Page 7 of Fate of the Sun King

He raises a fist to the sky, and hundreds more raise up to a chorus of passionate cheers. “He keeps you within these walls! He keeps you from living anywhere but these crumbling houses! He keeps you from doing business with the High Fae! He forbids you from using your magic. And why? Because he fears you! Because he fears what your magic can do!”

“Yah!” comes another chorus of agreement, and the charge in the air is turning frenzied. Erevan lists a ream of grievances done to their people, and each one just sounds worse and worse. I don’t blame any of them for feeling this way and wonder how we can help while we’re here. Of course, Nadir has said we need to stay out of it, but I don’t plan on listening to him anytime soon.

That’s when I notice a pair of white feathered wings, and I halt in my tracks. Nadir practically crashes into me because he’s following so closely. Thankfully, it isn’t Gabriel, but it is one of the other warders who could recognize me. I think his name is Jareth. I remember him interrupting my first dinner with Atlas during the Trials. As I scan the square, I see more milling about. What are they doing here? Are they here to stop Erevan?

Their postures are casual as they stroll through the square, listening to him rouse the crowd with impassive expressions.

A warning burns up the base of my spine. Has Erevan noticed their arrival? Shouldn’t he stop this? It’s one thing to revile the king openly but quite another to do it right in the presence of his most trusted servants.

Erevan shouts something else, and that’s when I notice the slightest dip in his voice as the blush pales on his cheeks. He’s just taken note of the warders, but he doesn’t back down, continuing his tirade of crimes committed by the king, his voice pitching louder. His bravery is impressive. Or stupid.

Movement catches the corner of my eye as more bodies flood down alleyways towards the square—soldiers dressed in the Sun King’s uniforms.

“Where’s Tris?” I ask, spinning around. I pray he’s still safely inside the bar.

“I’m not sure,” Nadir says, “but we should get out of here. He’ll meet us at the house.”

His gaze follows the same path as mine, and it’s clear he’s noticed the same thing. Shit is about to go down.

Unfortunately, just as we’re about to make our exit, said shit breaks out completely. There’s barely a second of warning before the king’s army spills into the plaza to a chorus of panicked screams. The crowd moves like a wall, shoving and pushing, as everyone scrambles to evacuate.

A body crashes into me, knocking me back so hard I nearly stumble, barely catching myself at the last moment. An unfamiliar crowd surrounds me, and I can’t see where Nadir ended up. It doesn’t matter, I remind myself. He can take care of himself. I need to get out of here and take cover before someone recognizes me.

Another surge of bodies drags me towards the center of the square, and I fight against it, elbows out, clawing my way in the opposite direction. Hoping I don’t inflict too much damage on someone who doesn’t deserve it, I battle against the crush.

It feels like it takes forever, the cacophony reaching ear-piercing levels. There are screams and the sounds of steel clashing on steel. “Rebels” are cut down without mercy to the thunk of bodies hitting stone and the sound of keening wails.

Another one of the king’s rules prevents low fae from purchasing weapons, and thus, they have to rely on whatever relics they can find or whatever they can cobble together, leaving them mostly unarmed and outmatched.

I need to get out. I keep pushing and pushing until finally I burst through the edge of the crowd. A stream of people flows away from the square, trying to seek cover, but guards block every exit. It’s absolute chaos. I spot an unmanned alley and approach it, trying to keep ahead of the river of Fae and humans. Tugging down my hat, I finally reach the exit, casting a look over my shoulder before I duck into the safety of the shadows.

Then I turn around and crash into a brick wall.

“Oof,” I cry, stumbling back until an arm catches me, pulling me up.

It isn’t a wall, after all.

It’s a High Fae male.

With snowy white wings and golden armor. With angry blue eyes and wavy blond hair.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Final Tribute?” Gabriel snarls in my face.

CHAPTER THREE

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I attempt to twist myself from Gabriel’s iron grip, but he’s already dragging me deeper into the network of small alleys as the sounds of the fighting dim to a muffled hush.

“Let go of me,” I demand, stumbling after him, failing to keep up with his long, furious strides. His grip only tightens, and I wince, sure he’s leaving bruises on my skin.

Gods, I forgot what an asshole he is.

My time away from Aphelion softened my memories, reminding me of the slightly-better-than-the-rest parts. In my head, I’d painted Atlas as the chief villain in my story, but as I note the set of his hardened jaw and piercing stare, I remember Gabriel also had his role to play.

He ignores me and drags me further until we finally stop at a deserted corner. What’s he going to do? Murder me right out here in the open? Surely he’s going to take me back to Atlas first?

He yanks me forward and shoves me against a stone wall, my hands slapping the rough surface to protect my nose from a painful collision. I whip around to face him with my chin lifted high. If this is the end, I’ll try to go out with some dignity.