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5
EURIG
“Your Highness, I have some concerning news.”
Eurig wiped his brow and lowered his sword, turning from where he’d been sparring with a grain sack suspended from the ceiling. A youthful fae bowed before him, his curly mop of black hair hiding his eyes from view. One of his messengers. Strange. He hadn’t expected any news.
“What is it?” he asked, frowning.
The messenger boy cleared his throat, clearly uneasy at speaking directly to the outposters’ new king. “A Redcap has been spotted ashore. Pacing back and forth for hours.”
Eurig’s heart lurched as he stood a little straighter. “A Redcap?”
“That’s right.” The boy’s face flushed. “She transformed into a fae for a while. She was, ah…not wearing anything.”
“What did she look like?” he demanded.
“Long dark hair. Not particularly tall. There was something very…different about her.”
Eurig swore beneath his breath. Surely it could not be. It had been less than two days since he’d arrived back at the outposts after leaving Taveon’s court behind. It had been the only way to convince them not to attack the dark fae, those the outposters saw as their enemies. He’d known Bree was upset. He had been, too. The last thing he’d wanted was to leave her there.
But he’d had no other choice. The outposters would have stormed Taveon’s court. So many dark fae would have died. Not Taveon, of course. He was immortal. But he would have spent centuries of life behind bars.
“Show me,” Eurig said, sliding his sword into the scabbard at his back. Whoever was here, it couldn’t be Bree. He’d seen the look on her face.
But when the messenger led Eurig to the creaking wooden dock at the edges of the outposts, Eurig let out a low whistle. His heart began to beat a little faster. The coast was far, but he’d recognize that Redcap anywhere.
* * *
The wolf crouched before him on her haunches, those gleaming yellow eyes piercing his soul. He dropped a set of fighting leathers just in front of her and turned his back. Despite what had passed between them, he didn’t want to force her to change in front of him.
A moment later, a finger tapped his shoulder.
He turned to gaze into her gorgeous eyes, and he felt all of his resolve scatter into the wind. How could he stay here and rule when his heart was somewhere else?
Because he had to. For his own people. For the rest of the realm. Even for Bree. If the outposters attacked the court, he knew which side she’d take. She would stand beside Taveon, no matter what.
“Bree,” he said roughly. “How are you here?”
Her face flushed as she gazed down at the sandy shore. The waves lapped at the dock behind them, spraying saltwater onto Eurig’s back. “We have a problem. A big one. I wouldn’t have come otherwise, but I have nowhere else to turn. Eurig, have you ever heard of the Realm of the Dead?”
Eurig stiffened. Of course he had. “So, Taveon finally told you the truth about where he came from.”
“Kind of,” she said, still not meeting his eyes. “I learned about it through the bond.”
“And you’re…upset about this?” he asked, arching his brows. Eurig had imagined that Bree, of all people, would understand Taveon. It wouldn’t change the way she felt about him. It wasn’t as if he could choose his heritage, and it had done nothing to influence his values, his beliefs, or his actions. Taveon was Taveon, regardless of who his father was.
But she looked rattled. And afraid.
“I don’t care where he came from.” She flipped her gaze up then, piercing his soul. “Except for the fact those creatures, whatever they are, want to storm these lands and take him back. And they plan to tear apart this realm and the ones beyond it. Everyone is in danger, Eurig. Including you.”
For a moment, all he could do was stare at Bree and repeat her words over and over again in his head. It seemed unfathomable. The demons from the Realm of the Dead planned to attack? After all these years? Centuries, even. They had not once shown any interest in these lands.
“Where did you hear this?” Eurig had to ask. “Where did the news come from? Did you see them yourself?”
Bree winced. “Fillan. Now before you say a damn thing about—”
“Fillan?” he asked sharply. “The assassin?”
