Tegwyn’s eyes flick my way. Before, his pupils were black slices cutting through the gold of his burning eyes, but now, they’re soft and rounded.
“I promise,” he replies, his voice sincere. “Now go.”
With a deep breath, I push through the door, eager to put the tavern behind me.
But then Lord Valent’s smooth, lilting tone carries across the room, making me freeze mid-step. “So long, Ivy sweet. Maybe one day, when this Rogue is finally bored with you, you can make your way back to me.”
Wind brushes at the back of my neck, and when I turn around, a scream bursts from my throat.
Tegwyn presses the iron cross against Lord Valent’s cheek, his eyes ablaze, and I swear I’m looking at the devil.
He’s absolutely insane, vanishing behind a cloud of smoke as he burns the Lord’s cheek, and soon all I can see are those yellow eyes.
“Try seducing beautiful women now with a face like charred meat, you fucking bastard!”
Lord Valent roars in pain, and I watch helplessly, wishing I could do something to stop this madness, but I’m frozen.
Forever the helpless damsel.
The smell. It’sindescribable… Iron truly is lethal to the Fae.
Finally, I muster some strength, shouting from the top of my lungs, “Tegwyn, stop!”
To my relief, the faerie yields at the sound of my voice, and that’s all the time the high lord needs. He wraps his cold fingers around Tegwyn’s throat, throwing him down onto the table to choke the very essence from his lungs, and Tegwyn succumbs—quickly.
One squeeze from those cruel fingers, and he will leave this world forever.
The rest of the Fae cheer Lord Valent on, and several even exchange gold. They truly are awful. How can they take delight in this?
That’s when a mace swings across the table, almost lopping the head clean off Tegwyn, and I jump, gazing up at the hulking barkeep.
Lord Valent glares at him, irritated, but the barkeep merely sneers, indicating his head at his weapon. “If ye don’t clear off right now, YourLordship, then the next swing will aim for yer head!”
Lord Valent bares his teeth, eyes burning a deep, hellish red. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
The ogre shrugs, “Some posh Unseelie twat who’s farfrom his castle? That much I can gather. Don’t fuck around with us Rogues. We won’t take ye shit here.”
Lord Valent weighs up his options, glancing around the bar. The other patrons have found their courage now that their barkeep has taken his stand, and His Lordship is greatly outnumbered.
Finally, he peers down at Tegwyn, letting go of his throat. Then he straightens, wiping at an imaginary piece of lint on his doublet as he heads for the door. “Well, I know when I’m not wanted.”
I freeze when he brushes past me, yet he doesn’t spare me a second glance. Instead, he summons the door, vanishing into the night.
Tegwyn remains on the table, breathing heavily as his lungs grasp for air, and I don’t think—I rush to his side, gripping his cheeks. “Tegwyn, are you all right?”
Dread slithers down my spine when I spy the state he’s in. His cheeks are gaunt, and his skin is wan and glossy with sweat.
Yet at the sound of my voice, he stirs, opening his eyes. I gaze into a pair of gleaming slits, and when he grins that vulpine smile, exposing his fangs, I almost weep.
“Still breathing, I’m afraid, princess.”
Something between a laugh and a cry escapes me, and I never thought I’d see the day I would be relieved to hear his voice. At least someone in this tavern cares whether he lives or not. Faeries can be so cruel, even to their own kind.
Tegwyn sits up straight, clutching at his throat, but before I can inspect his injury, a cough interrupts us. We look up at the same time to find the barkeep hovering above us. “Hate to break up this touchin’ moment, but it’s time ye buggered off!”
Tegwyn gives a half-hearted laugh, sliding off the table. He sways, unbalanced, and fear lances through my chest.
“Save your breath, Stan. We were just leaving.”
