I seize my chance the very next morning. Lazily draped along one of the daybeds in the throne hall — my head resting on Bronwyn's lap. The distinctive sound of Alfie's boots tapping along the old stones, getting louder and louder. It is somewhat later in the morning, bountiful rays filtering in through the open hall windows. Alfie will be returning from wherever he spent the night last, no doubt.

My family make time for each other. We always have. In moments like this, I really do cherish them. Bronwyn isn't the slightest bit bothered at me lounging by her side. She plays absent-mindedly with my hair as we converse in light tones. And Cecilia, even while concentrating on her manuscript, interjects occasionally with her worldly wisdom. If she isn't pacing back and forth, of course. Mum, in some form of news meeting with the court messengers, watches us out of the corner of her eye. Out of clear habit, I reckon.

As soon as Alfie strides through the archway, Cecilia wraps her arms around him.

"Back so promptly?" Bronwyn mocks Alfie across the hall. He grins at her words, a familiar glowy look about him. Bronwyn has always jested that after Alfie's 'ventures' he retains a new lease of life, per se. Sapping the youth out of all those he sleeps with. As Cecilia pulls away, she straightens Alfie's deep, navy, shirt collar.

"She wasn't terribly exciting, I must admit,"

"Who?" Bronwyn questions, frowning playfully.

"Afraid I cannot disclose that information to anyone." Alfie chuckles. "She has rather sharpened nails that would pierce through my eyes if I were to ever utter a word." Cecilia sighs and returns to her pacing.

"Surprised they haven't already." She murmurs, eyes flicking up and down the pages. "Ay!" Alfie scoffs playfully, beginning to wander over to the mantle where Bronwyn and I reside, throwing his coat onto a nearby stray chair.

"So, dear sister, tell me, what's new?"

"Not much, it is good to be home." Bronwyn replies curtly. I can't help but laugh to myself. She does this every time without fail. Goes away for months on end, to places I can't even fathom, with rich cultures, experiences, and folk. Then returns and pretends it was no big deal, and then...

"Oh, but the fruits of the north are just simply exquisite! Oh aye, you know, there was this rather quaint-"

Doesn't stop talking about them.

We sit and listen to her stories for a good part of an hour. Stories of the north; where she has apparently been touring. Of the deep caverns of iridescent ice in Munro Tuach, the northern lochs and their secrets hiding beneath. But most importantly of the fae folk. Socialites of the sky court, common folk, traders, and warriors. She tells it all. Then, when her tales finally draw to an end, I grasp my opportunity. "Have you decided yet?" I ask, watching Alfie hesitantly.

"On what?" He laughs vacantly.

"The human." Closing my eyes, I pretend to be disinterested, merely making conversation. "Not exactly, but the idea of enchanting her till she is no longer in control of her senses passed my mind the other night." "Rather fitting, don't you agree?"

"You could make her carve her own skin off?" Bronwyn suggests. "That was quite a common practice in the north long ago. This sky knight was telling me all about it." Alfie nods in concurrence. "And there's always the classic way of making them dance till they drop dead of exhaustion. I love the theatrics of that one..."

"I had a thought." I intervene as slyly as I can, masking my gaze like stone. Heart pounding. My siblings remaining silent in anticipation. "Why not put her... In the pit." I can visibly see the malicious cogs turning in Alfie's mind as he thinks the idea over. I can't decipher what he's making of the proposal, it seems like an idea he would entertain, but then again I'm not so sure. "That would make for a remarkable show, truly." He sneers, the desire for drama finally sinking its familiar hooks deep into his flesh. "The pair of them can fight for their lives, make a game of it. What one will drop first?"

"We should host it on your birthday!" Bronwyn claims excitedly, the festivities already enthralling her mind. "Then it's settled." His smile lingers for a moment more, the idea fully cementing. "Thank you brother."

So I've done it. Condemned her to death, in a most gruesome fashion, with laughable ease. All because she asked me to. Fiona asked me. I didn't employ this; so why does it feel like I did? I can't help it, the feeling gnaws at my stomach, climbs up my throat. That sour feeling. For centuries, fae have persecuted humankind, and really, what's one more in the grand scheme of it?

 ❦