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“Please,” she cried, pressing her hands together, forming a steeple. “Don’t do this.”
The youngest male sneered, and the older two scoffed. Were they brothers? Both had white hair, the sides braided and pinned back. They were tall and muscular, sporting finely knit sweaters, leather pants and combat boots. Short swords topped with icebone hilts extended over each man’s broad shoulders. Icebone. A crystal found only in the Winterlands.
Kaysar’s brow furrowed with confusion. Why were Winter Court royal guards so far from home?
He took aim, keeping the biggest man in his sights. Though he knew a handful of arrows couldn’t fell fae warriors as strong as these, he also knew a few well-placed missiles could slow them down, buying him time to escape.
“Did you hope to win my kingdom through my son, girl?” the tallest male demanded, crackling with fury.
His kingdom? King Hador Frostline was said to be tall and bulging with muscle, with a mop of white curls. Reports suggested Prince Lark, his younger brother, resembled him.
Fear chilled Kaysar’s blood. What had he stumbled upon?
The king patted the teenager’s shoulder. He must be Prince Jareth Frostline, the son. “Do you have anything to say to this female?”
“Why would I?” he replied, seeming offended by the prospect. “She’s nothing to me.”
Anger heated Kaysar’s chest. What if this trio ever treated Viori this way?
The girl crumpled, her shoulders rolling in. As she dropped her head into her upraised hands, quiet sobs shook her slender frame.
Prince Lark made a noise of disgust.
“I’ll be good.” She reached out to ward him off or cling, Kaysar wasn’t sure. “I can...I can leave the Winter Court. Yes. I’ll leave and never return. Please. Let me leave.”
The onlookers laughed with each other.
“Take care of her, brother.” The king nudged Prince Lark. “You need the practice.”
“My ability is almost as stalwart as yours,” Prince Lark protested.
“Almost. But you lack control. So go ahead.” He waved to the girl as if she were a thing of little importance. “Practice.”
Kaysar realized he had a choice. Save the girl and his conscience, perhaps condemning himself and Viori in the process, or walk away and condemn the girl and his conscience.
Could he save her? One boy against three fae royals? And if he failed? What of Viori?
The need for debate ended there. He lowered his bow. For Viori’s continued well-being, he must do nothing.
His stomach turned as Prince Lark cupped the girl’s face and her eyes widened with terror. Choking sounds left her as black lines appeared in her skin. She struggled against him, doing her best to sever their connection, but the prince held on and on and on.
The lines spread through her eyes. Down her neck, disappearing under her clothes.
Kaysar watched, his insides on fire.
She struggled less and less.
He curled his hands into fists.
The girl went limp, and Kaysar stopped breathing entirely.
With a simple twist of his wrists, Prince Lark casually ripped off her head. He laughed as blood spurted. Laughed as her body hit the ground, the diamond-studded collar tumbling a few feet away. The king and his son cheered.
Bile rose, singeing Kaysar’s throat. Prince Lark lifted the head as if it were a war prize. No, a child’s toy. He kicked it a good distance away, then flittered. An ability to teleport from one location to another. An ability Kaysar had yet to develop.
The other two royals followed the prince within seconds.
A hoarse bellow exploded from Kaysar then, the pixies taking flight. He sucked in a mouthful of air and fought to center his thoughts. Forget the atrocity he’d witnessed. Emotions could be dealt with later. With the right buyer, that diamond collar could provide a month’s worth of meals for his sister.
Kaysar performed a visual sweep. About twenty feet of wildflowers separated him and the collar, with no obvious rocks or stumps littering the path. Ignoring his trembling, he hooked the bow over his shoulder, and drew in a deep breath.
Go! He sprinted out of the tangle of branches. Halfway there...
Bending down and reaching out...
A hard arm coiled around his throat, yanking him against a harder body. Though he struggled, his captor twisted his arm behind his back, trapping him further.
“I thought I smelled someone in the shadows.” A husky chuckle fanned hot breath over his forehead. “So who do we have here, hmm?” Prince Lark smacked his lips against Kaysar’s cheek. “A naughty thief planning to steal Winter Court property?”
When the king and his son reappeared a few feet away, panic surged.
The king frowned. “We can’t have a witness spilling our secrets.”
“A shame to waste such a pretty face.” Prince Lark rubbed against Kaysar. “Give him to me. I’ll ensure he stays quiet.”
No, no, no. Left with no other recourse, Kaysar concentrated on his glamara. When his throat heated, he spoke. “You will release me.” Calm, steady. “You will walk away and forget me.”
