Page 2 of The Blood Queen

As we dismount and one of the soldiers hauls Alyth down none too gently, she stumbles, hitting the ground on her knees with a hiss of pain.

Laughter rings out.

Every one of these people riding with Cecil is a Red Cap, and I know because I’ve seen copies of that necklace, the one that stifles magic, on them. I wore one to get through the magic barrier that previously kept all Red Caps out of Scotland. But Cecil’s people have it pinned to their belts like trophies, proudly bearing the symbol that shows they outsmarted Alyth’s fae court.

Every one of them could flip into a raging monster at the slightest provocation.

Every one of them could go feral and bloodthirsty in a snap.

Including me.

I lean against my horse, eyes on Alyth, seeing her, but seeing spots of black too. Speckles like the snow that’s falling, only it’s rage dusting across my vision.

My muscles are cramped from holding myself back this whole ride. Every flare of anger and worry and grief has been packed in a neat little box and set deep, deep in my gut, and seeing her on the ground, on her knees in front of these bloody fools, has that box swelling, breaking, straining.

They’re hurting her.

Not days ago, I found out I’m a monster. One of these damned Red Caps bent on invading the fae realm, the type of fae that feasts on havoc. I’m a monster.

But I’m her monster now. The rage, the blackouts, the bloodlust—it’s all hers.

Alyth looks up. Her eyes meet mine across the stable yard, and she’s wearing a mask, like mine. Hiding behind her facade, like I am.

She holds my gaze a beat longer than either of us should, her gaze on me tactile.

It’s command enough.

The rage settles. A simmer, not a boil.

Not yet. Not yet.

Cecil slaps my shoulder, making me bite back a snarl. “Come, Samson.” To the soldiers, “Bring the girl.”

Someone hefts Alyth to her feet. “C’mon, barrier bitch,” he taunts.

I’m walking toward him before I can think it through. Alyth’s eyes briefly widen when I slam both fists into the soldier’s chest and send him toppling onto the cobbled ground.

“Mine,” I bark.

It echoes through the stable yard. The Red Cap soldiers pause around me; even the winter wind calms a bit, listening.

And behind me, Cecil’s watching. Has been watching. Will keep watching.

Not yet.

I grab Alyth’s arm and face my father. “She’s mine to present to the High Blade,” I say through my teeth.

Cecil doesn’t react for a drawn-out beat. Neither do any of his soldiers. The one I knocked to the ground stays there, scowling up at me.

One word, and I’d be in a binding spell just like Alyth. That won’t do a lick of good in helping her escape.

So I hold my father’s eyes and hope he interprets my rage as righteous.

Cecil nods, thoughtful. “Bring her,” he says again, and he walks off into the stone castle.

The Red Cap I shoved scrambles up and catches my shoulder with his as he passes, but I’m braced, expecting the attack.

I don’t even look at him as I pull Alyth after Cecil. None of them matter.