My wages as an aerial scout are respectable. I can feed her, clothe her, and keep her warm. But where will she live? Surely not in a war camp.
The manor in the mountains overlooking Vaelnor isn’t an option. My parents are long dead, the manor is crumbling to dust, and the vegetation is starting to wither just as it did in Vaelnor when I was born.
Soon, there will be nowhere left within the old fae territories untouched by the boundless deterioration that occurs after ussha leaves.
That is why we fight.
As faefolk migrate into human and orc lands, our armies, and especially the highborn, have been tasked with protecting them. And when humans and orcs resist the spread of our settlements, conflict inevitably follows. Their villages are taken, their cities brought under fae rule, and wardens are appointed to govern them in the name of the courts.
More recently, our priestesses have claimed that an era of total fae rule over the realm is upon us. The four courts are crumbling, yes, but a new age is rising.
As Gwen shifts in my arms, I become aware of her body heat. She feels too hot. Feverish. Panic hits me. I draw in a deep breath and bite back a curse when the putrid scent of a festering wound reaches me.
My mate is injured.
A growl tears from my throat. I should’ve tortured the cowardly fae soldiers who stole her away from Braemar Castle, rather than giving them a quick death after they confessed her whereabouts. Of course, at the time I didn’t know she was my mate. I just thought she was a random human slave who’d gone missing from Braemar, a slave who happened to be an acquaintance of King Theron’s human mate. And so, as a skilled aerial scout, I’d been tasked with tracking Gwen down, having no idea what we are to one another.
Anxious to tend her injuries, I head for the forest below. The frost-covered grass crunches beneath my boots as I land in a small clearing.
As I stare down at my mate, I struggle to take my next breath. Her dark brown eyes are so achingly soulful that I cannot look away. I can scarcely breathe.
Mine. My female.
She is mine to keep and protect.
Until the end of my days.
“You’re hurt, my dearest,” I finally say, uncertain where the endearment is coming from. It’s the second time I’ve called her that. But it feels right. Natural. Though she’s a stranger, she is also the other half of my soul. Because the gods have deemed it so, and I cannot resist the pull of the bond.
She swallows hard and lowers her gaze. She blinks fast as tears fill her eyes, and she remains silent. She also trembles more fervently in my arms. I don’t like it. I don’t like seeing her so frightened, especially of me.
Doesn’t she realize what we are to one another?
Doesn’t she feel the bond too?
Her trembling hand drifts up, and she fumbles for the pendant that hangs from her necklace, an old, tarnished key that looks utterly worthless. Yet she clutches it as though it’s the mostprecious thing in the realm to her. Perhaps it brings her comfort. I can’t help but wonder who gave it to her.
“Tell me where you’re hurt, Gwen, and I will heal you. And if your injury is beyond my abilities, I will take you to a skilled fae healer as fast as my wings will carry us.” As I speak, I try to infuse my voice with warmth. I want her to trust me. I want her to feel safe with me.
She glances up with wide eyes. “How do you know my name?” she whispers, still clutching the necklace.
“King Theron asked me to track you down.”
“King Theron? The Winter King?” She gives her head a small shake. “I-I don’t understand. I don’t know him. I saw him once… on Tribute Day. He was seated on the throne in the receiving hall of Braemar Castle, but he didn’t speak to me, nor I to him.”
“He is mated to a human female named Helena Gray. I believe you know one another. She saw you standing in line on Tribute Day with your family, and she later asked the king to ascertain your wellbeing. She feared you’d been taken as a slave, and it would seem she was right. What we didn’t anticipate was a group of deserters stealing you away from Braemar before you could be put into service in our war camp. And so, since I am the Winter Court army’s most skilled tracker and aerial scout, I was sent to find you.”
Her eyes widen further. “Helena is truly mated to King Theron… and you were truly sent to track me down? Now that I think about it, I saw Helena on Tribute Day. Very briefly. I glanced up at the castle just before we stepped inside, and I saw her standing on a balcony. We went to school together…” Gwen’s voice trails off, and she looks utterly bewildered. She finally lets go of the necklace and buries her hand beneath her cloak
I decide we can finish this conversation later.
I want to heal her wounds. The thought of her in any pain prompts a rush of murderous impulses. It makes me want toreturn to the mountain village so I can slaughter every male who dared to bid on her.
“Yes, my dearest, Helena is truly mated to King Theron, and I was truly sent to track you down,” I eventually say, striving for a calm tone.
I kneel on the frost-covered grass and shift Gwen into one arm. Then I reach into my rucksack and withdraw a large, woolen blanket. I spread the blanket over the frozen ground, creating a softer, warmer place for my mate to rest. Slowly, I lower her to the ground. Rather than vanish my wings as I usually do upon landing, I drape them over her, shielding her from the wind and the snow flurries.
“Tell me where you are injured. Please. I can smell a festering wound, and it’s clear to me that you have a fever.”
