Prae’s brows are pinched as she waits for my orders.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, kicking the serpent into motion. “It’s not like we have anything to lose.”
Kitarni looks back over her shoulder, and her posture eases as it becomes clear we’re following.
“You can drop your glamours,” she announces. “As long as you remain silent, Prince Bram and I will ensure no one sees you.”
I roll my eyes as if I couldn’t care less, but sigh in relief as I let the magic drop. Bram is far more skilled with glamour than I am. Now that I no longer need to focus on holding the magic in place, the urge to fiddle with the fabric covering my upper body consumes me as we begin to ride in stony silence.
Fucking fae clothing.
Prae keeps shooting me looks, but I pretend not to understand them. I know what she wants. She wants me to talk to them, to find out what caused this sudden change of heart.
Rose ordered us exiled. Now her high priestess is working with us? There’s more going on here, but neither of our fae escorts volunteer any information.
The fae stop riding shortly after nightfall, though Kitarni would’ve continued if she could. Unfortunately, the road farther on passes dangerously close to the river Ellen, and the last few decades of war have taught the fae to fear their waterways—even ones this far south.
Life in the Spring Court—a place dominated by spectacular winding rivers and low-lying bogs—has not been easy for the fae. I made sure of it. While I laid waste to the northern courts, I sent raiding parties to deal with the southern courts, keeping them too busy to even dream of sending aid to their neighbours.
A sound strategy, but… I cast off the twinge that attempts to take root in my chest. No ‘buts’. We are at war. I did what I had to.
We tie the drakes on the opposite side of the camp to the horses, just in case they get peckish. My gut is telling me we’ll have to lose them before we reach the capital, and I don’t like it.
Horses are soft, vulnerable creatures. Drakes have tough hides and a serpentine ability to track by scent… but they’re also not native to the courts and a dead giveaway that we’re Fomorian.
At some point, we’re going to have to set them free.
Bram is poking at the fire, and Kitarni is reading a scroll, but both of them look up when we finish laying out our bedrolls and join them by the warmth of the flames.
“So what’s your plan?” I ask, leaning back against my pack as I meet the dryad’s stare. “You’re going behind Rose’s back? Why?”
Kitarni says nothing at first. “I believe in the Goddess. She has made her wishes clear.” Her long, twiggy fingers point meaningfully at the covered skin of my arm. “She wishes for Rose to have a full Guard, and you need to earn that place.” She pulls a vial of red liquid out of her robe and passes it to me.
Uncorking it, I give it a sniff, grimacing at the bitter smell. “What’s this?”
“A contraceptive potion.”
Bram’s eyes flash with the presence of his fox, and he makes a low chuffing noise, but says nothing to voice his obvious displeasure.
“Rose is going to experience her fever in the next week,” Kitarni continues, ignoring him. “You are only half-fae, so you may not be as powerfully affected as the others, but if something happens, and you both find yourself in a situation… she would prefer not to bring a child into the middle of a war. The others have all taken them. It will not harm you.”
She’s fae. She can’t lie. I twiddle the vial in my hand. “Rose won’t want me there. She won’t let me get close enough to her for this to be necessary.”
Bram scrapes a hand along the day’s stubble with a groan. “Lad, when your mate’s fever hits, neither of you gets a choice. Your instincts go insane, and hers doubly so.” His eyes darken, making it clear that—even though we’re companions for the time being—he hasn’t forgiven me.
“How would you know?” I retort. “You never found yours.”
His mouth tightens, and sadness haunts his next words. “Not for lack of trying, lad.” He pauses, adjusting his spectacles. “You don’t deserve to be around her when she’s that vulnerable. Not after what you did.”
“Rose will want her mates,” Kitarni agrees. “Neither of you will care about the issues between you in the heat of the moment. It’s better you take the contraceptive, just in case.”
I eye the liquid suspiciously, uncomfortable with this entire situation. I want Rose—Ancestors, just remembering how she looked, soaked in my bathing pool, or pressed up against me while she slept is enough to make me iron-hard—but not if she only wants me because biology is making her.
I know all too well how a fever can screw with a female fae’s mind. My father often boasted of how—during my conception—my mother was so mindless that she begged him to do whatever he liked to her. Afterwards, she hated him, but not as much as she loathed herself. She was unable to understand how her body could betray her like that.
Could I watch Rose go through the same?
Maybe she won’t care in the moment, but her other Guards certainly will. I can’t imagine them just sitting back and letting me fuck her, and the last time we fought, she died. I can’t let that happen again.
