It doesn’t change the fact that she’s right.
We have gardeners, but none of them are experts in medicinal plants. They've cared for the orchards, but there's been nothing they could do to stop the slow decay of our land. Their job has always been to keep the gardens at Yregar pretty and pleasing for the Unseelie Court’s arrival, relying on the healers who once kept the garden in their own quarters to grow their own ingredients and mix their tinctures for the castle and all of those who live within Yregar’s walls. That knowledge is lost to us now.
Without a word passed between any of us, the witch nods firmly. “I’m the only choice, and before you start on your usual tirade of speculation about my motives, you should know I’d rather not leave the princess or the baby.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “You don't trust Firna with them? Your arrogance is shocking, considering your position.”
She raises an eyebrow right back at me, turning from my cousin to face me fully. “And what position do you think I'm in, Prince Soren? As far as I'm concerned, the high fae are in dire need of aid and, though you’ve all treated me appallingly since I arrived back in the Southern Lands, I'm still standing here and offering it. Perhaps you should learn some manners and stop insulting the healer who just saved the future of your race.”
Tauron isn’t the only one who’d like to slit this woman's throat, and the taunting gleam in those silver eyes of hers says she knows it too. Never have I hated the position we’re in more than now as this witch looks around at the high fae and finds nothing but desperation.
Firna steps into the room, a bundle of clothing in her hands, which she holds out to the witch and says in an urgent tone, “I’ll take you to the guest rooms and get you cleaned up so you can head off with Prince Soren now. You must make haste and return to the princess.”
The witch takes the clothing and looks back at me, an eyebrow raised. “Are you going to send a guard with me, or am I safe to step out of this room without you all assuming I'm going to stage a coup?”
I flick a hand at her, ignoring the incredulous look that Tauron shoots me, and Firna hurries her out without another word.
The moment the door shuts behind them my cousin turns on me, his lip curling as he snarls, “So we're just going to let her wander around the castle as she pleases now?”
My temper finally boils over at his pig-headed insolence. “She destroyed the iron door of her cell. There isn't much we can do, short of cutting off her head and forsaking my fate all together.”
He growls back at me, but my own gaze hardens, my words a command. “Find Darick, put an escort together, and get ready to ride out. We’ll cross at the fae door.”
As Tauron leaves, Airlie calls to me softly from her room. I go to her, blinking in the darkness until my eyes adjust.
The space has been cleaned, everything back to the very precise setup that Airlie prefers, with the addition of the few items Firna has been able to find for the baby. The small crib has been cleaned and placed beside her bed, white oak carved with the Celestial family crest and lined with silver and blue blankets.
The baby is already sleeping in it, sucking on his fist and grunting. He’s dressed in a tiny blue suit that’s still too big, with polished silver buttons and embroidered snowflakes on the sleeves. Where Firna found it, I couldn’t guess, but he’s warm and content.
It strikes me that Airlie hasn’t told us his name yet, but until Roan gets here to see him, I won’t ask. Names are important to the high fae, a tie to family and the Fates, and to ask about it now would be a great insult to them both.
Airlie stands next to the crib, bathed and looking more like herself. She’s dressed in comfortable clothing, another simple shift dress with buttons down on the front so she can feed her son with ease, and her hair is brushed and braided back. With the color back in her cheeks, you can’t tell that only hours ago she was desperately fighting for her son's life as the curse loomed to send him to the funeral pyres.
“Thank you for doing this, Soren,” she says, a hand wrapping around the crib as she smiles up at me. “I’ll be safe with Firna until you both return.”
I nod to her, the decision made, and step back out of the bedroom, leaving Tyton to watch over them both until her husband returns.
The air in their rooms is too hot and presses against my skin, suffocating me as the weight of the entire kingdom falls on me. Every step I take needs to be calculated and perfect, never erring from the right path, or else we'll all die in this endless cycle of suffering.
The witch steps back into the room behind Firna, having quickly cleaned herself and dressed in riding clothes, charcoal-colored pants and a linen shirt with a cloak over her shoulders. Her hair is brushed and braided back, long tendrils framing her face where they’ve escaped from the ribbon. Her steely eyes are as sharp as they always are, but there’s color to her cheeks as she smooths a hand down the fabric, a furrow between her brows.
At the sight of her, my stomach churns and I grimace. She’s clean and confidently prepared for the ride ahead of us. It was easier to think of her as a mindless, raving witch when she was filthy, but now I’m struck by the quiet beauty of her. There’s no finery or fussing necessary to make her shine; if anything, those things would be a detraction. No matter how hard I fight against them, the Fates have wisely chosen me a mate who will make me question everything.
Including myself, for daring to find something I crave within her, the sensation only growing more insistent as I fight it.
My tone is cutting as I snap, “Can you ride a horse?”
She sends me a sardonic look. “I’m not sure I would’ve lasted in the Sol Army if I couldn't, but rest assured, I won’t be left behind.”
Firna glances between the two of us and then bows her head at me. “I’ll take care of the princess while you’re gone. The witch has instructed me on the prince’s care, and I won’t let any harm come to them.”
It’s a solemn vow, and one I am staking their lives on. Firna would lay her life down for either of them, I knew it before she dove between them and the witch.
With a scowl, I nod. “No one is to talk about the baby until Roan arrives, not a single whisper. The maids are all to stay in the castle until then. No one is allowed in or out of the castle walls until we return, not even the regent or his guards. Make sure it’s known that to speak of Airlie, her son, or anything that has taken place today is to die.”
A single detail could be used against us, the pretty tales and dark seductions of my uncle needing only the spark of an idea to wrap around your throat. I’ve watched him cleave families and bloodlines apart with nothing more than a single grain of truth, his cunning too great to be dismissed.
The witch watches me carefully, weighing my words, but Firna only bows her head once more. “I’ll be sure they all know, Your Highness.”
