My stomach drops.
The Outland soldiers won't stop to ask questions, they’ll kill any witch they find…but the only witch still left at Yregar is my fated mate, in their direct path, whispering prayers to the dead. After seeing her wield that sword of hers, I’m not so certain the Outland soldiers would come away from an attack against her the victors.
Roan’s father or his most loyal soldiers will fall.
I swing onto Nightspark without a word, Roan cursing behind me as he calls for his own horse where it’s still saddled and ready in the stables. I kick Nightspark straight into a gallop and jump and weave through the debris of bodies. His hooves are loud on the cobblestones as we race to beat the Outland soldiers to the outer wall. The witch has eyes only for our dead, ignorant to the danger approaching as her kindness in seeing to their passing.
The village is all but destroyed as I ride through, buildings torn apart and burned. The bodies of our enemy cover the doorsteps, and some even fell within the houses they were ransacking until their demise, hundreds of my people now needing shelter within Yregar Castle until we can restore their homes. This village has stood here for thousands of years, and it’s now barely more than rubble.
I kick Nightspark again, pushing him as hard as his legs will go. The banners of Snowsong approach, the calls of the soldiers ringing through the air, and the witch finally looks up and sees them. She rises to her feet, but even as they descend upon her, she doesn't draw a weapon. She just stands there and watches them swarm.
As calls for her death ring through the air, Roan calls out from behind me his own orders to stand down, and the Outland soldiers slow a fraction in their approach. It's just enough for me to reach her first, Nightspark brought to an abrupt halt and the momentum almost throwing me out of the saddle as I place his body between the witch and the high fae soldiers.
The group of them circle us as though ready to watch me kill her, their eyes bright and cold beneath their helmets, their faces shielded as they stare down at her with contempt. Even as her own eyes glow back at them with magic, she doesn't cower and no harsh words cross her lips as her righteous fury emanates.
She's not going to accept our apologies or admissions of wrongdoings easily.
“A witch? Prince Soren, what is the meaning of this?” The words ring out, and the hooves approaching finally come to a halt.
Roan answers his father. “This is Prince Soren’s mate, Rooke, determined by the Fates themselves, and the battle of Yregar was won at her hand. The siege was held off by the high fae, but the enemy was destroyed by her.”
The soldiers glance first at each other and then at the mounds of dead that surround us, disbelief cutting deep lines around their mouths. When they finally look back at her, they size up the Ravenswyrd witch and decide for themselves that she's nothing to be concerned about. Her slight stature in comparison to their horses is a cunning ruse of the Fates.
If only they knew the power that lies within her, or the mastery in the swing of her sword. They missed out on the humbling spectacle that my own soldiers witnessed. It was an important lesson learned by us all, one I won’t soon forget.
“Thank you for heeding our call for aid, Father. Please ride with me back to Yregar to help with the cleanup. The gate and inner wall need to be repaired with haste—they’re our only protection against the witches' return.”
His words are formal, full of respect, and the soldiers finally shift away from the witch. Their horses step away from her as they reluctantly leave her alive, a murmur of disgruntlement working through them all.
The older Prince Roan guides his horse over to Roan and clasps his shoulder, pride shining in his blue eyes as he stares at his beloved son. “I’m desperate for news of Airlie, but I won’t ask in front of the witch. Let's leave it behind so you can tell me of my daughter's health.”
A ripple of irritation breaks through the protective haze clouding my mind at his dismissive words towards my mate, the witch who has saved us all today and proved just how obedient to the Fates she’s been all of this time. She chose to stay in the dungeons and endure our treatment, she chose to leave the iron cage behind to break the curse and save the baby, and then again she chose to come out here and fight for Yregar. She didn’t deserve the mistreatment or scorn then and she certainly doesn’t deserve it now.
With a deep breath, I remind myself that Prince Roan has just arrived and has no idea of what the witch has done for us here.
None of the contempt that Aura feels for Roan is reflected in the older man's regard for his son's mate, accepting her into his heart and family with nothing but joy. There's no deception or manipulation in his words—he’s desperate to know if the female he treasures as a daughter survived the birthing bed.
The messengers haven’t dispersed any information of the baby throughout the kingdom. Aura’s own messengers were stopped before they made it out of the gates; there’s been not a word breathed about Roan’s miracle, a healthy wife and son.
His own golden eyes flick toward the witch, and he holds out a hand, gesturing at her as his father scowls. “Prince Soren’s Fates-blessed mate is a gifted healer and saw Airlie through the birth. The rumors that run rife through the kingdom are true, Father, the curse is broken. My wife is alive and well, waiting for us in the safety of the castle with our son. Your grandson, the Snowsong heir.”
Ripples of disbelief and whoops of joy work through Roan’s most loyal males as his father jerks him forward in his saddle for a raucous embrace, all of the celebration he deserves but was robbed of by the witches’ attack. The soldiers are staring at the witch with far too much interest for my liking, and I guide Nightspark to step around her, blocking her from the sight line of the high fae. The soldiers look away as I move between them, their gazes dropping in respect for me, but they murmur speculations of her to each other regardless.
I want her out of here and away from this scrutiny.
I hold out a hand to her with the intention of carrying her behind me on Nightspark for the trip back to Yregar, but she stares at my hand like it's a death curse.
When her eyes flick up to meet mine, she grimaces. “That doesn't look like begging to me. I'd rather walk until my feet bleed.”
She speaks in the old language, obscuring our words from the soldiers around us, but the elder Prince Roan hears them and understands, his brow furrowing. His son slaps him on the shoulder to distract him, and they begin to walk their horses back toward the village.
The Outland soldiers all follow and leave me to my witch mate, the cold fury radiating from her, and the calm before the storm.
CHAPTERFORTY-FIVE
Rooke
The effects of the earth's power still thrum through my veins as I stare up at Prince Soren, sitting rigidly in the saddle on his beast of a warhorse’s back, the creature snorting and pawing at the cobblestones in his impatience to follow the others back to the castle.
