* * *
I'm woken in the middle of the night by the sound of footsteps.
I open my eyes but keep my body still, my back aching where it’s pressed against the rough bark of the tree. These high-fae soldiers are experienced, and though not a word is spoken or even a limb moved, the camp is alert and ready for whoever is approaching. At the last moment, I feel a blanket of magic that isn't my own fall over me, a rudimentary and feeble concealment at best, but it does the trick well enough.
When the incoming soldiers break through the tree line around us, not a single one does more than glance in my direction, clearly seeing nothing other than the tree itself.
Muscle memory of the life I left behind kicks in, and I take stock of the situation. There are twenty soldiers, all of them high fae and well armed. They all wear the same uniform and fur-lined cloaks, but the blue tone is slightly different to those worn by the Savage Prince and his men, a shade or two off. I don’t doubt it’s intentional—nothing the high fae ever do is by accident—and it has me questioning their loyalty to their kingdom and the rightful heir.
One of the soldiers steps forward, his stance wide and cocky as he drops one hand to the pommel of his sword. “Prince Soren, we were not expecting to find you out here! We were unaware of your plans to travel so far from home.”
The Savage Prince stares back at the speaker, who hasn't bothered to remove his helmet. If the Unseelie Court is anything like the Seelie, it’s a clear act of disrespect toward the male who will someday be their king. The tension that radiates through the air is thick, like a force pressing against my chest.
A fight could break out at a moment's notice.
We're outnumbered three to one, and if any of them manage to kill the prince who is using magic to cover me, I'll be forced into action that I’m not sure I want to take to defend these high fae males who aren’t worth the efforts. My scars prickle as the Fates send a warning—that same tugging feeling toward my chosen mate—but I have nothing but apathy to offer as I watch the confrontation play out.
“I was unaware that I’m answerable to you, Norok. Many things must have changed since I was last in Yris.”
The soldier finally removes his helmet, and there's nothing to say about his appearance other than he’s an Unseelie prince. The same ingredients, just stamped out in a slightly different face, perfection that does exactly nothing for an imperfect witch such as myself.
Norok looks around once more, his eyes sharp, and the corner of his mouth turns up in an arrogant way. “I was sent on patrol through the marshlands by the regent. Witches have been reported in the area, and it's my job to know who’s traveling through the kingdom. You didn’t send your ruler any information of such a plan.”
He knows they’re hiding something.
The Savage Prince stretches his legs in front of him, toward the flames, looking casual and unaffected by this line of questioning. The soldiers around the camp shift on their feet, widening their own stances a little, as though his feigned nonchalance is a sign of something to come.
I want to be as unaffected as he is, and yet, my years of training kick in. I take in every little detail of Norok and his soldiers, noting which parts of them are tensing, watching their faces for signs of intent, squirreling away information to be used in the future—whatever is required to fulfill my fate and be done with it.
The Savage Prince shrugs and drawls, “My uncle rules the land as decreed by the Unseelie Courts, but he does not own my waking hours or dictate where I choose to go. I am a free male of this land, and certainly not answerable to the likes of you.”
Norok doesn’t like this response, and he definitely does not like the Savage Prince.
He takes two swaggering steps toward the fire before the surly Prince Tauron steps smoothly in front of him, his face cold and impassive as he stares him down.
He speaks softly, but in the dead of the night I hear him well enough. “You know what happened last time you started this fight, Norok. Do you really want to heal for months again? There are no healers left in the land to cut that time down for you.”
No healers.
Possibly the saddest words to come out of any of their mouths so far, and my gut churns. There’s no one left to help those in need, entire generations destroyed by this pointless and blood-soaked war.
Norok stares at him a moment longer before a slow smile stretches over his lips. “We’re just passing through, no need for such fun and games. We heard a rumor that you picked up a prisoner, but unless you're hiding it under a rock, I suppose that's not true.”
None of the soldiers move, not even the tiniest flinch in my direction, and Tauron flicks a hand around the area. “If you can find a prisoner, then you can have it.”
Norok looks around once more, but his eyes skip over me without noticing a thing. It’s strange to me that none of them can feel the magic in the air, but the high fae of the Unseelie Court have fallen far from the old ways.
As the soldiers finally leave, melting back into the night as though they’d never been here in the first place, I suppose that worked out in our favor.
Long after their footsteps fade, silence continues to shroud the camp, and when I finally give up on sleep altogether and stare into the night with the murmur of the trees growing more desperate in my heart, I can still feel that magic pressing against my skin. It’s there as clearly as my own, protection given only because there was no other choice.
CHAPTERFOUR
Soren
The fire does nothing to warm the chill in my bones. It has nothing to do with the cold night that has settled around us, or the fact that my uncle’s lackeys are closing in around me no matter how hard I planned otherwise. Someone in my household is reporting to the regent despite my best efforts to flush spies out of Yregar. The small talk around me can't draw me out of the depths of my fury, because nothing is going to change the fact that chained to a tree a few paces away from us and blanketed by Tyton’s glamor is my mate.
Who happens to be a fucking witch.
