She’s younger than any of the other high fae I’ve met.
That small amount of pixie heritage means the curse didn’t claim her life at her birth, and there's every chance she wasdumped at an orphanage to hide some royal’s secret of a long-forgotten affair with a lower fae. She's only a few decades old and has already known abuse, something awful happening to her between her birth and the goblins finding her.
Her hands spell out heartbreak, and I find myself desperate to draw my sword and behead some of the high fae myself. It will probably be a long time before I find out which one is responsible for this, but I'll happily take my pound of flesh when I do.
“I'll be a good girl. I won't make a noise or try to run away, please don't hurt me. Please don't send me back to them.”
Her eyes are frantic and her movements are jerky, though she signs fluently and without any of the indicators of someone taught later in life. Every inch of her body screams at me in a stream of contradictions;stay away,don't leave me,don't touch me,help me,let me go,don't let me die.
A sorrow takes hold of my heart while rage begins to simmer in my gut.
How in the Fates-great-mercies am I going to move her into the healer's quarters without traumatizing her further? The entire courtyard is writhing with the curious and downright nosy eyes of the entire household, dozens of soldiers, both high fae and Prince Gage's. With centuries of unease and contempt between them, to simply step out of this carriage with her is to risk starting a war between the goblins and the high fae—blood will be spilled without a single question answered.
I look over her once more, a soft and open expression pasted on my face, and the decision is easily made. This trembling female has the full scope of my protection, and no path forward is too difficult for me to maneuver. Whatever it takes, I'll see her through this.
I sign back to her,“I'm going to take you to my healing quarters so we can get you cleaned up and resting safely. Isthere anything that you need before we go? Are you hungry, thirsty, are you in any pain?”
She shakes her head, her hands clutching at her rail thin arms for a moment, fingers digging into the fabric there before her hands move back to me, desperate now someone finally understands her.
“I'll be good. I don't need much space, and I'll sleep on the floor. I'll do whatever you say, your willing slave, just please don't send me back there. I'll do anything you ask of me.”
I don't believe them to be responsible, but I ask anyway,“With the goblins? Why are you afraid to go back to their lands? Whatever has happened to you, I’ll care for you and deal with your abuser.”
She shakes her head, and her hands move quickly. “Yris. Please don't send me back to Yris.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Soren
The goblin soldiers, as immovable as ever, stand guard around the carriage. I recognize enough of the male’s standing before us to guess the same battalion has journeyed to Yregar, fierce scowls fixed on their faces as they wait under their commander’s order. The leader guards Rooke inside the carriage as she collects her gift from the Goblin King, no sign of what it is. I loathe standing cluelessly by, but her warnings still ring in my ears, impossible to ignore.
No alliance can be made with the goblins unless the kingdom is restored and the high fae return to the old ways. With Mercer proving himself to potentially be more of a hinderance to me in the oncoming conflicts than aid, my hopes of forming an alliance with King Galen shifts to a priority.
My command to my entire household went out before we came to meet the goblin soldiers and was clear; every fae under the goblin king’s dominium is to be treated with the same respect as any noble of the Unseelie Court.
Tauron wasn’t pleased but accepted my order, and Tyton was less concerned. Unsurprisingly, Roan seethed with fury. His family has a long and blood-soaked conflict with the Briarfrost bloodline, and the signing of the accords has done little to appease his call for retribution. When he realized I won’t be swayed from seeking out this truce, he bit back his vitriol and now stands at my elbow, feigning his best behavior while his eyes drink in the soldiers in as though searching out some threat or deception to dismiss my plans as misguided.
Airlie pointedly doesn't watch the carriage, an unspoken display of complete trust in Rooke’s actions for all the household to see. Instead, her gaze traces the supply carts as the food is unpacked. Dozens of bags of grains, vegetables, and fruits, slabs of cured meats and countless barrels of various liquids, each item protected by magic on the long journey. The order was double the last, anticipating more fae folk arriving at Yregar seeking refuge and safety. Firna and Airlie also have hopes to start the preparations for the arrival of the Unseelie Court and the festivities of the winter solstice and my marriage.
The two final wagons, laden with building supplies, wait farther back, each of them holding enough goods to make repairs on the rest of the damaged buildings without the aid of Rooke's magic. We'll move the newcomers into the Grand Hall for now, but with the supplies here and the builders eager to start, it won’t be long before more homes in the villages will be ready for them.
The lead goblin soldier oversees the unloading of those building supplies carefully, and when Firna is happy with the provisions being transported, she directs the refugees into the castle. The fae folk are all haggard looking, exhausted, many of them injured.
There's a knock at the carriage door, and the goblin soldier opens it. Rooke steps out with a somber look on her face, andI take half a step forward without thinking before I halt my advance. I’m forced to grit my teeth through another of their interactions, but keeping my temper becomes more difficult with every passing second. Whatever the goblin soldier is saying to Rooke, she’s deeply troubled by it, and no amount of conversation eases her concerns. Finally, she nods to him, but none of her tension eases.
I share a look with Roan over Airlie's head, and Tauron shuffles on his feet at my side, eager for confrontation as he always is. Rooke strides back to me and when she bows deeper to me than ever before, my teeth almost crack under the pressure of my clenched jaw. She doesn't make a show of looking around the courtyard at any of the household—none of this is a spectacle to her anymore. This is entirely for me.
What in the Fates-filledfuckis in that carriage?
"I need to speak with you for a moment— privately, Prince Soren."
It’s as close to pleading as I’ve ever heard from my Fates-blessed mate, and instead of satisfaction my gut roils at the sound. Murmurs sound around the courtyard as I incline my head to her, my eyes still sharp on hers, but she lets out a breath at my agreement.
Her magic spreads out around us before Tyton has a chance to offer his own, the shimmering line of it encasing us in a small bubble, and though speculation runs rife through the crowd, no one seems too concerned by this use of her magic. My soldiers are accustomed to it from Tyton, and the household now trusts my Fates-blessed mate.
Rooke waits as long as it takes for her shield to take form around us before she straightens to meet my eye, her posture widening as though she’s preparing for a battle. "The Goblin King didn't send me a gift. He sent me a victim of the regent and his castle."
The roiling of my stomach grows violent, and my brows furrow tightly, but she doesn't lose her stride. “The goblin soldiers warned me last time they were here—they told me they found a high-fae prisoner being transported across their lands. The Goblin King dealt with the assailants but, no matter their attempts, they couldn't get any sense out of the female."
