Glancing at Gage, I find he’s the only fae in the room who isn't confused or trembling with trapped energy as he stares through the bars waiting for the approaching guards to arrive at our cells. When a dozen guards led by Vyrain step around the corner and into our view, a grin full of sharply pointed teeth spreads across the goblin prince’s face. It’s triumphant and threatening, the first sign of high-fae gloating I’ve seen on the male, and nothing will enrage Vyrain faster, his derision for the lower fae and part bloods well known.
“Don’t just stand around looking like snow sprites—open the fucking cages and get them out,” he snarls.
The guard closest to the cages fumbles over himself to find the key, his eyes wide as he glances at the males in the escort, but they stare back, stone-faced, a wariness in their stiff stances.
“Would you look at that, Prince Soren! It's not so difficult for the male to look at me directly. I wonder what’s sparked such contrition,” Gage taunts Vyrain, his relaxed demeanor so genuine it’s jarring.
Without the fist to the jaw or the shove into the iron bars that I ‘m expecting, Vyrain drags the goblin prince out of the cage, his only reaction the deepening sneer on his face. His eyes flash with loathing as he commands the other guards to take hold of me. There’s a pause before one of the males is brave enough to follow his command, the blue light cast onto the stone by the glow of magic in my eyes unsettling them all.
The escort takes position around us as they move us past the other cells, murmurs running through the high fae there as they stare, wide-eyed and trembling. We’re marched toward the fae door and, because they haven’t shackled my hands or used magic to subdue me, there are a dozen different opportunities to take their swords and kill them all. In front of me, Gage is relaxed, his shoulders loose; he knows what has caused this change, and that alone stops me.
“I have you marked for death. By the ashes, I will see you again, only next time I won't be satisfied until your blood drips from my sword,” Vyrain snarls, but Gage only throws his head back, roaring with laughter at the acrid panic lingering in the air.
“Why wait? Draw it now… but you can't, can you? The high fae all wander around this marble monstrosity thinking how important they are, how noble and strong, and you've just had your weaknesses proved to you again.”
My uncle's most dangerous guard doesn't react the way I expect, only jerking Gage along until he can shove him through the fae door.
I spent less than two decades living in Yris but, as they were my formative years, they saw the main areas of the castle engraved into my heart. The path we take is direct to the courtyard, only two fae doors required, and when we pause before the second door, I reach out to Rooke again. She’s still calm and sure, which is unsettling, because I doubt she’d feel that way were she standing where my uncle so eagerly strung up his victims.
The Fates singing in my chest prove me wrong as we finally step into the small alcove, the water still stained red at our feet and the guards frozen in their positions as they clutch their shields and swords. The path we’re on follows the insistent tug in my chest, drawing me to Rooke as though by the Fates’command, but when we round the marble wall, I finally see the reason the guards all tremble.
A sea of black armor and star-studded shields lies before me, stretching as far as the cliff-face will allow. Split between mounted and foot soldiers, all are heavily armed and bear the Briarfrost crest. They stand deathly still, not a word or a clearing of a throat from any of them, and the only tension amongst their ranks is that of preparation. They’re ready to fight and die at their king’s command.
It's difficult to look impressive while standing before the Unseelie Court’s largest castle, but the Goblin King’s army manages it well. Their numbers alone are breathtaking, answering any queries as to how they made it into Yris; there’s no stopping this many soldiers without bloodshed, and the results of that would be devastatingly far-reaching. Breaking the accords is a far less favorable prospect when faced with the Goblin King's might.
When I turn to Gage, he’s already smirking at me. “I told you I was too impatient to wait, but the Briarfrost bloodline would never leave me to my fate without aid.”
Vyrain leads us to the group my uncle sent out to meet this display, less than a hundred high-fae males standing in a haphazard cluster with Ayron at the front. My cousin has become the regent’s preferred lackey, but he’s too stupid to realize he isn’t protected by that status and he’s been sent out as goblin-fodder. Several of the high fae turn to look at us, but the Briarfrost soldiers are immovable.
Rooke stands at the front of the crowd flanked by two guards, though neither touches her. She doesn't look any different as she stares at the goblin soldiers with a carefully guarded face, and it's only the tension in her shoulders that warns of her anger. She looks over and meets my gaze before she looks at Gage, and herlips pull in tight when the guards escorting us move to keep us a distance apart.
I'm not surprised to find my uncle absent. The display before us is more than just dangerous; it's humbling, and the regent has always been far too arrogant to put himself in such a position.
“The witch is an honored guest of the regent. We intend to see her safely back to her family and away from Prince Soren's abhorrent treatment. The regent will graciously allow you to take the other two,” Ayron calls out.
In answer, one of the soldiers on horseback clicks his tongue, and his beast moves forward obediently. Every step is slow, irreverent to the high fae watching as he crosses the courtyard. A murmur of panic ripples in the heartbeats of the high fae, a response they can’t tamp down. When the soldier stops only a few paces away, he removes his helmet, and the disbelief of the guards surrounding me is palpable.
He's clearly another heir of the Briarfrost bloodline, only this one looks far more like King Galen than Gage does, and far more like the high fae surrounding us than any of them would ever care to admit. The same black hair, and an only slightly darker green hue than the Goblin King, he stares down Ayron with Celestial-blue eyes that are his most striking feature, the one causing the guards all to pause. When his lip curls at the sight of the guards shuffling around at his approach, a row of sharply pointed teeth peeks through his lips, as if he’s threatening to tear out every high-fae throat before him. The guards’ tension finds a new height.
He swings out of his saddle and clicks his tongue at his horse again, and the beast stands dutifully as he takes three more steps forward until he’s just out of arms’ reach from my Fates-blessed mate. His gaze stays fixed on Rooke, as though the presence of Ayron and the rest of the soldiers is nothing to him. He clasps a hand over his chest and bows deeply to her, and I’mnot surprised when he addresses her in the Unseelie common tongue.
This is a message, and a warning, for us all.
“Mother Ravenswyrd, it’s a great honor to stand in your presence. I wish only that we were meeting under better circumstances, though it’s a privilege to be of aid.”
Rooke clasps one hand over her chest and bows deeply back to him. “The honor is all mine, Prince Gideon. It heartens me greatly to call the Briarfrost bloodline friends of mine, the songs of the forest strong in your hearts and the Fates’ commands honored above all.”
Prince Gideon barely moves, but the air around them both shifts as he preens under her graces, nothing like the calculating performances of the royals within this Fates-cursed castle. His respect for her, on her name alone, marks this meeting as a defining moment for the male.
He stares at her long enough that the males around me shift on their feet, before a scowl tugs at his brow. “Are you unharmed? Was anything taken from you that we should recover before we leave here? Please know we’ll see you home safe, no matter how dark the path.”
Ayron snarls at him, “The regent has commanded?—”
“The Briarfrost don’t answer to Solas Celestial’s mewling decrees. He should know that well by now. If he truly has good intentions, tell him to come down here and lay them before me instead of hiding in his tomb that stinks of rotting flesh.”
Ayron’s shoulders tremble with fury, and his temper snaps. With a snarl, he lunges at them both. His hand reaches for his sword, and his ire focuses on Rooke. I shake off the hands grasping me to go after him, but my cousin doesn’t get a chance to draw his blade.
Before any of us register he’s moving, Prince Gideon’s sword presses against Ayron’s throat.
