I feel it pressing against my ribs–the weight and the scale of this moment. This isn’t just an opportunity to strike the humans in a one-off attack and show there will be retaliation…there are enough troops and magic within the forces to entirely massacre an entire state with ease.
Stretched across the dusk-covered hills, the warcamp unfolds with faction banners snapping high abovethousandsof tents. Each faction is separated, and at the heart of it all are four tents, larger than the rest, rising in a perfect square.
Undoubtedly where the four proclaimed kings are staying.
I feel my heart rate tick up as Riven runs us through the troops, slowly enough for me to take in the world as he dodges people walking and others sharpening weapons. The closer we draw, my chest coils with a tension I try to push down.
I knew I would see them all again, yet now that I’ve come to terms with my draw to them, I’m uncertain of how to move forward in their presence. Are my feelings something I can even pursue with them when they’ve shown a lack of ability to get along?
Will my feelings for them tear apart any fragile alliance holding them to the same side in a war?
That thought lands like a punch to my gut, but the nerves are suddenly joined by excited anticipation as Riven comes to a halt and gently lets my feet fall to the ground outside the entrance. I’m ready to face all of them and handle the unfinished conversation that I feel has been lingering between Azyric and me.
The tent flap parts as Riven brushes it aside and I follow him into a hush so heavy it drapes across my skin, making the hairs on my arms rise.
The lighting is dim, the walls of the tentconstructed of thick blackout canvas to shield from both the sun and prying eyes, I’m sure. A single iron chandelier hangs from the center beam, flickering with blue-tinted flames that cast long, angular shadows over the three faces gathered beneath them.
Torryn is the first I see.
He stands closest to the opening, golden eyes catching mine in a flash that nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. His broad shoulders stiffen, like the sight of me short-circuits something in him. A beat later, he crosses the space in three unrelenting strides, and I don’t have time to prepare before his arms wrap around me in a hug that lifts me clear off the floor.
I sink into it and breathe in the scent of his lands.
The smell of pine, river water, and leather floods my senses as his hands press to the middle of my back. His chest rises sharply with the inhale he takes at the crook of my neck, and then I feel it. The subtle tilt of his head and the pause as he scents me.
Suddenly our hug is over and when he lowers me, his smile is still warm but slightly dimmer at the edges. His nostrils flare, and a line appears between his brows. He doesn’t speak, instead choosing to step back as the fae king rushes forward.
I don’t have a chance to dwell on Torryn’s reaction with the sight of Sylvin’s smirk of devilish delight before me. His blue eyes dance with the light of theflame above as he takes my hand and spins me in a slow, dramatic circle.
“Well, well,” he purrs, fingers brushing over my waist like he’s reacquainting himself. “The drab vampire lands didn’t dim your beauty at all, little echo.”
I don’t get a chance to answer before his hand slips to my cheek, and then he kisses the other, murmuring, “I’m also glad to see I can still be the reason why you smile.”
“Hello to you too.” I half laugh as he pulls back.
My heart stumbles as I take in the wraith who hasn’t moved from his corner. He stands the furthest away, arms crossed over his chest and jaw clenched. He doesn’t come forward, but his steady silver eyes run the length of me.
My time in his castle comes rushing back, and for a second, I think he’ll say nothing at all.
Then his head tilts ever so slightly. “Ilyria sends her regards. She stayed behind to run the castle in my absence.”
That’s all. Just a flat, quiet sentence with a name that strikes a warm chord within me.
It’s not a warm greeting, not by a mile, but it’s cordial acknowledgement. I can work with that.
No one moves or speaks as I glance between them all, suddenly the most unsure of myself that I’ve everfelt in their joint presence. I’m not sure what I expected from this reunion, but it wasn’t this.
Riven steps forward, breaking the awkward silence as he slips back into the role of the Crimson King. His voice cuts through the stillness, calm but absolute.
“We’ll strike at dawn as discussed, but let’s go over logistics one more time before we rest, as there will be no time then.”
The sharp authority in his tone ripples through the room and I watch each of the kings snap into position around the table holding a map. A short breath falls from my lips, thankful to not be the object of attention for now.
Azyric moves to his left, arms folded loosely across his chest, every inch of him radiating quiet confidence as he nods in agreement. “Our scouts have already confirmed the human stronghold’s perimeter defenses haven’t changed. They have grown too comfortable in our silence, exactly the way we wanted.”
Torryn grunts “My shifters will come in through the tree line east of the river and bait them out. We will occupy the outer perimeter of guards while you push from the south, Sylvin.”
The fae hums in agreement, eyes tracking the details of the map. “If we’re lucky, we split their forces on two fronts, overwhelming them instantly and taking away their time to call for reinforcements.
