Page 35 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

“Am I supposed to do anything?” I ask because all those questions are making me a little frantic.

“Nothing at all,” Lark replies. His eyes flick to me then, and there’s a calming warmth in them. He’s still wearing his glamour. I don’t know why he hasn’t shed it yet. “It will be expected that you are nervous. Once we are in a place with some privacy, we can discuss it further. But if everything is over tonight, there is nothing to worry about.”

“And if it isn’t?”

He frowns. “We will need to maintain a façade. I said I will not put you in danger and I will not.”

“No, I know.” He’ll be the one left with any trouble we cause, after all.

We pass into the town, which is quiet for how early in the morning it must be. I don’t know how time works here compared to London, and I turned off my phone earlier anyway, so I don’t bother checking. The few fae who are out and about pause when they see us, gazes travelling from Grant to me and then landing, with no little surprise, on Lark.

“You refuse to wear your true skin, Your Highness,” Zomo comments. We’ve caught up to her and Grant again, and she does not budge me aside but drops in alongside Lark on the right. Grant moves to walk next to me. He’s clearly trying to act as though he’s unaffected, but I can almost feel the way he wants to explore everything here.

Not that it looks much different to how I expect the average British village looked a few hundred years ago. The road is a tamped-down dirt path, but then there aren’t any vehicles, just the odd cart. Houses sit in ramshackle ways that tell me, even without sensing it, that some magic has been involved in their construction, and as we walk, we approach what must be the town centre, a large round of grass with a tall, old oak tree sitting in the middle.

Zomo stops before we reach it. The oak has a wider trunk than any I’ve ever seen, and its presence is huge and sluggish. Powerful. Lark glances at her, one eyebrow raised.

“He is sleeping,” she says.

“And he will wake when the crownbearers stand before him,” Lark replies, the words tightly controlled. “I want to see the person you stole, Zomo.”

I can’t tell if Zomo flushes, but she ducks her head and takes a step back. “I wasn’t the one to do it. The court sent me to wait that way.”

“So, had we found another path in, we would have encountered someone else?”

Zomo nods. “She has not been injured. They know better than that.”

So it’s not that they don’t want to. Not that they believe soulbonds are sacred, and I make a mental note to ask about that later, because I think wolves are maybe a bit more restrained about that kind of thing. She doesn’t want to say it, but Lark is a threat to her. To them.

Grant nudges me in the side. More fae are spilling into the streets now, watching us, and they’re all more powerful than me, but none of them have even half the power Zomo does, never mind Lark’s. “They’re all Unseelie, I think,” he murmurs under his breath.

I frown. “How can you tell?”

He shrugs, and I don’t ask my second question. Where are the Seelie then? I know there are two factions, but I’ve never found out the difference between them. Truthfully, I’ve never asked. I think we have a mix of fae in our pack now, but that’s a matter for Sam and Kieran more than me.

“Come along,” Lark says gently. We skirt around the tree, which lets out a thump of power that has me gasping. Grant reaches for my arm, but Lark gets there faster, steering me onto the path that leads to the castle with a hand on my lower back. He gives Grant a quick, dark look and then shakes his head.

Right. I suppose some random selkie—no matter what company he keeps—probably wouldn’t be allowed to touch the future king’s pet. Even if it’s completely innocent.

None of the fae we encounter as we make our way to the castle speak. They watch me curiously, Grant’s grasp on his power apparently enough for him to pass muster. The looks thrown at Lark are full of relief, concern, or downright fear.

I glance up at him myself. He still wears his glamour, and I see the way his jaw is clenched, the darkness in his eyes.

He needs to shed it. Was that what Zomo was trying to say? My head hurts. Of course, I hope we find Ophelia today and get her out of here tonight because I want to take her home, but for a second, I also want to get out of here before everything drives me up the wall. These fae can’t lie, so none of them are ever going to say exactly what they mean, are they?

Lark might have come to our realm to find me—and I guess he believes that, though I’m not sure I do—but he never got over that.

The castle looms ahead. It’s very pretty, more like the fairy-tale type I’ve seen in parts of Europe than the many squat, hefty things we have in England. Wards shimmer around elegant, ornate towers, but I don’t know what they’re for. They don’t stop us from going through, not even Grant, and he’s hiding what he truly is.

More fae are inside, all of them lower on power than Zomo or Lark. Many of them outright gape when they see him, though several scatter, disappearing into other rooms or down corridors. Lark stops, and so do I. My feet ache, and nothing adorns the shining marble floors.

“Where is she?” Lark asks.

Zomo purses her lips. “The court wishes to throw you a ball. Tonight.”

“Zomo—” Her name comes out a growl, and I jolt.

“She isn’t here,” Zomo says with a sigh. “They said they would bring her along once you got here. We wouldn’t want you running off with her again. That’s not the point.”