by May Dawson
As soon as I pulled my training sword, I said, “Ready.”
Alisa rushed to draw her own sword. She was too late though, and I tapped her outer thigh with my blade, pulling the blow so it would sting but shouldn’t bruise deep.
She brought her sword to the ready, grinning at me over the blade. I already regretted the unfair move just because I was out of sorts, until she exclaimed, “You’re right, it’s so important to always be ready! Thanks for the reminder.”
The only creature worse than Evil Alisa was Perky Alisa.
“Why don’t the two of you team up and press an attack,” I said, since they liked to form a team so much already, “Maybe I’ll be lucky and one of you will get in a blow to the head that knocks me as senseless as the pair of you.”
Tiron considered this, his sword at the ready. “Hardly seems fair.”
“Try me,” I said.
For a few minutes, the only sounds were the thwack of our training swords against each other’s, ringing out in the clearing. In the end, the two of them bested me—barely. I swept Alisa’s leg, but she rolled out from under my killing blow and Tiron stepped in, catching me with the blade to my throat.
“Decent,” I admitted grudgingly.
“Ha,” Alisa said, panting. Her hair had come a bit undone, strands hanging into her face, which emphasized the fine cut of her cheekbones. “You’re being generous, Duncan, how unexpected. It shouldn’t be so hard for the two of us to bring you down.”
She wasn’t twisting my words now to say I was generous. Her voice was her natural one, not the light affect she took on when she was teasing me.
“To be fair to us,” Tiron said before I could decide how to respond, “Duncan is the best of the king’s knights.”
I scoffed--not at the thought that I was the best, but at the thought that I was one of the king’s. “Maybe. It depends on the day.”
“You only came here a few years ago,” Alisa said to Tiron, as if to confirm.
He nodded and pulled off his sweat-soaked shirt, revealing the hard planes and muscles formed by years of daily training for combat. “One day I might be as good as Duncan, though.”
I snorted at the compliment. “You two are more annoying than usual. Were you drinking wine at breakfast?”
“Maybe you’re hungover from last night,” Tiron gave me a meaningful look before he took his flask off his horse and guzzled water.
“Were you two at a different party?” Alisa asked, her brows arching. “I’d rather go to that one. I bet it was much more fun.”
“Only because you weren’t there,” I said, but my heart wasn’t quite in it. The knights had their own revelry, and it was far more pleasant then being anywhere near Faer.
“What brought you to the autumn court?” Alisa asked Tiron curiously.
He hesitated, and I knew he didn’t want to answer that question. He kept the truth of his past hidden deep under that sunny exterior. I suspected I didn’t even know the half of it.
“Are you two going to gab all day like a couple of scullery maids peeling potatoes, or are we going to train?” I demanded.
I tapped Alisa’s sword with mine impatiently. She couldn’t hide her faint smile as she moved into position—as if she found me harmless, or even amusing.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “I want a story. I barely know the two of you.”
“I’m not in the bedtime story business,” I warned her.
“I said a deal. I’ll go up against the two of you. If I win, you tell me.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I scoffed.
“If it’s ridiculous,” she tapped my sword’s blade with hers, the way I’d done to her a moment before, “then you’ll easily beat me and gloat. What do you have to lose?”
“I wouldn’t bother to gloat about beating you,” I said.
She rolled her eyes and turned to Tiron in an appeal for help.
“Come on, Duncan,” Tiron said. “The queen of summer is going to need to fight, sooner or later. No matter how much we intend to protect her. Might as well practice now.”
He gave me a long look. Alisa glanced between the two of us, her eyes narrowing as if she were about to demand to know what we were talking about.
“Okay, fine,” I said, simply because I didn’t want to get drawn into a long conversation about what it would mean for her to be the queen of summer. “I’ll play your little games, Alisa.”
My condescending tone just made her smile. She said archly, “I know you will.”
The three of us all moved to the ready. Alisa faced the two of us, who stood about ten feet apart. As soon as I took a step toward her, she darted toward Tiron, trying to use her speed and agility against the two of us.
She was quick and clever, but in the end, the two of us beat her.
Tiron reached his hand down to her, and she grabbed his forearm. He pulled her up.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” she said, leaping to her feet. She pressed her elbow into her ribs as if she’d been hurt, but she must be trying to keep it from showing on her face.
If I didn’t know Alisa’s true nature, I would’ve felt like a real dick for making her work so hard for the simplest scrap of information. She was tough and hard-working. I hesitated, hating myself for the way I softened.
Then I tossed my water bottle to her. “The first time I met Tiron, he came into an open competition to become an apprentice. Believe it or not, people fight each other for those spots and the torture that comes with them. Azrael or I both would’ve picked him out as a royal for some other court.”
“But I was thinking,” Tiron pressed two fingers to the side of his head dramatically, “so I wore a mask.”
“You looked like a moron,” I scoffed. “Only spring court knights wear those silly little masks. And it didn’t do much to hide the way you carry yourself.”
“That almost sounded like a compliment,” Tiron said.
“He won round after round. Day after day. The last competition round was fighting knights of the court so they could be assessed. But the night before, there was a feast to celebrate.” I shook my head at Tiron, before I asked him, “Were you drunk? Maybe you were drunk.”
To Alisa, I added, “He called me Azrael.”
Tiron spread his arms. “It was an honest mistake. You two are practically twins.”
I scoffed at that. “I could kick your ass for old time’s sake, if you want to go down that road.”
Alisa was smiling at the banter between the two of us; seeing that genuine, warm expression that crinkled the corner of her eyes, my chest grew light.
Danger. Her smile had brought my guard down before, and I’d paid for that sin.
“Anyway, I asked him to apologize and he copped that winter court attitude,” I finished. “Then I accidentally broke his nose and two ribs.”
“There was nothing accidental about it,” Tiron said, sounding exasperated.
“I didn’t mean to break your nose. If you’re going to drop your fists, though, it can’t be helped.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
Tiron rolled his eyes. “Anyway, one of the fun things about this whole affair was that we were enchanted so we couldn’t just heal ourselves. It was a week of cumulative damage. I was half-wrecked going into the fights the next day. I knew I was going to lose—I’d be lucky not to puncture a lung.”
“What happened?” Alisa prompted.
Tiron glanced at me, his eyebrows arching mischievously. “You want to tell it, Duncan?”
I shook my head. “Go ahead.”
“I really think you should,” he insisted.
Maybe I should puncture his lungs now after all.
“I’m dying of curiosity,” Alisa said.
“If only it were that easy to get rid of you,” I told her, but she just smiled at the dig.
Tiron was looking at me as if he’d win if I refused to finish, so I finally uncrossed my arms and gave in.
I admitted, “I let him win. Pretend
ed he knocked me out.”
“He’s a really good actor when he tries,” Tiron confided to her.
Alisa looked at me curiously, as if she were seeing something about me that she hadn’t before.
I opened my mouth, about to try to justify it all to her, but then I snapped my jaw shut. I didn’t owe her anything.
“Let’s fight,” she said, before I could say it myself.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Alisa
As we were riding back to the castle, a male on a horse appeared down the road, such a distance away that I couldn’t see his face. His posture was erect though, his shoulders broad, and he looked sexy even from here.
“What does Azrael want?” Duncan frowned.
Of course. Of course it was Azrael.
Why was I so attracted to all three of these jerks?
Duncan clucked to his horse, and the warhorse shot off, Duncan kept his seat easily, his fine ass bouncing against the saddle as he raced toward Azrael.
Tiron kept his horse at a sedate pace, matching mine.
“Do you guys really not name your horses?” I demanded. “As if they’re just tools?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Between you and me, Alisa… but if you tell anyone, I’ll put spiders in your bed…”
“Does this world have spiders? Why? Why would there be spiders here too?”
“Every world has spiders,” he said. “Some of them are huge.”
Well, that made interdimensional travel a bit less exciting.
I almost asked another question, but I interrupted myself. “I don’t want to talk about spiders. What were you going to tell me?”
He patted his horse’s neck. “Meet Merlin.”
“Merlin?” I raised my eyebrows. “I thought he was a dirtside story.”
“Not just dirtside,” he corrected, “and not just a story.”
His horse’s ears flickered as if he’d recognized his name.
“It’s a good name,” I said.
“Azrael’s been trying to get you a warhorse of your own,” Tiron said. “That pony’s already thrown you once. She’s too volatile to ride to the Cursed Caves, since we’re likely to go through hell to get there.”
“You don’t have extra horses in the stables?”
He shook his head. “The horses bind to their rider.”
I fell silent, thinking about whether I dared bind to any animal. What would happen when I left the horse behind—if I ever did?
The truth was, I had no intention of returning to that shimmering door in the forest anytime soon. I couldn’t explain why I felt tied here, or what I truly wanted. Once I had my memories back, could I walk away and leave this world behind?
I didn’t think so. But I didn’t know what was locked away in my brain, either. My memories might change everything.
“What does it take to get a warhorse?” I asked.
Tiron snorted. “The permission of the stablemaster, for one. Which comes from the head of the guard. Which comes…”
He broke off abruptly, and faint color rose in his cheeks.
No wonder Duncan and Azrael had tried to keep us apart. Tiron told me too much. As long as I didn’t have a more reliable mount, I couldn’t safely travel to the Cursed Caves. Faer might not want to forbid me from going—god help him if he tried—but he could confound the trip in subtler ways.
I had a feeling Faer was doing his best to keep me from breaking the spell on my memories. I’d bet that either he placed the spell on me himself, or my father Herrick had, with Faer’s knowledge.
“Did you know Herrick at all?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No.”
“You didn’t go to the academy with the rest of us?” I asked curiously. Tiron didn’t seem like he knew me from before.
“No. I should have. I was the sixth son of a mere lord. I was never going to inherit anything but an empty title, pocket change and half a drawer of fancy silverware.”
“What happened?”
“The winter court was destroyed,” he said, his voice sharp. “You must have traveled in your carriage past the ruins of my family’s home when you went to that academy.”
I stared at him,
“Not that you remember,” he finished in a softer tone.
I hoped his family was alive and well somewhere despite all the devastation of the war. “What happened to your five brothers?”
“A tidy row of unmarked graves behind the house,” he said. “Along with the graves of my parents and my two little sisters.”
His jaw was tight, his head bowed above the horn of his saddle. I wanted to reach out to touch him but I didn’t dare console him. My family had been the ones to murder his.
He looked up, and I could almost see him decide to let go of the past—for now—as his shoulders straightened and his chin rose. “Sorry, Majesty. It’s not the lightest subject.”
I’d threatened him before if he kept calling me that, but right now I didn’t mind any nickname. He had every reason to hate my family—to hate me. “I don’t mind talking to you about it, Tiron. I wish…”
I wished I could change the past. But I couldn’t.
He shook his head, as if he were desperate for a subject change. I should find an easier topic, but I was burning to know if Faer was as bad as our father.
“Is Faer any better than Herrick, do you think?” I asked.
He glanced at me sidelong, then confessed, “I don’t think I want to answer that, Alisa. He’s your brother.”
“I think I need to know,” I said. “Please, Tiron. I don’t want to go make other friends…”
I trailed off as I realized I had no way to make other friends. I was isolated. There was no one in the court I could trust; I wasn’t going to strike up a lovely friendship with one of the horned girls sipping wine between dances at Faer’s parties. Faer had spent the last five years building relationships and loyalties and alliances and fear. The court belonged to him.
Sometimes it felt, though, as if these three men belonged to me.
Maybe that was enough to go to war with Faer… if I could ever truly trust them, if they could ever trust me. Despite the past.
“The truth?” he gritted, his voice low. He looked ahead steadily, and I followed his gaze toward where Duncan and Azrael rode back toward me.
“Please,” I said hurriedly, knowing he wouldn’t speak openly once they were back.
“I think the summer court needs a queen, not a king,” he managed. He glanced at me with something open and vulnerable in his green-eyed gaze that I’d never seen before. “I think your kingdom needs a hero, Alisa. And I think that hero has to be you.”
I stared at him, not sure how to answer that. I’d felt like a hero at times as a Hunter, when I rescued people from monsters. But I wasn’t that kind of hero.
But then, Azrael and Duncan cantered into earshot, so we both let the subject drop.
“Faer wants to have lunch with us all,” Duncan announced, his tone so dour that it sounded more like an invitation to a hanging.
“How dreadful,” I said, matching my tone to his, which just earned me a baleful glare.
Azrael’s face was perfectly blank—the way it always was when he didn’t like something and he was making sure no one saw his emotions. He was always guarded that way when he was anywhere near Faer, or even in the court. But he was animated—for Azrael, at least—with Duncan and Tiron.
And with me.
Usually.
“What’s bothering you?” I demanded.
“He might be embarrassed from that show on the dais,” Azrael said. “I’m curious what he wants this morning.”
When Azrael said he was curious, I had a feeling what he truly felt was dread.
What had Faer done to Duncan and Azrael before? They seemed wary around him, as if he’d cost them something before.
I knew they wouldn’t want to answer the question. But I was furious at the thought, and sooner or later, I’d found out if Faer h
ad hurt them.
So what? What are you going to do then? They’re not even your friends.
My inner voice was an asshole, and I decided to ignore it.
“Do you think Raile will be at this lunch too?” I asked as we rode toward the castle. I hated the thought of seeing him. Raile himself seemed like an interesting male, but I hated that he represented my brother’s desire to control me. “Then it’ll be like a party of princes!”
“Delightful,” Duncan muttered.
Tiron glanced at me, a look that I couldn’t quite read; I hadn’t meant to leave him out. Given life for Azrael, Duncan and myself, it certainly wasn’t as if there was anything so great about being nobility.
But maybe Duncan and Azrael were having their own debauched princely parties. I picture those two figures against the wall the other night, lips parted and tails lashing in ecstasy. I imagined these men surrounding me instead of the horned figures, their hands tracing my body, their lips against mine as they spun me between them…
I glanced at Duncan sidelong, trying to imagine his O-face when he always looked so grumpy. Duncan probably managed to scowl his way through an orgasm.
Duncan met my gaze. “What?”
“Nothing,” I murmured. “Nothing.”
When we reached the castle, I quickly bathed. I debated between wearing one of those damned gowns—it was ridiculous that my everyday clothes were a two-man job—and the Hunter garb I was comfortable in. Was it best if Faer didn’t see me as a threat? If I looked lost in this world? I needed to get to the Cursed Caves.
There was a knock on the door. I threw my towel around me and padded across the floor to find Azrael leaning in the doorway.
Something loosened in my chest as soon as I saw him, with his handsome face and his deep purple eyes. That was when I realized how nervous I was about facing Faer again, after last night’s escapades. I felt better as soon as I saw Azrael.
“That’s a great look,” he said. “Definitely wear that to lunch. If Raile is there, I’m pretty sure he’ll throw you over his shoulder and dive into the ocean. Swim you all the way to the undersea.”
He teased me, but heat flared in his gaze.
“Help me choose my clothes, maidservant of mine,” I teased as I padded across the room. “My old battle armor or twirly princess clothes?”
