A shot of dread runs through my body, a reaction I can’t even attempt to mask, but I wrench myself away from the panic that follows.
She can't know my fate.
No one can know the entirety of my fate, not now and not ever. The moment those cursed words fell from the Seer’s lips, I sealed them away inside myself, rejecting them entirely. I’ve told no one—no one—that impossible future, and even when Airlie questioned me, I gave her half-truths. No matter the cost, it will not be my fate.
The witch is lying.
She works diligently, seeming ignorant of the maelstrom within me, and her magic pulses out once more, bathing my wound in that cursed light. Before I can find the words to reject her, she speaks once more.
“The Fates do not give us kind and pleasant paths to walk. It’s not their way. Someday, Prince Roan, you will come to accept this, just as I have accepted that the time of the Favored Children is drawing to an end and the line of the Eveningstar witches with it.”
At the sound of my name on her lips, fingertips of icy dread trail down my spine. My head grows lighter, my mind rapidly spiraling into panic of what this could mean, only to be slammed back into the present mess I’m in by the unrelenting agony of my wound as she pushes against it. Her movements are unforgiving, almost torturous, but there’s no questioning her aid as I feel her magic healing me. Aided by her magic, the muscle weaves together once more, and with every breath she takes her eyes shine brighter still with power.
“Your son's life depends on your fate alone,” she murmurs to me.
My gaze snaps to meet hers, the steely look in her glowing eyes sharp enough to cut me to the bone.
It does nothing to dampen my fury or scorn. “And what would a witch in the forest of madness know of such things?”
The words slide out precariously, mixing together as blood loss and pain roll through me in waves. It would be easy for the witch to claim ignorance of them, but she glances up and speaks as though to the ancient woods.
“The trees are older than the Fates, cloaked in the patchwork of destiny since time began, and they cannot be ignored by the high fae forever. The death and decay of our kingdom angers the gods sleeping within, their pain far greater than what the fae folk feel. Your people have forgotten, but the witches of the Ravenswyrd have not, nor will we. You’ll follow the Fates’ designs whether you want to or not, Prince Roan, just as I will.”
The leaves rustle above our heads again, the wind playing in them inconspicuous, and yet… I hear it then, a whisper of oldthat compels this witch's hand. Does that make her worthy of my trust? Certainly not—no witch could ever be held with regard now that Kharl Balzog has called them to arms—but there’s a wisdom in her that curls my gut with shame at my own limited knowledge.
“What is your name, witch?”
“Ellia Eveningstar, Maiden of the Ravenswyrd Coven. Our fates are bound, Prince Roan. Your son will take no breath until you find my daughter.”
Bold yet meaningless words.
I have no son. The witches cursed the high fae centuries ago, and no child has survived birth in decades. My wife, Airlie, and I haven't even discussed the prospect of children while such evil lies blanketed over our kingdom. I know her fate—and mine—well, and I won’t let this witch twist my mind with her cheap tricks.
As though reading my thoughts, she shakes her head at me, the low tones of her murmured words fighting through the haze of my injuries to take form in my mind. “The Elder of the Ravenswyrd Coven is still young, with many years left until I become the Mother. The Fates have many lessons ahead for us all to learn, may they choose mercy.”
The white pinpricks of light grow until my vision disappears entirely, my consciousness slipping away, but one last thought follows me in my desperation.
I will not betray Soren, no matter what my fate demands.
CHAPTER ONE
Soren
Though the courtyard looks more desolate than ever before, Yregar Castle stands tall and unbreached amongst the debris of Kharl’s failed siege.
The acrid scent of burning witches clings to the back of my throat and the smoke hangs low in the air. A fine layer of ash lies over the ancient cobblestones like a mockery of the impending snowfall, every day growing colder with autumn’s passing, but even as the death and destruction of the battle spreads before me in a bleak display of the devastation of war, the Fates sing triumphantly underneath my skin.
The firm hold I had over myself broke the moment Rooke stepped off the inner wall, plunging to the grass below in what I assumed was a suicidal act. There are still hundreds of unanswered questions between us, many possibilities of her intentions for our entwined fates, but a frenzy has taken me over that cannot be shaken.
The same crazed haze that gripped me as I rode out to stop the Outland soldiers from killing Rooke at the destroyedouter wall lingers, and now, I know nothing but the persistent demands of a mated Unseelie high fae male; a seething rage at the mereideaof others looking upon her. The eyes in the courtyard seem countless as they linger onmymate, their numbers growing with my every step until rational thought slips beyond my grasp and my focus centers on spilling blood.
Walking at her side, listening to the labored sounds of her breathing as it grew dangerously ragged with every step, and forced to do nothing as she pushed herself past her limits, I sensed something wake within me. The steadfast grip I held myself in for centuries vanished as though it never existed, leaving behind nothing but pure, possessive,enragedinstinct.
The Unseelie high fae beast seethes within until I forget about my throne, my kingdom, everything I’ve fought so hard for. There's nothing but the sound of my Fates-blessed mate’s heartbeat in my ears, the steady thrumming tune stoking the fire within me until I give myself over to my most base form. The one the Unseelie Court so desperately pretend doesn’t exist within our kind as they drape themselves in their finery and sip their fairy wine in crystal glasses.
Perhaps I truly am nothing but a savage prince.
Whether it’s that or the Fates finally taking control of my mind, weary of waiting for my acceptance, a killing rage clouds my vision until I see red at all who may be a threat to her. I can’t think of anything but getting her away, coveting her, bundling her into my own chambers and securing the doors against any who would dare approach her. Better yet, I’ll keep her there until she knows she belongs to me, the defiance in her eyes as she stared up at me and refused my hand and offer of help after the battle an irrefutable challenge.
