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Maybe he’s giving me some semblance of privacy as I gather what’s most important to me.
I kneel in front of a wooden trunk by the foot of my unmade bed. Lifting the lid, I retrieve a worn, leather satchel and set it beside me on the floor. Underneath a stack of journals with ink-stained pages of my innermost thoughts and feelings are a few heirlooms I brought with me when I fled from my coven centuries ago. Tokens for future festival offerings, a couple of sage smudge sticks, a single cobalt blue stone with an eye carved into the middle, and a shard of tourmaline.
It all goes into my satchel.
I rise to my feet and grab a handful of ribbons and the compendium I’ve been working on, hastily labeled The Language of Flowers, from the nightstand and tuck them into my bag too.
I twist my mouth to the side as I realize most of my clothes are in desperate need of washing, but perhaps I’ll need to procure better attire anyway to fit in with the fae.
That reminds me—
I poke my head through the door. Riven leans against the hallway wall, his gaze fixed on the cobwebs stretching across the planked ceiling.
“We need to discuss payment,” I say.
“Coin wasn’t part of the bargain.”
“I’m going to need new clothes if I’m going to fit in.”
His head drops so he’s looking down at me, and I feel too exposed, alone with him in the dimly lit hallway. “New clothes certainly won’t help with that.”
My cheeks heat.
Fae bastard.
I spin around and cross to my wardrobe, pulling loose a few clean tops and trousers, a nightgown, and several pairs of socks. There’s nothing I hate more than my toes being cold. I change into a fresh pair before tugging on my most comfortable boots. I untie my apron and toss it onto the floor, leaving the room and heading outside without another word to the king or his sword catcher.
They follow me, speaking quietly to one another.
I cast a final farewell glance around my yard, at the quaint cottage Achlys and I made our home for centuries. Avaline may look at what I’ve built here and think I’ve been living nothing but a half-life, but that isn’t true at all.
I was safer here than I ever was anywhere else in the Wyldelands.
And now, I’m leaving this haven for a kingdom I’ve never set foot in.
A kingdom where I will always be an outsider.
Riven removes his dagger from his hip and slashes it against thin air, opening a glimmering portal. Through it, I see glimpses of bright, white marble and turquoise waterfalls, lush green trees, and cobblestones.
Arkyn has already stepped through, his form gobbled up by light.
My nerves try to get the best of me, buzzing around in my stomach like a colony of angry bees.
The king’s eyes meet mine. “Ready?”
“My coven will come for me,” I warn, voice shaky. “It might not be right away, but it’s only a matter of time. They never stop hunting those who slip from their grasp, especially if they’re... useful to the coven matron.” I wet my lips. “I’d cast a protective spell like the one shielding this place, but it demands too great a sacrifice. Are you sur—”
“I’m sure, Gwyn.” He tilts his head toward the portal. “Are you?”
His gaze rakes over my face, and I briefly wonder what he sees there. Fear? Or is that masked by the homesickness surging through my blood for a place I haven’t even left yet?
Achlys bounds over to us and bumps his cold, wet nose against my palm, a silent I’m with you.
“I’m sure,” I echo and step through the portal.
Chapter 6
RIVEN
