Prince Mercer's eyebrows creep up, and he reluctantly bows his head in her direction, a brief jerk but an attempt nonetheless. “A force strong enough to send Kharl fleeing is a powerful thing indeed. I look forward to your nuptials and coronation after such a long wait.”
Mercer is a very clever man, showing respect but gouging Rooke’s reputation in the same breath by questioning her long absence. He could live and thrive in Yris with such tactics, and I’m tempted to drag his rotting corpse behind Nightspark for using that tone with my Fates-blessed mate even after my warning.
Rooke takes it without comment, bowing back to him respectfully, though her eyes are cold.
I’m not so forgiving, and neither is Roan, his eyes narrowing dangerously at the Prince of Yrell. “Rooke’s aid is a generous offering to Yrell and our kingdom, one she gives freely and with mercy far beyond that shown to her by the high fae. Any slight against her is a slight against Prince Soren, treason I’ll be the first to rectify.”
There’s a moment of pause, Mercer still carefully avoiding looking at Rooke entirely lest the Snowsong heir and I see the contempt he has for her, but then the sentries call down warnings of the advancing armies, and Rooke shifts subtly inher saddle, an irritation that we’re wasting the final moments of preparation we have on high-fae posturing.
It’s not about that, though.
Like icy fingers wrapping around my throat, I know with absolute certainty, her life is more important to me than every high-fae royal in this city combined, no matter how loyal or old their bloodline might be. The hold I have over my temper quickly grows precarious and the possessive nature of a mated Unseelie high fae writhes within my blood. As though she knows of the storm raging within me, Rooke refuses to meet my gaze as she ignores my attempts to reach out to her through our mind connection.
Ignorant to the conflict plaguing me, Mercer clears his throat. “We should make haste. The witches will be here by dawn. Come, Prince Soren, let me show you what preparations we've made to defend Yrell's greatness from the stinking masses."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rooke
Soren rides toward the outer wall with Prince Mercer, Roan and a handful of soldiers from each household in tow, leaving me behind with Tyton in charge of Yregar’s soldiers. I wait, still in my saddle, until he directs me to dismount and follow him, the rest of the soldiers from Yregar moving without the need for a command.
As we step into the great hall, I shift my way carefully around until I stand beside Reed. He gives me a fraction of a smile before it disappears, and he flicks stern eyes away from me as though it’s a crime to meet my gaze.
“We're not supposed to talk. You should go back to Prince Tyton’s side and do as he instructs.”
Scowling, I send a sidelong look to the prince. “Who said we’re not allowed to speak to one another? No one told me.”
Tyton looks over his shoulder at us both, huffing under his breath at us. “I don't care who either of you speak to so long as you're discussing the best ways to defend Yrell, the only task of importance right now.”
I don't need that reminder but the soldiers around us all drop their gazes, directing their interest away from the Outland soldier and me. Why we had it in the first place is baffling.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Is our loyalty in question, Reed? If Yregar’s salvation wasn’t good enough to sway the high fae of my integrity, then nothing ever will be, and may the Fates have mercy on such ignorant fae, because I have no patience left to coddle them. Saving Yregar by falling on your own sword for the greater good was more heroic than sitting by while the castle fell for the sake of following a misguided order. Any who question it, or Prince Soren’s humility in his mercy, should remember that they’re alive to do so thanks in no small part to you.”
It's maybe a little dramatic in its wording but I know how to dance around the high fae and their convoluted ways as well as the next lower fae. Alwyn meets my eye with a quirk of his own mouth and an approving look before his head ducks away once more. Whatever the household may gossip about Reed's actions, the soldiers who stood steady on the walls respect him.
Reed doesn't answer me though, never one to question the royalty he serves, and I turn back to Tyton with a hard look, daring the male to question me. “I'm going to look at the inner wall and pace it out. There are a few obvious fixes I can think of that won't take much time or resources, but I need to be sure they’ll work.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Take Reed with you if you're so intent on being friends. Alwyn, too. Try to contain some of your fire to direct at the witches, though, there’s no use wasting it on the rest of us just because you’re at the end of your tether.”
There’s an amused lilt to his voice, but when Reed steps closer to my side once more, Tyton’s demeanor changes, hardening until there’s no question of his seriousness. “You're guarding Rooke, not Yrell. Her safety comes before all else. Ensure that no harm comes to her, or it’s your head. I speakwith the full authority of Prince Soren and the Celestial line—any soldier who disregards her safety is enacting treason and will face the full consequences.”
A hush settles around the courtyard at his words, a firm declaration after Prince Mercer’s own hesitance at my arrival. I glance around but find no obvious rebellion to his command; either the soldiers were prepared for it or are loyal enough to Soren to accept it without question.
Reed bows deeply in return. “On my life, no harm shall come to Prince Soren’s Fates-blessed mate.”
I want to roll my eyes at the high-fae pomp and pageantry, irritated that it’s needed in the first place. Despite my frustrations, I watch it play out without so much as a smirk. Tyton is making a display of this to assure my safety, I won’t be an ungrateful idiot about it. My mother raised me better than that.
The soldiers from Yrell and Yregar clear out of my path as my escort and I move hastily to the gate, no time left to waste on the opinions of Prince Mercer’s household. The courtyard is still a hive of activity and, though there’s some disdain mixed in with the curious looks we get, no one has time to question Tyton’s commands.
I reinforce the gates with ease, pouring my magic into the ghastly iron and renewing the ancient hinges crafted by the First Fae, just as I did back at Yregar. The well here is taller and longer, but the structure is made the same way and easy to navigate, my eyes slipping shut as my power flows.
“How much energy does this magic cost you, especially after you've just given a sacrifice to the forest?” Reed asks, his gaze shrewd as it lingers on the glowing expanse of my hands against the iron.
The horrid metal makes my skin tingle, but it’s far easier to handle than the disgusting witcheswane that soaks everythingaround me. “The sacrifice to Elms Walk was nothing more than a show of good faith, a taste of the power we hold and will someday go back to returning to the land. A true act of sacrifice requires a lot more blood than that.”
Reed’s mouth tightens, his reply curt. “I remember.”
I keep my eyes closed and pull away only when the last of the fortification takes hold. As I step back, the strength of the ancient stones radiates before me. There's no visible change to the gate but it could stand sure against ten thousand witches pressing against it, or a blast of power from Kharl himself.
