarring, discordant note reverberated through Rayce as the Forest's cry faded. Doubled-over from the dual assault on his senses, he couldn't see the knowing smiles creeping across some of the Hunter's faces.

The Unseelie Court had summoned the Lord of the Hunt.

A maelstrom whipped up around the Hunters as earth magic was invoked to forcibly recall them to the Unseelie Court. Rayce was powerless to resist the summons; the King had been careful with his enchantment to ensure that Gwyn would remain obedient to the thrones one way or another.

Wind tore at Rayce's cloak and filled his ears, deafening him with its throaty keening as he was swept away with the others in the grip of an unrelenting zephyr. The world spun in a dizzying blur until he finally had to close his eyes to stop the sickening rush of images.

When his feet touched down on solid rock once more, he opened his eyes and saw a dimly-lit tunnel of black stone. Hunters dotted the tunnel behind him, stretching back out of sight in the darkness.

Caelus touched Rayce's shoulder gently. "We may go no further, my Lord. You must go on alone from here."

Rayce nodded and turned to follow the passage, leaving the rest behind. Fear boiled in the pit of his stomach. He had agreed to accept the consequences, but he hadn't thought that payment would come due quite so quickly.

Coward, he swore at himself. What would Zeke think of him worrying about a chastisement like a child? If his tutor could see him now, Rayce had a feeling that his advice would be more along the lines of, "Give 'em hell!"

Fire rushed through Rayce, and he felt his anger renew itself at the thought of Mundanes being treated as no more than fodder for the Unseelie's dark designs. He squared his shoulders back and straightened up to his full height, an inch over six feet. One of the curving blades of his staff rose above his shoulder where the great cloak was pushed back to make room for it, and Gwyn's sword hung from his belt comfortably. He truly looked like the rightful Lord of the Hunt.

The dark mantle billowed out behind him as he crossed the deserted Unseelie throne room, the summons still burning through him to guide the way. He spared only a glance at the crudely-carved seat of power that rose from the centre of the shadowy cavern, but it was enough to recognize it from the scrying mirror he had seen during his mother's audience with the King so many years ago.

Not far from a side entrance to the throne room, Rayce stepped through a warded doorway into a cavern with smooth, stone walls. Deep blue Faerie lights illuminated the space, and a map covered the far wall next to a large mirror. The room's true glow came from the floor in the centre of the room.

Shattered stone lay strewn around the room as if something heavy had been broken in haste, and Rayce thought he could recognize the remains of a tabletop and some chairs in the wreckage. Amidst the pieces, a flickering font of ley energy pulsed weakly from a gash in the rock. The Unseelie King sat heavily at the edge of it with another Faerie standing over him watchfully. The second Faerie had deep green skin and hair, and his cruel yellow eyes flicked up with an eager gleam.

The King was breathing shallowly as Rayce stalked in, but his head snapped up when he felt the Shadowhunter cross through the ward against eavesdropping.

"You-" he said, deep voice dripping with hatred for a son of Sammaradriel.

"You dare!" Rayce interrupted him, furious now that he had someone upon which to unleash all the pent-up anger that had been building up inside. "You dare to use the earth's magic for revenge? To steal from the lifeblood of your people? To destroy the city of the Nephilim?"

Impossibly, the Unseelie King seemed stunned by the unexpected outburst. His advisor looked... pleased?

Rayce refused to relent, and he searched his own memories for once, grasping for a trigger that his mother had used, but it was Gwyn's memory that had to supplement his child's recollection. He refused to give a murderer an ounce of respect, King or not. "Your betrayal could ignite a war between the Shadowhunters and the Fey! You are selfish beyond all belief, Luchaereon."

The lights guttered in their sconces and then dimmed unexpectedly, and the King's black eyes seemed to soak up the remaining light as they glittered with malice. Rayce felt a stab of fear, and his momentum faltered for a moment, but he refused to give in.

"I won't serve-" He felt his throat tighten, strangling his voice down to a wheeze before silencing him completely. Gasping soundlessly, his hands flew to his throat in panic, but he remained voiceless.

"Oh, my," the green-skinned Faerie said, tsking in mock-dismay. "Such passion."

The King's eyes fixed on Rayce's. "You will serve, boy." He tilted his head to look up questioningly at the other Faerie, and received a nod of assent in return.

"I believe you need a reminder that even as your Hunters must bow to you, so, too, must you bow to me. You are a slave and nothing more. And slaves are punished for disobeying their masters. Iarlath?"

Rayce felt a thrill of terror and tried to turn back, to run, but he was frozen by the King's command over the bearer of the cloak. Dread seeped through him as the Faerie called Iarlath reached into his rich robes to withdraw a handful of blood-red stones. Smiling wickedly, he cast them down and they shivered for a moment before a gnarled tree began to twist upwards.

Sharp branches tipped with razor-like ends spread out from the trunk and scarlet leaves bloomed in seconds to flutter eagerly, hungrily. The young quickbeam stood patiently, a sapling of the Eternal Forest that would live for a short time before its magic recalled it to its mother. But now it waited to feed.

An invisible hand pushed Rayce toward the tree and his feet skidded across the stone, sliding through the smaller chunks of rock from the shattered remains of the table as he tried to dig in and stop himself. It was hopeless. He couldn't resist. Guilt flashed through him as he realized that he had abused his power in much the same way with Fiorinor. Am I no better than the King?

His arms shook as they lifted over his head against his will, and Iarlath stepped forward, uncoiling a length of dark leather cord from an inside pocket of his robe. The bindings bit into Rayce's wrists as Iarlath bound them tightly to the quickbeam, nearly breathless with excitement.

Rayce tried to shift out of the King's grasp, but his gift was paralyzed by the magic as well. Trapped. His heart raced in his chest as he ran out of options.

With a sharp snick, the cloak fell away from his shoulders and Rayce's eyes widened in disbelief for a moment before he realized that nothing had changed with his connection to the Hunt; even Gwyn had been able to remove the cloak, its binding always intended to be more symbolic than literal.

Iarlath undid the harness that held Rayce's staff and it clattered to the floor of the cavern. The Faerie ripped away the Shadowhunter's black tunic and let it fall, leaving Rayce bare from the waist up. Pulling a black-handled silver whip from his belt almost reverently, Iarlath backed away from Rayce and waited for his King's command to begin the punishment.

The King's deep voice was heavy. "The Eternal Forest must be sated, and if it cannot have the blood it craved, it shall have yours instead." His hand flicked toward Iarlath and then fell back into his lap tiredly. Rayce heard the Forest's scream of rage once more in his memory and realized belatedly that the wail had been extended to the King as well; a child throwing a tantrum at its father's feet. No wonder the summons had come so quickly.

Rayce closed his eyes, trembling imperceptibly, and he reached for Sera with his heart. He didn't wish for a second that she was here, for her to see him like this, but he could borrow her strength, wrap himself in memories of her to block out the pain. He could almost feel her pressed up against his back, and he felt his lips curve up as he remembered waking up next to her in Idris after a perfect night together. He ached to have those hours back, to be with her just one more time.

The first crack of the whip slashed down viciously with only a moment's warning as he heard it whistle through the air when Iarlath drew back for the strike. His whole body tensed up, bucking forward under the searing lash, but the King's strangle-hold on his voice kept him from crying out, and he was bitterly pleased that they wouldn't have the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

He clenched his eyes closed and drew Sera back to him. He could feel her hands on his face, stroking his cheekbones tenderly, and he sighed silently. Sera.

Then the second blow fell, carving a bloody line down his back, and he sagged forward again, pain ripping through him as he gasped soundlessly.

"You will count the lashes out loud, child. It has been nearly twenty years since I've listened to the sweet screams of the Nephilim under my whip - I won't be cheated now. More lashes can be added if you require additional motivation to obey." He paused, waiting for Rayce to respond.

Boiling rage twisted inside Rayce. His features hardened, eyebrows drawing down as his mouth twisted. "Two," he seethed through his teeth, the King's gag released. Shame burned through him at his submission to the Unseelie's dark game, but he had already lost this round. All that was left was to survive and win the war. He'll pay for this, I swear it.

Satisfaction almost glowed in the sorcerer's yellow eyes, and he sent the silver length of his whip slicing through air and flesh once more.

Rayce's breath rushed out of him as he half-screamed, half-grunted hoarsely. A trio of burning welts bled across his back, and his blood ran freely now. His fingernails dug into the bark as he fought back against the pain. It was harder to remember Sera now. "Three."

Iarlath's laughter filled the warded room. No one outside would be able to hear the torture within. His amusement seemed to bounce off the walls until it sounded like two voices cackling, but Rayce couldn't reconcile the thought of laughter with the dark King who looked so exhausted.

His knees buckled as the fourth lash fell across the first three and a scream ripped its way free from his throat. The leather cords cut brutally into his wrists as he writhed and tried to get his feet back under him. He panted, chest heaving as tears blurred his vision. His head fell forward, and hot streaks ran down his cheeks.

"Another, to help you remember?" Iarlath called out sweetly.

"Four," Rayce gasped, still struggling to stand.

Red coloured his vision when he lifted his head and confusion filled him as he tried to understand where it was coming from.

A calloused hand reached out to lift Rayce's chin and his heart sank.

"No..." he whispered.

"You'll have to beg more prettily than that, princeling," Iarlath taunted, unable to see the spectre of Sebastian Morgenstern standing before his son.

Another crack split the air and the whip cut more deeply than any of the previous strikes, either on purpose or accidentally; Rayce couldn't tell. His fingers curled up in agony and his entire body stiffened as he tried to escape the searing blow, unwillingly crying out again. Sweat dampened his white locks and trickled down his temple.

Sebastian shook his head in disapproval. "I bore this much better than you, Rayce, and I doubt that the Faerie has as strong an arm as Valentine did."

"Five," Rayce choked out. Fire raced unchecked across his back and he tried to blink away the sight of his father. You aren't real! He couldn't tell if he screamed it out loud or in his head, but it never seemed to matter.

Sebastian unzipped the scarlet jacket he wore and shrugged out of it, dropping it carelessly to the stone floor of the cavern. He turned so that Rayce could see the raised pattern of scars that disfigured his father's pale skin. Horror flooded through Rayce even as the sixth lash sliced into him brutally. He could taste blood, but he couldn't remember if it was because he had bitten his lip or because his throat had been ripped raw.

Turning his head so that he could watch his son's reaction, Sebastian's lips curved up into a tiny smile as he heard the boy faintly count, "Six." He circled around to survey the damage and let out a low whistle as the next line split Rayce's skin and the blood ran thicker.

"You're more and more like me every time I see you," Sebastian observed, running one slim finger down his son's back between two of the lacerations.

"I'm-" Rayce's head lolled sideways and his thoughts scattered, broken by the blinding pain of the whip. "I don't have to-" he whispered.

"If you can't keep count, we'll have to begin again," the sorcerer teased.

Rayce shook his head, trying to clear it. This was too much. His mind was paralyzed in a haze of pain. How many? How many left? How many more can I take? Panic gripped him at the thought of starting over. "Seven," he croaked.

Sebastian crossed back in front of him and sighed heavily. "I just don't understand why you're fighting me so hard." He tenderly brushed a spill of hair away from Rayce's left eye, the black iris almost identical to his father's. "Do you have any idea how much easier everything becomes when you let go of all your illusions?"

Rayce staggered again as Iarlath's whip laid into him for the eighth time, high on his right shoulder, drawing a whole new world of pain from a place that hadn't yet started to go numb. His breath hissed in and out unevenly, but he remembered to count, fearful. "Eight," he slurred.

He closed his eyes, but he couldn't block out his father's hypnotizing voice. "You shouldn't have to live a lie, Rayce. You are my son, a Morningstar. Accept what you are! You are a killer. Stop pretending!"

Rayce wept helplessly under the twin onslaughts against his body and mind, from both sorcerer and phantom. The Unseelie King's words whispered in his mind again, 'You are a slave and nothing more.' He felt again the Eternal Forest's crushing greed and hunger for blood. Was this to be his life now? Was this all he had left to look forward to? A coldness crept through him, soothing the inferno raging across his back. Could his father be right?

Lost in a fantasy where pain was numbed, he barely registered the ninth blow, and only absently counted it. He dared to imagine casting off the heavy weight of guilt that he carried for everything that had happened, for the lives he had taken. Because his father was right. He was a killer. He'd been trained for it all his life. How much blood was on his hands just since his mother had died? Since meeting Sera?

Sera.

The fantasy shattered. Can't lose her. He gritted his teeth in concentration. The icy numbness vanished as he reached out for Sera with all the remaining strength in his heart, and Sebastian snarled in displeasure. Rayce pushed him aside with his mind and strained to hold on to Sera. Help me!

A ghostly apparition rippled to life for a moment in front of him and his eyes opened in shock. Sera!

The tenth lash split the air like a thunderclap and dug another grisly furrow, forcing the air from his lungs once more as he hissed, "Ten."

Rayce saw panic reflected in Sera's eyes, and he watched as she screamed his name silently, throwing her head back in frustration before vanishing as quickly as she had appeared. He hung limply from the leather cords as blood streamed down his back and shock set in. Sebastian... Sera... Am I going mad?

He heard the Unseelie King say something in a low voice to his bloodthirsty advisor, and then there was the sound of shuffling feet over Rayce's laboured breathing. Creeping tendrils of magic enfolded Rayce and he gasped at the pressure on his wounds. He didn't have any fight left in him to even try to resist as his head lifted at the King's unspoken command.

"You will do your duty," the Faerie Lord said quietly, holding Rayce's eyes with his own stern gaze. "And you will bear these scars as a reminder of the respect that is due to a true son of the Morning Star." His voice dropped to a whisper. "My name will not pass your lips again. You are not fit to speak it."

The King of the Unseelie Court left him there, bound and bleeding, as the twisted branches shivered and dipped down to allow the scarlet leaves to caress his back lovingly, soaking up the sacrifice. Rayce shuddered in horror at the dry, skittering touch as it brushed against him.

He lost track of time as he remained suspended almost insensate under the branch of the quickbeam to endure the sickening feeding, but it ended abruptly as a knife severed his bonds and he collapsed at the base of the tree.

When he woke, the cloak of the Hunt had been returned to his shoulders, and he lay shivering in its folds as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

He bitterly regretted the loss of his stele in the wilds of deep Faerie. Hunters healed faster than most, but it wouldn't be pretty. The image of his father's back flashed across his mind again and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold on to himself.

I don't want to be like you.