Torn in half.
Roan grimaces at the sorrowful murmurs and answering murmurs of his wife. Firna’s dismay at the scarring covering Rooke from her time in the Northern Lands is clear to our keen hearing, and the panic for my mate’s safety that was beginning to subside ignites once more.
Roan grips either side of my face, forcing my gaze to meet his before he says in the old language, “Listen to me, Soren.”
My vision blurs once more, my senses scrambled, and my breathing grows ragged. Sent by the Fates themselves, the monsters she faced were so horrifying that a single image of them alone was enough to change my uncle’s plans. Torn nearly in half, she survived only to return here and die at my hand from that fucking poison.
“There’s much we need to do in the wake of the battle, but it’s imperative that you clear your mind and find yourself on the right path once more before Rooke wakes.” Roan’s voice is unwavering, breaking through some of the chaos that consumes me with his surety. “Your kingdom needs you thinking clearly,and you haven't been since we arrived in Port Asmyr to find the mate the Fates gifted you.”
He gives me one last stern look, his hands still tight on my shoulders. “Go. Clean the witcheswane from your body, send your armor to be scrubbed at the barracks, and burn your clothing. Take the time to clear your head, Soren. I’ll wait here for the healer, and I’ll guard Rooke for you, just as I guard Airlie and our son. There's already too much for you to make amends for without adding poisoning her simply for your own compulsions to that list.”
I take a single deep breath and then force my feet to move, even as the savage Unseelie high fae male that I am at my core rankles against it. The Fates rage at me, but they can fucking rot for all I care now, the cursed path they’ve set before Rooke and I a miserable thing. Another breath, and I’m striding away, deeper into the chambers to my own bathing rooms, now determined to rid myself of the witcheswane and control my senses before the fury consumes what’s left of me.
I scrubuntil I’m certain there’s no trace of poison left, and then once more for good measure. Every inch of my body, my hair, even my fingernails; I’m vicious in my actions until my skin stings from the rough work. As the blood-lust haze finally lifts from my mind, the gut-wrenching and unavoidable truth solidifies.
The sharpness in Rooke’s silver eyes flashes in my mind once more, a reminder unbidden of the strength of the witch the Fates have tied me to, but my gut hollows out at the dangers that lie before us.
The Fates have chosen a mate for me who will defend this kingdom without hesitation or mercy, as steadfast in her convictions as I am in my own, and though she’s nothing like the mate I was imagining for the long centuries I waited for her, now I can’t fathom a better candidate.
I almost killed her.
My enemies are countless, and my resources have been steadily eroded over the centuries of war. My uncle’s reach is far greater than any of us would like to admit, and the moment he hears of what happened at Yregar, he’ll adjust his own campaigns to target Rooke. He commands the armies of the Southern Lands, all the resources of the Unseelie Court at his disposal, while we have only the soldiers within Yregar and those farther south in the Outlands.
All good fae folk in the Southern Lands would kill Rooke without question, lest they be found guilty of treason for hesitating.
No matter how swiftly her actions have changed the opinions of the castle, my household still waits with bated breath for my orders. They take their cues from my own actions just as surely as they follow my command, and whatever I do now will define the rest of Rooke’s life within the Unseelie Court. If I were to choose to send her back to the dungeons, they’d accept my orders as their prince and their lord, but there’s no doubt I would lose their respect.
None of my soldiers expected to survive this battle, not after the High Witch’s magic blasted a hole in the outer wall. When the gate of the inner wall began to groan and buckle under the pressure of the witches, every solider under my command prepared himself for death, the loss of the castle, and all those sheltering within. Not an act of submission or a lack of spirit, but simply resignation to the outcome the long centuries of war has so frequently yielded for us all.
None were expecting Rooke’s power or her strength.
When I return, I find Airlie standing before Rooke’s unconscious form as she shields her from my sight with a defiant light in her eyes. Every inch of her body is tense, as protective in her stance as she has ever been with her son as she stares at me. She’s unrepentant as her gaze drops to trace every inch of my body and uniform to assess the state of my cleanliness, ignoring my own churlish glare back at her.
Firna still fusses at the bedside with the supplies the maids brought at her command. Even through the stone walls and with the distractions of bathing, I listened carefully to every sound within my chambers. No one was allowed access into the rooms in my absence; instead a tray was passed over the threshold to the Keeper under Roan’s stern guard.
Regardless of my trust in them all, or the close bonds we share, their presence is intolerable to me.
“Everyoneout.”
Gaze firmly averted, Firna bows her head as she obeys instantly without question. She’s obviously interacted with more than a few mated high-fae males in her time, and she knows me better than most. The Fates command my actions as I’m caught up in a maelstrom of possessive and vicious compulsions, the seething frantic nature eased off but the ire still simmering below the surface.
Airlie is not so easily cowed. “If I leave this room, cousin, know that I’m taking Rooke with me.”
When my only answer is a snarl her gaze turns icy, her own anger a cold creature far removed from the searing heat of my own. “So Rooke stepped over the battlement to defend the castle and you just…decidedthat you'll have her now? I don't think so, Soren. That’s not reason enough for me to leave her under your care. You’ve already proved yourself incapable of reason when it comes to Rooke.”
Roan mutters furiously under his breath from where he’s standing guard further in my living area, his foot tapping impatiently as he waits for Reed to return with the possible healer.
“It’s not for you to decide, Airlie. I’m the heir to the Southern Lands, and the Fates gave her to me. You’ll do as I command.”
She scoffs at me and shakes her head, unmoved when a sneer curls at the corner of my lip. “Rooke doesn’t trust you, Soren, and she’s not some spoil of war you have claim over! I’m not leaving her here while she’s so vulnerable, I'll care for her until she wakes. As soon as the maids are finished clearing away the witcheswane, Roan can move her into our chambers.”
With a growl I take a single step forward, ignoring the commotion as Roan lurches into the room with us. The snapping of my hold on my temper is strong enough to compel him here to protect his mate, but Airlie holds my gaze, as calm and steady as any soldier staring down an impending battle.
“He won’t fucking touch her. She’s not leaving this room.”
Airlie’s eyebrow quirks up at me. “Oh.Oh, cousin, what’s come over you? Has Rooke’s valiant rescue of our castle finally bought her your favor?”
I don’t move an inch, but the air around us thickens with tension, and Roan steps between us, a blank mask over his features as he attempts to reason with his wife. “Now isn’t the time for pettiness, Airlie. We’re only a short distance away—Rooke is safe here with her Fates-blessed mate.”
