I hesitate.
He roughly grabs my hand and peels back the sleeve on my jacket to reveal a gold band with my identification. I hadn’t worked out how to remove the cuff yet—it’s marked with strong runes—the king’s runes. Cutting through the metal doesn’t work. Neither does regular magic. I haven’t resorted to chopping off my wrist, particularly because it’s my sword-wielding hand.
“Val. A runaway. Traitor to the crown.” The guard grunts.
“My loyalty never lied with the king.” I bite back the hostility in my voice as my muscles tense. I don’t break eye contact but listen to my surroundings. Dripping water behind me. A dark alley to the northeast. A building with an open window to my left. I try to find a way to escape.
Since suddenly seeing the kingdom for what it is, a sham, I’ve been on the run. It hasn’t been easy, and I have a few debts to pay as I’ve worked hard to survive and help other people do the same, but this little hiccup isn’t going to further my cause. Once more, I try to break away.
The guard grips me tighter, bruising my arm. His smirk stings worse because I know they’re going to haul me in.
“Your treachery will be dealt with. You won’t forget who you are again, Val, servant of Rikurd the King.”
No, I won’t ever forget who I am. Fae. Freedom seeker.
As they grip me tight and attempt to bind me with a double set of gold cuffs, I slip my hand under the waistband of my jacket and pull out a slim blade.
My nose twitches. “I have an itch.”
They scoff.
“I’m going to sneeze.”
They could care less.
“All over both of you and I’m recovering from—” Achoo. I fake a sneeze.
One of the guards lets go of my arm and I lash out with the blade, slicing through his sleeve. I force myself not to use magic because that will only draw more guards.
They unsheathe their swords.
“You think you’ll escape?” One of the guards laughs.
My knife will hardly do damage so I have to disarm them. I summon my wings, levitate and then cartwheel in the air before kicking one of the swords away and cutting the cloak from his neck as I land behind him.
The other guard doesn’t hesitate but slashes at me and then lunges, grazing my side. It’s close enough to make a gash. I grip the wound. I inhale deeply and become a statue, a fortification made of rock, a stone battlement, steeling myself from the pain.
I spring back into action. Better not to waste time. I scramble toward the other guard’s sword. But I’m too late. He already has it in hand as another patrol marches toward us, likely summoned by my illegal use of magic. I lift into the air, but one of them has a seeker spear—a magical implement that will quickly send me to the ground if deployed. They must’ve known fae magic was being used.
“Just in time,” one of the guards says to the patrol.
The other adds, “Nasty one. Giving us trouble.”
“I just about ran her through,” the first one says, smirking as I grip my side.
“Now, you can go explain your disloyalty to the king and plead for your life.”
“I’m not loyal to him.” I wince as they bind me.
“Wait a second. I recognize her.” The guard wraps me on the head and then chuckles darkly.
“I don’t bow to him,” I whisper as I spare a glance at the stars in the sky as the night begins to fade.
Despite my protests, they lead me toward the castle.
Nathina, my great grandmother, would kill me if she knew what I’d done. No, killing me would be too kind, merciful. She’d probably transform me into an everlasting swamp slug or give me a chronic case of partridge pox—the opposite of chickenpox in that they make the skin slimy and numb. There’s no cure.
What did I do? I skipped out on the royal special fae fighters graduation ceremony. No one should be surprised. I was voted most likely to tail. Not fail and not due to a lack of skill or discipline. Quite the contrary. Rather, because I’m a natural-born rebel. Always have been. So is Nathina in a way. She never had me call her Great-grandmother, Amma, or Morfor. She told me her true name, but she’s so tough she doesn’t worry about anyone knowing it.
Nathina probably didn’t show up at graduation anyway. If she did, she’d present me with foxgloves instead of tulips because I’m allergic to the latter and the former are poisonous. She’s over three hundred years old, sharp as a tack, and just as miserable and deadly.
Why would I turn my nose up at being among the royal fae fighters? It was plan b. Plan a was Nathina’s idea—marry me to a high court fae. Then of all people, the prince had to interfere and ruin my life. I was sent to boot camp. Forget Nathina. Forget the prince. I’d like to decide my own future thank you very much.
As I cross the threshold into the castle, dread fills my stomach. That should be no surprise since the unseen call the king Dread Rikurd.
As I’m tossed in the throne room, literally, I land hard at the foot of the steps that lead to the platform. The blue-green carpet rubs my skin raw even through my pants.
A low growl sounds from above. I lift my head and gaze into a pair of copper eyes.
It’s not the king’s gaze that I meet.
No, they belong to a despicably handsome face with annoyingly, tousled hair. It’s perpetually like he just woke up and is without a care in the world. A sharp jaw and full lips that would be perfect on anyone else sneer at
