Warrior Fae Princess

by Breene, K. F.

  He saw it all in her face.

  The set of her eyes and jaw matched that of his beloved, but every other feature spoke of Arcana blood. She had an uncanny resemblance to his mother, in particular, with the same dainty features and button nose, although her auburn hair, which crested to a widow’s peak, had been inherited from his grandmother. He wondered if her eyes were a similar color, and if, when she was healed, the ethereal glow of her magic would bring every man in the village forward begging and pleading for her hand in marriage.

  But he was getting ahead of himself. She was sick. Very sick. It was a miracle she wasn’t dead.

  “Where is the First?” he barked as a powerful, dark-haired man in a loose robe someone had clearly lent him walked in with a killer’s grace. His deep-set eyes scanned the room, the woman, and finally landed on Romulus.

  The confidence he saw there told him this was the Alpha Shifter, as did the rush of pleasing magic that filled the room.

  No. Not pleasing…thrilling.

  As though a heavy blanket was pulled back, suddenly Romulus couldn’t wait to get to the battle yard. He couldn’t wait to brandish a sword and fall headlong into the magic that gave his kind its namesake of guardian.

  He struggled out of the feeling. His child needed him.

  He allowed the strong shifter magic to flow around him, suddenly understanding how this Alpha Shifter had been able to turn the tide in the young woman’s—his daughter’s—magic.

  “Hello,” Romulus said, offering a light bow. “I thank you for escorting…”

  “Charity,” the man said in a rich, deep voice.

  Color danced in Romulus’s vision. His legs wobbled, barely holding him.

  “There, you see?” Romulus found Halvor by the door, blocking a crowd of people that rudely lingered outside.

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Second,” Halvor said.

  Romulus tensed within the flood of emotion. “I told my beloved—her mother—that if she honored me with the gift of a child, it would be undeserved charity for an impure soul. That I must beg, being as flawed as I am, and hope. She called me foolish at the time, but in the end…” He blinked away the sudden moisture in his eyes. “In the end, she gave me a child, and honored me with the name I would have chosen.”

  Romulus shooed Alvine from Charity’s right side and gestured for the Alpha Shifter to stand to her left, as was proper for her protector.

  The Alpha Shifter filed in without hesitation, not needing a verbal directive. How pleasing.

  “We must seek more facts before we—”

  Romulus made a small gesture, quieting the healer.

  “The First,” Halvor announced.

  Antonia entered the room, regal and unhurried. Not for the first time, Romulus cursed the decorum that dictated their every action.

  “Mother,” he said, motioning for her to join them at Charity’s head. The boiling desire to fight thankfully quieted in his mother’s tranquil presence.

  “Yes, hello. Thank you for the note about the elves.” His mother’s gaze lingered on the Alpha Shifter for a moment—a silent request for an introduction.

  “I apologize; we are not yet properly acquainted,” Romulus said to the Alpha Shifter.

  The young man’s jaw clenched and his body leaned just so—the Alpha Shifter was clearly as impatient as Romulus himself, but doing a terrible job of masking it.

  “Devon,” he said at last, and another gush of power drenched the room.

  Romulus’s mother sucked in a startled breath and forgot herself for a moment, looking down on Charity with wide eyes. Her decorum was slow in returning.

  “Why wasn’t I summoned sooner?” she demanded, turning to the healers. “This young woman is on her deathbed, with enough power to take you with her.”

  A sort of green magic rose from Devon like a mist, curling through the air before disappearing. It was gone so fast that Romulus almost thought he’d imagined it. Charity’s magic was subdued quickly even as spikes of pain flayed Romulus where he stood.

  His mother reacted blatantly again, turning her wide eyes on Devon this time. “My goodness. I had no idea your kind could handle this sort of onslaught.” She didn’t waste time looking for an answer. “Healers, quick, ready the draught to awaken her. Bring in more anchors. It will take the strongest in the village to turn her from this destructive path.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Devon stood at Charity’s side, his placement indicating something of value he couldn’t quite pick up on, while subdued—though clearly excited—fae filled the room. These people communicated similarly to shifters, using their posturing and movements to relay most of their directives. It occurred to Devon that he’d probably fit in here better than Charity until she could get a handle on it.

  That was, if they would let him. After the demon battle, and after they’d used the fae’s supplies for a funeral fire, saying goodbye to their pack mate and friend, his pack had been assigned a spot slightly removed from the fae’s fire. Not much removed—Penny hadn’t thought anything of the separation—but Emery had noticed. He’d just smirked and shaken his head, happy to be aloof with a people who didn’t value his company.

  Devon didn’t have that luxury.

  These were Charity’s people, without a doubt. The man in her mother’s picture was standing opposite him, and he didn’t look a day older than when the photo had been taken. This was Charity’s new world. These fae already accepted her as one of them—he could see it in their concerned expressions. In the joy in her father’s eyes. She’d have a new family, a new community. If Devon was ostracized from that community…

  He pushed down his uncertainty and ignored the memory of Karen’s words. That wasn’t a concern right now. They had to get Charity out of danger.

  He pumped out his power, mixing it with the incredibly potent fae magic around him, and pushed it through the link with Charity.

  “We are ready, First,” said a rosy-cheeked woman in a white robe. She cradled a plain wooden bowl in her hands.

  “Close the door,” said the woman who stood at Charity’s head. Her grandmother, it had to be. She had auburn hair streaked gray at the temples, wise, knowledgeable eyes, and a few creases around her eyes and mouth. She looked like she was in her forties—like she could be Charity’s mom. Clearly these people didn’t age like humans. Or maybe it was the land that acted as a fountain of youth.

  The assassin posing as the Second’s assistant turned ever so slightly. He’d already been blocking the door, but he did so with a slightly more assertive stance. Clearly, he was the door.

  “Second.” The rosy-cheeked woman handed the bowl to Charity’s father, who hadn’t had a chance to introduce himself. He took it with steady hands, as though nothing whatsoever troubled him. These people were excellent at masking their feelings. In fact, it seemed to be expected.

  “Now,” said the rosy-cheeked healer as she took her place at Charity’s feet. “Given the seeps and surges of her magic, it’s nearing its peak. It is trying to flower into its true potential. This draught will help that.” Her eyes flicked to Devon.

  Ah, so this explanation was meant for him.

  He minimally shifted to show that he was taking it in.

  “She will awaken, and then we will get the first true example of her power,” the healer went on.

  “Second,” the assistant at the door said, his posture regal and firm.

  “Yes, Halvor,” Charity’s dad said, the quirk of his eyebrows indicating he was annoyed by the interruption.

  “Hallen has grave warnings about letting Miss Charity’s magic flower without the proper protections.”

  “Bring him,” the First said, not looking back.

  Hallen, his arrogance dimmed and his white-blond hair released from its hold at the back of his neck, appeared at Halvor’s side. His face was hard and grave, an expression belied by the excitement in his eyes. He was clearly delighted to be getting an audience with royalty.

>   “Hallen led the seeking party and recovered this young woman who bears a striking resemblance to our family line,” Charity’s father said, his tone expressionless.

  “That remains to be seen,” the First said, not turning her attention to Hallen.

  “What are your grave warnings?” Charity’s dad asked Hallen.

  Hallen explained what he’d seen Charity do in the battle with the demons. Specifically, he spoke of her explosive magic. He seemed impressed, although Devon knew she was capable of much, much more. She’d been worn out, working on the dregs of dregs.

  “That wasn’t all done by Charity,” Devon corrected when Hallen was through, adopting the same tone. “One of the mages mimicked Charity’s magic to attack the demons. The mage is unique in that way. But Charity can do everything he said, and additionally, she can create magical sunlight strong enough to burn an elder vampire’s skin, she can form a ball of…electricity, I think it is, and propel it a few yards, and she can explode air from a spark, as Hallen saw, but with much more ferocity. She has very little control over her magic yet, but she’s learning quickly.”

  The First and Second—actually, everyone in the room—stared at him with expressions barely masking their incredulity. Well, except for Hallen, who clearly wanted to kill Devon where he stood. Devon suspected they wouldn’t become friends.

  “And…how do you know all of this?” the First asked.

  “I’ve witnessed it on multiple occasions, usually when we were fighting for our lives. She’s only known she’s magical for half a year or so—this is all new to her. Her magic is pretty incredible.”

  The First took Devon’s measure, and even though Devon had tried to keep his tone neutral, he got the distinct impression she’d picked up on his affection for Charity. Given her suddenly frosty demeanor, two things were suddenly clear: she did intend to welcome Charity into their family fold, but she didn’t want any attachment to undesirable outsiders getting in the way.

  Something hot and uncomfortable lodged in Devon’s middle. He pushed it away. Now wasn’t the time.

  “Yes, I see.” The First looked down at Charity, and the room fell silent.

  Andy’s voice rose over the din. “What are they doing in there, surgery? Why the hell is this taking so long?”

  The First looked around the room. “Alvine, do you surmise we have enough power gathered to gently guide her magic on the right path and counteract any…powerful manifestations of the magic she might have inherited?”

  Alvine, the healer at Charity’s feet, looked at the ceiling. “We have enough power, but if we don’t move her outside, we won’t have much of a shed left. If she has as much magic as the Alpha Shifter says she does, we’ll need to direct any powerful discharge somewhere, and that will be straight up.”

  The First looked at the walls, and Devon got the impression she was calculating whether they’d hold up without a roof. “You’ve always wanted to expand. Alvine, proceed.”

  Charity’s dad stared at the First for a long beat, and though his thoughts didn’t bleed out onto his face, it was entirely too clear he was silently cursing. Instead of raising an objection, however, he bent to Charity, his gaze flicking up as he did so.

  Devon moved in immediately, lifting Charity’s head so her dad could deliver the sweet-smelling elixir to her mouth. It dribbled past her lips, and she coughed, spraying the liquid over them. The Second dribbled more, and this time half of it was swallowed and half coughed out around her chin.

  “That should suffice,” Alvine said.

  Devon laid Charity back down, his eyes rooted to her face, his heart in his throat. Now was the point they’d been waiting for these long months. He’d gotten her to the finish line, and he had to trust her people could get her across.

  “It is evident you care a great deal.”

  Devon almost didn’t realize the words had been spoken to him. He looked up into the brown eyes of Charity’s father.

  “I recognize the look,” the Second said. An old pain surfaced in his eyes. “Utter bliss. A devastating obsession such that you couldn’t imagine living without it.” A sad smile ghosted his lips. “She holds your whole heart in her hands, and you wouldn’t want it back for all the world.”

  “Is it me, or did things just get really freaking personal?” Andy’s voice drifted in. Clearly those outside could hear what was happening inside. A few of the spectators frowned at the interruption.

  “I love her,” Devon admitted, hoping his face didn’t look as red as it felt. “I’d do anything for her.”

  “I hope you will remember that when the time comes,” the First said, analyzing him.

  “Like…really freaking personal,” Andy said.

  Charity heaved on the table before coughing and curling up. Her face screwed up in pain, and Devon prepared himself for the onslaught. Instead, a thick feeling of euphoria swirled around them like a cyclone, the fae stirring the air with their magic somehow, grabbing his magic and that of the shifters waiting outside, sweeping it all up and mixing it together.

  “Hmm, that is nice,” someone murmured. “Makes me eager for my bow.”

  “The thrill of battle,” another whispered.

  “Is that hers?” someone asked.

  “No. The Alpha Shifter and his people.”

  And then the shower of agony did come, blasting out from Charity and magically flaying all of them. Devon gritted his teeth and held firm, receiving an equal dose of pain through the magical link—which he used to work his magic into hers. Everyone else staggered back with their arms up.

  “Now is not the time for cowardice,” Alvine shouted, the first to recover. She walked forward as though through a gale, clutching the edge of the bed. “Help her!”

  Charity’s magic gushed into the room as though from a burst dam, more than Devon had ever felt at one time. If this had happened a day ago, even an hour ago, he wouldn’t have been able to help her.

  The cyclone of magic spun faster, working harder to sweep Charity’s magic into everyone else’s, balancing it with sheer force. A tiny spark flashed light near the ceiling.

  “Watch your head—”

  The blast cut off Devon’s words. The ceiling exploded upward, blown off by the force of Charity’s magic. White light, purer than the sun, beamed down on them from several points, buzzing. Small surges of lightning hit the edges of the walls where they’d recently been attached to the roof.

  Charity cried out, arching on the bed. Her hands came together above her chest, palms up, light glittering across them.

  “Watch out!” Devon pushed himself back. Wide-eyed, everyone else followed his lead.

  A fizzing oblong of electrical charge condensed into a sphere of light before rocketing skyward. Thirty feet or so up, it exploded, sending balls of fire shooting over the shed.

  With that, the pressure died away. The surge calmed and the awesome display of magic dimmed. In its wake, a pleasing euphoria tickled Devon’s insides and flirted with his magic.

  Charity’s eyes fluttered open. Her head fell to the side toward him, as though she’d known he was there all along. Her smile was serene. “Wait for me. I need to rest now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Steve walked beside Devon, ever the brooding alpha. Against all odds, the younger man had accomplished his duty. Although the loss of his beta had shaken him, badly, he hadn’t fallen apart. That was commendable. Steve planned to find something alcoholic in this incredibly beautiful faery wood and get the young alpha so drunk he couldn’t stand up. They had the time.

  When Charity was carried past him on her bed of white silk, she had a small smile on her face. A relieved smile. The big dogs apparently thought that was a good sign. The best sign, actually. All she had to do now was sleep it off, like a magical hangover. She was being brought to wherever long-lost royalty went, while they’d been invited to follow a dishy fae lady, Zana, to their temporary lodgings.

  “She really blew their skirts off, huh?” Steve as
ked as they followed their sleek little guide, who kept throwing Devon shy glances. Steve was going to have to up his game if he stuck with Devon. He wasn’t used to this level of competition. “Half of them looked like ghosts they were so pale. You and that pipsqueak warned them, but they still weren’t expecting that much magic.”

  Bystanders stopped to gawk at the pack as they walked by, all dressed in flowy robes that made them look ridiculous. It was unbecoming, but at least it let his nuts air out. It could be worse.

  “They weren’t expecting half as much magic,” Rod said, walking beside Dale, who wore an obstinate expression. “You didn’t see the people at the back who took off running.”

  “That was probably to get water,” Andy said, peering in an open door of a small house they passed. “Charity lit two trees and someone’s house on fire.”

  “It was a work shed,” said Zana, turning back and offering Andy a smile. “The Second has many. Though…he has less after today.”

  “We have very different ideas on what constitutes a shed,” Andy muttered.

  Steve glanced down a row of cozy-looking bungalows, the cobblestone path between them lined with flowers and hedges, green and well-tended. The elves favored magical gardening—everything perfect and similar—but the fae clearly nurtured their gardens by hand. A few weeds poked up between the cobbles, petals littered the ground, and sprigs stuck out every now and then. He liked Charity’s people better for it.

  They were at the outskirts of what the fae had called a village, but what would be called a town in the Brink. It almost reminded him of Savannah, Georgia. The large cobblestone paths appeared to be organized in a grid system, dotted here and there with bench-laden parks. Trees surrounded the community, weeping with moss, and dotted the landscape, natural and beautiful, like the people as a whole. The place gave off a…serene sort of feel, easy and comfortable. Relaxing. He wanted to find a patch of sun-sprinkled grass and have a nice, long nap.

  “We have not seen magical gifts like that since…” Their guide shrugged. “I never have, though in times of battle, gifts were more plentiful, I’m told. Miss Charity, the Arcana in training, seems like a relic of that time.”