At eighteen, my cousin was given a fate by the Seer so terrible it changed his heart. He was once as content as his brother, quick to laugh and easygoing even in the most suffocating years of our childhood in Yris. The moment he walked out of the temple with a scowl on his face, a seed of fury had been planted that grew larger over the years, spreading as it wrapped around every part of him until he himself became a thorny, vicious male to everyone around him.
The goblin soldiers don't understand the common tongue but the sentries on the inner wall do, so I switch to the old language. “Go to my reception rooms and wait there. I'll stand guard here until Rooke has the female settled and I’ll see what more she can tell me. Whatever information she gives us, we’ll use it to find out who is responsible. Her pain won’t go unanswered, cousin, I swear it on our bloodlines.”
He swallows roughly, his eyes still glued to the roughly cut doorway of the healer’s quarters as he lingers for a beat. When there’s no change, he finally forces himself into some semblance of a bow and leaves. His gait is uneven, almost drunk looking,and the high-fae soldiers sparring outside the barracks nearby all stare at him curiously.
The goblin soldiers don’t react to his awkward exit, not a single glance in his direction, and the sounds of the household unpacking the supplies fill in our silence once more. The sound of a chair scraping the floor inside the healer’s quarters startles me, but there’s nothing else, and I have to remind myself that traumatizing the female isn’t worth assuaging my curiosity, nor is infuriating my already ferociously tempered mate.
Distracting myself, I go to the empty carriage and glance inside to find it up to royal standards, with plush cushions on the seats but also a blanket and the remnants of rations left behind. Rooke wasn’t showing the goblins any favor; they really did see the female through the kingdom with the best care they could offer her. My anger grows thunderous, and I force myself to look away before someone notices and assumes the goblins are at fault.
There’s only the high fae to blame, and maybe the Fates for the path they’ve set us on.
Footsteps sound, and I glance up in time to see the door to the healer’s quarters open a fraction, just enough for Rooke to squeeze through before she quickly eases it shut once more. The stern look on her face hasn’t changed, but she strides forward confidently and stops before the lead goblin soldier, then bows deeply to him once more. She murmurs quietly, and he speaks respectfully back, despite the anger they both have simmering just below the surface.
Rooke glances at me and bows again, deeper, even without the eyes of my household on us all. “I have offered the goblin soldiers Yregar’s hospitality should they wish to stay, but they’re eager to begin their journey home. They will rejoin the rest of their troops outside the outer wall now.”
The weight of my cousin's fate is heavy across my shoulders. Any kindnesses they showed to the female, they showed to the Celestial bloodline, my household, and my closest family. The decision to find common ground with King Galen and his people was made months before I met Rooke, born out of desperation for Yregar, but it’s been proved the right one at every turn.
Looking beyond the tales of my childhood and the gossip of the Unseelie Court, I can trust only my own experiences and the loyalties I’m shown.
When I turn to the goblin commander, he stares back at me with keen eyes and an expectant air as he waits me out. Rooke is the only one to react as I hold out my palm to him, her eyebrows twitching before she has the chance to smother the reaction to my offer of respect.
"My deepest and sincerest gratitude for bringing the female to us. Rest assured, she’s safe here at Yregar and will be cared for as I would my own bloodline."
The goblin soldier clasps my palm with his own as Rooke translates, a firm nod of acceptance with it, but his eyes narrow the smallest fraction as though he doubts my convictions. Though it sets my teeth on edge, the briefest glance at the female was all it took to see the abuse inflicted on her. If I were the soldier, I wouldn’t put much stock in my words either.
He replies to me without glancing at Rooke, and she translates his words. "The Goblin King will be traveling to Yregar at the winter solstice and we’ll return with the last convoy of wagons then too. Your soldiers fought well and their defense for the fae folk they found fleeing never faltered, a credit to their lord. We’ll offer the same protections to any we find on our journey home, shelter in our lands until we can see them here safely. This war has gone on for too long. It’s time for Kharl Balzog to answer for his crimes and a competent king to rule over the Southern Lands once more."
His words are chosen carefully, a master who could weave effectively within the Unseelie Court, and I incline my head at him, respects paid and no further questions to ask. It’s an offer of allegiance, but only once I’ve proved myself further, the trust we’ve established tenuous at best.
Rooke steps up to my side, and we watch the goblin soldiers escort the now empty carriage back through to the courtyard, not pausing as they swing onto their horses and depart. Her shoulders are tense, a scowl across her face as she stares at the sentries still on duty on the wall.
Murmuring in the old language, I say, “The inner doors of your quarters are already guarded by my most trusted soldiers, I’ll have more stationed around the outer perimeter of your garden as well. If the female is settled enough to be left alone for a moment, we need to figure out what in the Fates-filledfuckwe're going to do."
Her mouth pulls in tight, struggling with something for a moment before she shrugs. "I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, but the female is under my care and protection now. If there’s some family you’re hoping to hand her over to, know now that I’ll do everything in my power to protect her."
Rather than inciting a war, as I’m sure she was expecting, her words release some of the pressure in my chest and I turn to meet her eyes. "We can agree on that, because the female is Tauron's Fates-blessed mate, and whoever is responsible for this mess is going to find themselves at the end of my sword, royal or not."
She blanches, clearly not having heard my cousin's admission, before she cringes and rubs a hand over her face as she mumbles under her breath, "By the ashes, a high-fae prince as a mate when the mere mention of Yris has her sobbing in fear? The Fates are testing us all."
My jaw clenches violently, and I give her a sharp nod. The hand rubbing over her face only rubs harder as she lets out another unsteady breath. She steps away from me, and my body shifts in discomfort at her distance, but she begins to pace in front of me as she ruminates. Her answers are usually faster than this, but with such large stakes, she’s clearly putting more thought into this decision than any I’ve seen her make so far.
The Mother of the Ravenswyrd coven stands before me, not the soldier of the Sol Army or the healer of the forest desperate to go home. The straight line of her shoulders as she holds her posture perfectly is rigorous, the curls that have escaped her braid enchanting, and even with the pinched look on her face, fire fills my blood as I’m struck by her beauty.
It isn’t the high fae sort of pretty, the polished and fake exterior as shallow as a puddle—this is the beauty of a forest older than any other. The type of beauty that hurts you to look at for too long but is unbearable to look away from. This is the real and the true, and the Fates have led me to her, bound us together in a blood-soaked promise of better things, if only we fight for them.
Once again, a violent possessiveness fills me, regardless that she hates the very air I breathe.
Unaware of my plight, Rooke finally stops pacing and turns to me, her gaze sharp. Her lips purse in that way they do when she’s trying not to stumble over high-fae arrogance with her no-nonsense approach.
Impatient, I gesture my hand to her in permission. "Whatever it is, just say it. The only answers I have right now involve blood and pain."
Her mouth tightens as she squares her shoulders. “I've seen a lot of these sorts of cases in my time. Cruelty isn’t limited to the Unseelie high fae or those of royal blood, it’s a disease of the heart that inflicts all manner of fae folk. There are many,manyways that we can aid this female on her path, but it will require a lot of work and patience… and strict boundaries that all must follow."
My brows pinch together. "What are you suggesting?"
She blows out a breath and turns away from me again, her robes flaring around her as she moves, but the soft leather of her boots is silent on the cobblestones. She wears them like a second skin, moving with ease, and the foreign look of them strikes me once more. With all the straps and gold clasps, they scream Seelie fashion, and jealousy writhes in my gut again.
Shunning the Unseelie high fae style of clothing is understandable. Most designs are impractical for her position and work within my household, and even I have a very selective wardrobe compared to most royals, but the idea of her wearing another high fae royal's colors is intolerable.
