Page 6 of Crownless Heirs

Kyron nodded, keeping his mouth closed tightly as they proceeded northward.

They walked for what seemed like hours; the land stretching out ahead in rolling hills of silver-green grass, the ever-present twilight sky painting everything in a surreal landscape glow. Sorcha exhaled slowly, keeping her hands near her weapons as they stumbled into a small clearing in the trees. Sorcha’s legs began to protest any further movement, and she collapsed onto a fallen tree limb, stretching her legs and feet.

“My legs could use a break.” She stated as she reached her hands over her head.

“Not a bad idea,” Kyron agreed as he lowered himself into the grass.

Cat slumped beside them, basking in the sun’s warmth.

“A book, Kyron? What kind of answer was that?” Cat asked sarcastically.

Kyron shrugged, “It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“Let me make sure I understand. You heard,” Cat cleared his throat and deepened his voice, “‘I can be broken without a touch, given without being held,’ and you thought, ‘Ahh, a book?”

Kyron’s eyebrows knitted together as his face scrunched up. “It’s not like you got it right either.”

“Without being held,” Cat exaggerated the word, “held,” in a mocking tone.

Sorcha sat listening to the two bicker, trying her best not to be pulled into it. Though they tried.

“Do the Tuatha lack books in their court? Have you ever seen one?” Cat shot back at Kyron, who began muttering a series of curses.

As the two quarreled on, Sorcha heard tree limbs snap and the leaves above rustle. Cat’s ears flicked, and Kyron instinctively reached for his sword. A moment later, shadows descended from the trees. Sorcha’s hand shot toward her blade, but before she could draw it, she realized arrows and swords surrounded her. The warriors were tall and lean, their feline grace clear even in their human-like form. They spread out in a loose circle, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief, as if unsure whether to fight or retreat.

One of them was a broad-shouldered male with a streak of silver in his dark hair; he stepped forward, his eyes locked onto Cat.

“Maelan?” His voice was low and edged with surprise.

Another warrior, younger than the rest, furrowed his brow. “Where in the Veil have you been?”

Sorcha and Kyron exchanged glances, trying to comprehend the situation.

Cat exhaled a slow breath, his tail flicking behind him. “I needed to find answers.”

The silver-haired warrior crossed his arms, unimpressed. “It’s been too long. Did you find them?”

Cat hesitated. “I did.”

Before he could elaborate, Sorcha, who had been observing this unfolding with growing confusion, finally spoke up. “Okay, what’s going on?”

She glanced between Cat and the warriors, seeking an explanation. Predictably, Cat merely smirked. However, Kyron remained staring at him, his expression exasperated and wide-eyed.

Sorcha frowned. “Kyron?”

Kyron exhaled.

Sorcha’s gaze darted between them, utterly bewildered. “What?”

Kyron appeared surprised, his eyebrows raised as if they were attempting to touch his hairline. “Ask me what his name means.”

Sorcha, more confused and annoyed now, spoke through clenched teeth, “What does his name mean?”

Kyron glanced at Cat, then back at her. “Prince. Maelan means prince. He is the prince of the Cait Sidhe, the heir to the throne. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together sooner.” Silence enveloped them.

Sorcha blinked, now glaring at Cat, her voice a whisper. “What?”

One warrior gave a huff of laughter. “Did he not tell you?”