Another growl rolls through his chest gutturally, and my hands slide up to his shoulders, the tension coiled and dangerous within the muscle stacked there. No matter how slow and considered his movements are, he’s holding himself in check with the very last of his restraint.
When his fingers trace the silver pin holding the bands of fabric together at my hips, my magic swells in my chest, and his reaches out to me as though called by it, the force of it rippling over my skin in a wave of power. It’s a good feeling, a pleasurable one, but I freeze, and his head jerks up to meet my gaze with a scowl before he glances at the opening of the tent.
My gaze stays firmly trained on him, the only true danger we face. “Soren, your magic has changed, and you're going to be a danger to us all if you can't control it. I’ve seen cities torn apart by inexperienced fae who held only afractionof your power.”
I shift as though to move back—some distance from him would be helpful to my senses—but his arms tighten and keep me in place. He frowns. His scar makes the expression look angry, but I can read his mood with far more precision now, and I know he’s concerned. My hands move to press against his chest, my instinct to console him with my touch, and he tugs me closer, though it’s impossible.
“My magic doesn't work, not unless the forest calls it out of me. It’s always been… dormant.”
His throat flexes under my fingers as he speaks, and I find myself absently rubbing my fingertips underneath his jawline, a soothing motion for myself. “It won't be dormant anymore, Soren, you've woken it up, and I'm not sure you understand how much power you have.”
He stares at me before the corner of his mouth tugs into a wry smile, the arrogant edge to it making me want to scream, but not in the usual ways. “I’m not afraid of my magic, croí, or learning to wield it. If there's enough power between us to level the battlefield, we can wipe the dark stain of all the Betrayers from our kingdom forever.”
How easilythe Betrayersslips from his lips, how straightforward the conflict in our kingdom has become for him, now that he hears the song of the forests in his heart, and my own clenches at the future he paints so clearly. I was once quick to count victories, hopeful and naive, but the Fates have never set a clear path for me. Nothing has ever come easy to my Celestial prince either.
Soren’s gaze flicks down to my throat as I swallow again, his tone a lust-soaked rasp. “Tell me how to control it, and I’ll do it. You have more power than anyone I've ever known, and if I have so much power to contain, there’s no better fae to instruct me.”
It isn’t a compliment but a statement of fact in his mind, and yet a blush creeps over my cheeks. I hope his eyesight isn't as good as his hearing, but then his fingers trace the heat lingering on my cheeks and as his eyebrows quirk up.
I rush to distract him. “I had an entire childhood in the forest to learn control, and still it took an extra decade in the Sol Army for me to become effective in wielding magic beyond healing and shields. I’m not suggesting you cast your magic, Soren, just learnto hold it in check, so the next time a high-fae prince sparks your temper, you don’t tear down the castle around us all.”
The bright glow of magic in his eyes flares, the tent lighting up in a blue-stained blaze. “Mercer deserved to be bled out for how he spoke of you—if we’re discussing control, then the fact that I didn’t cut him down proves how much I have.”
I pointedly ignore the flutter in my belly at his words, my own control thankfully iron-clad. “He said nothing worse than what I heard from you and your own household, Soren. You can’t expect the fae folk to put aside their prejudices easily just because you’re fated to me. If I held you all to that standard, Yregar would be barren.”
His jaw clenches, and his words are considered when he finally replies. “We weren’t all born with the Ravenswyrd creed in our hearts, and I have no intention of allowing any fae, of any bloodline, to speak to you like that. I’ve failed you, as I failed my kingdom, but I won’t fail you any longer. If controlling my magic is as difficult and dangerous as you say, I’ll pour it into the land until I can hold it in entirety without risk.”
As though listening, the leaves outside rustle in the breeze in an approving sound, and a pressure builds in my chest so powerfully that I force myself to steer the conversion another way. If I don’t, I might do something stupid like kiss him, in a forest in the middle of a war-torn kingdom without any guards or concerns for the consequences of our impulses.
“High-fae magic is different to the magic witches wield. I can explain to you what it feels like for me, but it could be completely different for you. No matter how many high fae I’ve spoken to over the years, I’ve never gotten a grasp of how your magic forms or how to cast it.”
I pause with a sigh, but when he only watches me with the same intensity as he’d listened to the phrases in the goblin tongue, I continue. “I work with my magic, but it doesn’t belongto me, I am simply a keeper of it. Power moves through the land and my veins in a constant cycle of give and take, an honoring of the land that gives us life”
He tilts his head, considering. “It makes perfect sense to me that you can’t understand high-fae magic, with the selfless way you interact with your own. My magic is mine, and the ripple that cast out at Mercer’s insolence proves the power of a high fae is jealous, possessive, and self-serving, and I’m no exception.”
I narrow my eyes at him, disbelieving. “Jealous? Of what?”
The molten look in his eyes burns into a searing, seething heat, the fury there so familiar to me now that I have no reaction to it even as he speaks through clenched teeth. “Many,manythings. The idea of even my closest friends and family looking at you fills me with a rage that ignites my blood.”
Betrayer.
I jolt as the forest’s whisper breaks through the hazy quiet of the tent, ice flooding my veins and the fury in Soren’s eyes deepening as he stares back at me.
Betrayers, the forest whispers again, and Soren rolls us both deftly, his body slotted perfectly against mine as he covers me completely like a shield. His shoulders are twice the width of mine, his presence overwhelming in the small confines of the tent now that he’s shifted back into his preferred role of a warrior so brutal his own people labeled him savage. My throat dries as his eyes shine brighter, electrifying like lightning as he calls on his magic, even after my warnings.
When he curses, I push my own power deep into the earth for answers only to find that high-fae soldiers have crossed the tree line.
If I hadn't feltthe sacrifice Soren gave to the forest or the magnitude of power that revealed itself, I wouldn't be able to tell any difference in the male by how he moves. We’re on our horses in under a minute, me using my magic to store the tent in my holding space rather than wasting time packing it up. The longest delay was the brief pause as I shoved my feet into my boots, cursing myself under my breath for taking them off in the first place.
Soren doesn't react, his face set into a foreboding scowl, but when he clicks his tongue to get Nightspark moving he murmurs, “If you’re able to conceal us without using up your magic, then cast now. The high fae are out of my hearing, but they won’t be for long, and your safety is my greatest concern. We’ll ride past them undetected.”
I nod, and a glow lights the trees around us from my eyes flashing as I draw on my magic. The perimeter of magic that sheltered us as we slept shimmers back around us as we set a brisk pace, but despite the large area it covers, Soren rides firmly at my side as we let the forest guide us. He no longer needs me to relay the trees’ instructions; their song is as loud in his ears as mine, and as we make our way north through the heart of the forest, the leaves rustle in our wake as though the trees shiver with rage.
The whispers of the Betrayers arriving wasn’t a warning. With every step of the horses, the maelstrom of indignant fury grows, and even if I weren’t a Favored Child and Soren hadn’t forged a blood oath with the old powers that live amongst thetrees, the song would still be a demand for vengeance for the blood senselessly spilled here.
The terrain grows rocky as we get closer to Loche Mountain—named for Hanede’s bloodline to honor their devotion and service to the Fates—and Soren is forced to take the lead as the path narrows. He casts me a look but doesn’t falter. As the path begins to cut into the mountain and a rock wall towers over us, I watch as my Fates-blessed mate’s shoulders tighten with every step forward, the other side of the path dropping away until a valley of dense trees appears below. At first I think he shares my distaste for heights, but then he slows Nightspark with a firm tug of the reins and tilts his head slightly, a common tell for high fae as they listen to something out of my hearing.
When Soren glances at my magical barrier, I nod to him. “It’s holding well, no fae can see or hear us. Are we close?”
