Page 122 of Fate's Wicked Oath

A faint whistle parted the air, whizzing past Faren’s head as he met my lips; an arrow thunked into a tree trunk behind us, and we were on our feet in an instant, weapons drawn.

43

Standoff

Faren

One moment, Faren had been admiring Mariana’s beauty in the dappled sunlight, struck by how much he wanted her to meet his family, and wondering if he’d been wrong when he told her that love would be ruinous to his knighthood. Wondering if, at the end of all this, he could create enough space in his life to keep his Oath to the realmandkeep Mariana.

Because he already loved her, completely and unequivocally.

Helovedher.

But then, the next moment, he was standing with swords in hand, his heart rate thundering as his mind caught up to the fact that—had he not leaned in to kiss her just now—he would’ve been struck in the head by an arrow.

When a second one flew, his heightened magic read the displacement of the air with just enough time to evade; the metal tip pinged off his breastplate, deflecting into the underbrush, startling the horses. He’d practiced that exact dodge with Lee in the training yard countless times, and he was grateful for how instinctual it’d become.

A newer instinct—but no less strong—was his immediate protectiveness toward Mariana. Without a second thought, Faren positioned himself between her and the unseen archer, hefting his swords and bracing for a third arrow. “Show yourself,” he demanded.

But thenMarianawas stepping in front ofFaren, lifting her palms in surrender. “You’ve made your point, Heris.”

Straight ahead of them, a tall figure moseyed into view. He held an impressive longbow, an arrow nocked, but the bowstring not drawn. The man had a gaunt face, weathered from time and hardship. His right eye was missing.

Faren recognized the famous criminal immediately. There was an unpredictable quality to Heris Morvain, a cruelty in his gaze that was evident even from a distance. But it was not Heris himself that made Faren feel unsettled—it was the subtle stiffness that’d crept into Mariana’s shoulders. The fear in a woman who was usually fearless.

“Hello, my dear,” Heris cooed.

Faren took a single step forward; Mariana barred him with an arm outstretched, her eyes never leaving Heris. “Don’t,” she whispered.

Six more black-clad knights emerged from behind the surrounding oak trees, filling the clearing. Two flanked Heris. Another two snatched Simon and Sunny’s reins, keeping the nervous animals in place. The last two were Castor and Brom, who held a prisoner between them. The man’s hands were bound, and his head lolled, chin to chest; if it weren’t for the knights supporting him, he’d collapse. Castor grabbed the prisoner’s hair and yanked his head back, revealing a tawny face caked in dried blood.

Bard.

A breathy, agonized sound slipped out of Mariana. She staggered toward her brother—two shaky steps—before halting. “What the fuck?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Heris said dryly, un-nocking his arrow and stalking farther into the clearing. “What the fuck.”

Mariana’s knuckles turned white at her sides. “What have you done to him?”

“Oh, nothing I haven’t done to you,” Heris taunted.

Bard was barely conscious. Aside from the oozing wound on his head, his eyes appeared glassy and unseeing, his body limp in his captors’ arms. Seeing the innocent man so brutalized made Faren’s blood boil, but the insinuation that Heris had harmed Mariana like that before—perhaps worse—made him want to scorch everything in sight with his fury.

Seeming to sense Faren’s barely contained rage, Mariana glanced briefly back at him, giving him a wild-eyed look—one that urged him to keep himself in check. She had been afraid before she saw Bard; now, her face was ashen.

Weeks ago, Faren had wondered how a woman as strong as Mariana could remain subservient toanyone, let alone Heris, but now he understood it fully. This man—thismonster—had not only promised her freedom. He knew where her family lived. He had probably lorded that over her since she was a child.

Trauma and threats like that weren’t simply forgotten.

But they might as well have been, for the way Mariana’s expression shifted. The soft, compassionate, humorous woman Faren had been sitting with in the grass minutes earlier disappeared, replaced by a hardened and irritated Valiant Knight.

“Why?” she asked, her tone low.

“Leverage, my dear,” Heris said. “You appeared to be getting too cozy with the enemy”—a quick glance at Faren—“so I thought I’d remind you where your allegiance lies.”

“Allegiance—” Faren protested, but Mariana spoke over him.

“You think I want to be traipsing all over Fenrir with this dead weight?” she asked, pointing at Faren with a thumb over her shoulder.