Joreth raised an eyebrow. “It won’t do you any good. I have already won.” He sneered. “How do you like my latest creations?” He gestured toward the dark fae. “Not even you, Prince Tristan, can defeat so many dark fae on your own.”
“Maybe.” Tristan’s eyes narrowed, and his ears twitched. I could tell his fae hearing had picked up something the others had not. His lips turned up in a sardonic smile as he looked at Joreth. “But it seems I’m not as alone as you think.”
Two dark fae heads rolled toward us out of the darkness, eyes hollow, mouths open in silent screams.
“No, you are not alone, Tristan,” said a High Fae warrior stepping out of the shadows. Cade and Farrell flanked him on both sides. “The Elite never are.”
“Aiden.” Tristan’s lips curved upward. “Good to see you.”
The Prince of the Day Court stepped into the light, his fair hair glinting and twin swords blazing in both hands. Aiden and I might not have seen eye to eye, but I was more than relieved to see him. The blond-haired High Fae was an exceptional warrior, nearly as powerful as Tristan, and part of Izadora’s elite band of fire-fae warriors, the scourge of the Drakaar.
Joreth’s obsidian eyes widened when he saw the Elite fae warriors. “Kill them!” he shouted and quickly stepped through the portal with Vivienne and Skye. The portal shut behind them.
“With pleasure,” Tristan growled, flashing the dark fae a wolfish grin. His muscles rippled, magic of the night rolling off him in waves, a darker magic reserved only for the royal Nightshade bloodline. I remembered what Penelope had said about the original Nightshade prince, the fae lord with exceptional powers who summoned Dragath to this world. I shuddered at the thought of the power that ran through Tristan’s veins. The dark prince’s swords burned brightly, lighting up with a silver fire hotter and more potent than I had ever seen him produce.
There was a reason Tristan Nightshade was a legend, as he demonstrated when he pounced on the nearest dark fae and the battle for Stonegate began.
The dark fae swords lit up, casting an eerie red hue on the great stone hall, and a burning smell of fire meeting fire filled the air as red and silver swords clashed, sending out sparks of magic. The air around us was charged with power, as any remaining dwarven soldiers scurried out of the way, huddled in a corner with no way out, protecting their traitorous leader.
“Don’t let Drimli get away!” shouted Penelope.
Rafe rushed to assist her.
I followed, but a dark fae with serrated teeth like those of a gorgoth came at me, sword raised. Although the dark fae looked like High Fae, they were abominations, and their magic felt wrong, like it wasn’t meant to be. Made by dark magic and raised by the Drakaar, the dark fae had nothing of the High Fae in them. Their demon side was dominant, but they had the magic of a fire-fae warrior. I swung Dawn upward and braced my legs. My arms shuddered, but my dwarven-made sword stood firm against the dark magic of Dragath’s servant. But the dark fae had the same strength as a High Fae, and he pushed me back. I staggered and my grip loosened, my sword clattering to the ground. Dark eyes glowed red as I reached for my sword, but it was too far. The creature raised his weapon, but before he could lower it, a sword of flashing silver severed his head and his body fell at my feet.
I looked up at a mop of red hair framing a familiar face. “Miss me?” Cade grinned as he bent down and pulled me to my feet.
I smiled at my old friend. “Always, Cade.” I lunged for my sword. It was always good to see Cade, but this time I was more grateful than ever before to see him. If they hadn’t come, we might not have made it.
The dark fae were no match for Izadora’s Elite Guard; they might have had the same strength and magic, but that was no replacement for the centuries of experience, battles, and victories Tristan and the Elite had been through. Soon the throne room of the palace at Stonegate was littered with the bodies of Dragath’s minions.
Aiden had the traitor Drimli by the throat, his short legs flailing about as the massive fae warrior lifted him up like he was a rag doll. Aiden shot the dwarf a disgusted look. “What do you want me to do with him?” he asked me.
For a moment I was stunned when all eyes turned on me. The Prince of the Day Court had made it clear he supported me as Izadora’s heir and looked to me for orders. Aiden might not have liked me, but he was always loyal to the crown of Elfi.
Tristan came forward, his sword still flashing silver fire. “There is only one punishment for a traitor.”
Ashara nodded. She, too, was bloodthirsty when it came to doling out punishments.
The guards brought out King Ranthor’s body and laid it reverently on the table in the grand hall. Rafe stepped forward and inspected the body. “It’s him,” he confirmed.
Drimli struggled in his bonds. “I told you he’s dead,” he spat, struggling as Aiden tightened his grip on the traitor’s throat. “I’m the rightful King of Stonegate now; you cannot do this to me.”
Rafe stalked over to the traitor, his hand on his sword. “You are not king yet, Drimli.” His eyes narrowed as he regarded the situation. “Drimli is Ranthor’s cousin and not first in line to the throne. Ranthor has a son, Prince Mirin. He is now the rightful King of Stonegate and all the dwarven cities.” He shot Drimli a disgusted look. “Where is he?”
Aiden dropped the dwarven traitor to the ground so he could speak. He clutched his throat, hidden by his long beard, and sneered at Rafe. “Also dead!”
