“So should you.”
Reylan didn’t so much as flinch. Not a single flex or flicker. His head slowly pulled back to lock onto her gaze. Faythe held her hand firm, applying slight pressure to his skin to stifle her own trembling. It was a reckless move, but as she acknowledged before, she couldn’t be sure what he was capable of and figured it was better to be at least somewhat armed.
A slight curl disturbed his straight mouth. “It’s not often I’m caught out by something unexpected,” he said, blade moving against his throat with every word.
She wasn’t sure if it was a compliment. It was clear he was unfazed by her feeble threat, as though she were holding a spoon, not a blade, to his neck. She almost flashed her eyes down to check it wasn’t.
“Unexpected. But foolish.”
Before she could detect even a slight shift, Reylan moved faster than she could blink. One hand lashed out to grip the hand holding the blade, the other seized her loose wrist, and she was whirled around so fast her vision swayed when she stilled again. Her breathing was hard as she processed the maneuver, her back flush with his front where he pinned her arm across her abdomen. His warm hand encased her fist, resting the cool length of the blade against her own throat.
Realizing she had been so easily compromised flared her humiliation. Faythe clenched her teeth, knowing she was completely at his mercy. A single second was all it took for him to effortlessly overpower her. In a flash of sheer will laced with fear, she attempted to bring her foot up to where she knew she could instantly incapacitate a man. He sensed it too, shifting out of her way before hooking a long leg around both of hers to prevent a second attempt.
“Are you quite done being violent?”
Faythe stilled, knowing her struggle would be wasted energy against his stone grip. Though he didn’t move, nothing about his hold on her was even mildly tight or painful.
“Are you quite done being an arrogant prick?”
He snickered a laugh that rumbled faintly through her despite her head just meeting his shoulder. She couldn’t decide if she enjoyed the sound or wanted to take the knife to his throat and cut it out.
“I’m going to release you,” he said, but he didn’t immediately move. “You’d be wise not to try that again.” Reylan pulled away from her at once, taking a long step back.
Cold air wrapped around Faythe, snapping her back into her senses. Her face, body, and mind blazed with bewilderment. Flustered, she twisted toward him, the knife still clutched in her grip while she tamed the anger that rushed through her.
“Brave of you. But your close defense could surely use some work if you’re going to go pulling knives on those who are leagues above your physical strength.” His head tilted as he observed her, studied her, as if she were some foreign object he’d never encountered before. It only strained the tether on her violence further. “Though I do admire you for trying. You had me worried there for a second.” There was nothing condescending in his tone and no arrogance either as his features softened around the edges slightly.
“I doubt that,” Faythe ground out. Their stare down only intensified. “You should leave.”
Reylan didn’t immediately move. Instead, he assessed her for another irritatingly long moment. Her eyes blazed into his, anger rising with each second he spent reading her because she had no idea what he was seeing. Then he turned, nonchalant, as though the close encounter never happened at all.
“As you wish,” he said plainly. When he got to the door, he paused in the frame before turning back. “How old are you?”
She wasn’t sure why it mattered or would even slightly interest him. Not in the mood to string out another round of questions, she answered, “I just turned twenty.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction, but she couldn’t read the expression that crossed his face at the knowledge. Then it was gone, replaced by the same impassive calm. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon, Faythe,” he said with a lingering promise before disappearing out the small wooden door he had to duck down to fit through.
She hated her body’s reaction to her name rolling off his tongue, smooth as a lover’s caress. Alone again and bemused, with a heart still thrumming wildly, Faythe found her appetite completely gone for the second time that night.
Chapter 17
Jakon
Jakon hid under the cover of green and brown foliage as he scouted ahead for the fae patrol. The coast was clear, though he wasn’t foolish enough to start walking around without caution. The fae could creep up on them a lot faster than any of their human senses were able to detect.
He remained vigilant as he backtracked the few paces to the group where Marlowe waited as a source of calm for the frightened, wary ensemble of four young boys, along with their parents and siblings. Altogether, Jakon and Marlowe had escorted fifteen refugees from their homes in Farrowhold over a day ago. The journey so far had been anything but pleasant. Everyone was on edge, including Jakon. Marlowe worked wonders to soothe the worries of the mothers and calm the scared children. He could only watch in admiration, knowing she wore a mask of her own to appear brave for those around her. He didn’t think it was possible to love the woman more, though he found himself falling deeper every day. Marlowe never failed to amaze him.
Her face displayed instant relief when she spotted him, and she walked a few paces away from the group to meet him.
“Everything’s clear. We should get to the halfway point by nightfall if we keep moving,” he told her.
She nodded and gave a forced smile. He wanted desperately to console her worry, and it pained him he had no idea how to. On the road, everything was uncertain. The days dragged out far longer than they should, and they had two more to go before they reached Galmire. No one could rest for fear of being tracked down or discovered.
Looking over everyone’s grim faces, Jakon felt hopeless.
Just then, his ears picked up motion from behind. He looked in panic to Marlowe first, who was already wide-eyed at having also heard the rustling of distant leaves. Jakon held a finger to his mouth as he motioned with his other hand for everyone at her back to stay still. His heart thundered in his chest as he slowly reached for his sword and silently pulled it free of its scabbard, though he knew it would be useless if they were about to be confronted by a band of fae guards—or even one for that matter. Regardless, he vowed to protect every soul behind him with his life if need be.
He took one soundless step forward, then another. The disturbance got closer, louder. The fae had every ability to maneuver undetected. It was a slight relief to think perhaps the intruder didn’t know of the humans they were about to run into. They might still maintain the small advantage of surprise.
The bush directly in front of Jakon shook as someone made to pass through the small gap. He brought his sword up, poised to strike, and was about to bring it down in an instant when the assailant moved faster than mortally possible to step completely out of the blade’s path. He twisted to switch positions without hesitation but was struck dumb when he came face-to-face with the unexpected guest.
After the two shared a mutual wide-eyed stare, Caius grinned widely. “Sorry I couldn’t leave with you. It took a bit of time to convince the guard for some time off.”
Jakon blinked, still baffled at the fae in front of him. He supposed now it was obvious his loud approach had been Caius’s attempt not to frighten them by creeping up unawares.
“We weren’t expecting you at all,” he spoke at last.
The young fae guard shrugged. “I figured someone with equal senses might be of help as you’re trying to avoid my kind. Even out the playing field, you know?”
It was an unexpectedly kind offer, though his years of always being wary of the fae made Jakon shy to trust him at his word. “Did Faythe send you?”
Caius shook his head. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”
The fae guard looked no more than seventeen in human years and still held an innocent, boyish appearance wi
th short, curly brunette hair. It baffled Jakon that although he appeared older in looks, Caius was likely multiple times his twenty-three years.
“Why are you here?” Jakon pressed to get all his suspicions out of the way. He felt guilty for the doubts he had about the guard’s intentions, but when he had sixteen lives to protect, he couldn’t take any chances.
Caius’s eyes flicked to his sword, which Jakon still held between both palms, positioned to strike at any moment. “I can understand why it might be hard for you to trust me, but I hope I can prove I’m on your side,” he said calmly.
A small gloved hand moved to lower Jakon’s sword. “I trust you.” Marlowe’s voice was warm as she offered Caius an inviting smile.
Jakon wanted to protest, but Marlowe looked at him, her head dipping slightly in a nod of reassurance. It shook him as much as it made him awestruck that sometimes he couldn’t be certain if it was Marlowe who spoke or the oracle. Regardless, he knew he could follow her guidance no matter what. He held onto some of his reserves but accepted the fae’s presence. For now.
“All right. Well, we’d better get moving.” He didn’t sheathe his sword but didn’t raise it again either. Caius noticed but nodded his appreciation anyway.
Once they made it to Galmire and back, confident the refugees were safe and the guard had not outed their location, Jakon would make an effort to apologize for his lack of initial trust and reception. Though he remained vigilant, he was silently grateful for the fae’s presence, feeling the weight of protecting the people behind him shift slightly now another shared the burden.
Pressing forward, Jakon, Marlowe, and Caius led the group for another long stretch. The path was uneven and damp. He knew the humans behind would be suffering with the trek in the midst of winter as even he trembled with frigid, wet feet.
“Thank you for what you’re risking to help us.” Marlowe broke the silence.
Caius smiled down at her. “You don’t have to thank me. We all want the same thing, and that’s what friends are for.”
The blacksmith beamed at the young guard. Even Jakon felt appreciative of his declaration. It wasn’t because of Faythe that he was here, yet he saw a lot of her spirit in him—a dreamer of a better world, a united land. Caius didn’t discriminate against them because of the shape of their ears or comparative weakness.
“Was Faythe okay when you left?” It was the only topic they had in common, and a part of Jakon would always want to check up on Faythe whenever he got the chance.
The young guard nodded, but he was a little wary at the mention of her. “The kings’ meetings were beginning when I left. She’s been tasked with finding out information from the ally kingdoms.” Jakon must have looked as horrified as he felt because Caius quickly went on. “I wouldn’t have left if I thought she was in danger. Nik has her back for this one should anything happen.”
It was a relief to know she had the prince on her side, but he felt nauseous at the thought of Nik being unable to intervene if Faythe was caught in the minds of foreign kings. It angered him to no end to know she was being used like an object by the King of High Farrow with no regard for her life.
As if sensing his unease, Marlowe’s hand slipped into his and squeezed once. In response, he pulled her against him, slipping an arm around her waist and savoring the heat as they walked together.
A cry cut the silence they had fallen into, and Jakon paused with Marlowe, turning around to find the source. Behind them, a young boy trailed exhaustedly beside his mother. It broke Jakon to see one so small trudging through rough terrain, forced to endure what no one should have to. He was about to release Marlowe and go to the mother and child to offer help, but Caius moved first. The woman retreated a few steps as the fae guard approached, but the boy stopped sobbing when he kneeled to his level.
“I know what you need.” Caius grinned. “A better view.”
Jakon watched, stunned, as the young fae twisted in his crouched position and held his arms behind him for the child to hop onto his back. He didn’t move at first, and Jakon anticipated his thoughtful gesture would go unaccepted out of wariness of his race. It pleasantly surprised him when instead, the boy beamed and lunged forward eagerly. His mother didn’t object, glad to have some relief for a while.
Caius hoisted the boy up with immortal ease and made the few strides to join Jakon and Marlowe at the front again. He didn’t realize he was staring with raised eyebrows until the fae passed him to press onward, and Marlowe pulled at his arm to begin the walk once again.
The boy on Caius’s back was elated with his new means of transport, and the fae didn’t seem at all fazed when he fiddled with the points of his ears in curiosity. Marlowe chuckled softly beside him, witnessing the wonderfully unusual sight up front. A warm grin also spread across Jakon’s face.
Hope. The sight offered hope.
Chapter 18
Faythe
The morning after the feast and her rocky encounter with the Rhyenelle general, Faythe lay in bed, blissfully submerged in clouds of feather and silk, with no plans to leave anytime soon. Two knocks sounded at her door, disrupting her peaceful mood. She groaned internally but chose to ignore them, pulling the thick cover over her head. It did nothing to muffle the echo of knuckles against wood when the intruder tried again. She made no move to answer, hoping they would give up and leave.
Luck wasn’t in her favor this morning.
Instead, her door swung open, and she growled out loud, throwing back her sheets with a childish huff. She only scowled at the crown prince who smirked at her from the closed doorway he’d welcomed himself in through.
“I was trying to be polite, but if you’re only going to ignore me, I won’t bother next time,” he said by way of greeting.
She didn’t match his amusement. “What do you want?” she grumbled in her sleepy state.
After her uneasy conversation with Reylan, she’d hurried back to her rooms without even a taste of the decadent chocolate cake. He had succeeded in rattling her so much she failed to get much sleep and lay awake shaken after being enlightened to his presence mere feet across the hall. She couldn’t settle with the knowledge the white lion slept so close by.
“I took the liberty of sending for your handmaidens since you decided to dismiss them earlier this morning and laze in bed.” Nik strolled over to the balcony doors. The winter sun sparkled through the glass, making his sleek hair glisten, adorned with a silver crown.
Then she noticed his formal attire, even more ornate than usual. Faythe had long since come to terms with Nik’s status, but it still set a strange unease in her at having the Prince of High Farrow so casually stroll into her rooms, especially in his royal finery. She dismissed the irrational nerves as quickly as they came.
“I believe the king said this was to be a day of rest. I plan to take full advantage.” She rolled onto her side and nestled farther into the sinking pillows.
The prince chuckled. “Unfortunately, the term wasn’t meant so literally. There won’t be any meetings today, but the courts will still be gathering for more casual affairs. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to gain their trust and affection.” He said the last words with a hint of mockery.
She groaned loudly and sat up against the headboard. “Then Orlon should be more specific with his words. A day of leisure, or a day of forcing reluctant royals to mingle with each other?”
“Yes, Faythe, you really have an eloquence of speech. Maybe you should run the kingdom,” he gibed.
A devious grin spread over her cheeks. “Doesn’t seem that hard. Maybe I’ll work my way up in status. The Prince of Olmstone seems like a charmer.”
Nik turned to her, holding a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “You would really choose Tarly over me?”
She shrugged casually. “At least his father seems to like me already.”
Nik shook his head and huffed a laugh, but she saw the flicker of sadness in his eyes. It was a subtle reminder of one of the many reasons ther
e could be nothing romantic between them. King Orlon would accuse her of seducing his son through compulsion of the mind and have her executed. Sharing his son’s bed ranked high on the list of life-condemning acts in the eyes of her king.
“I’m flattered you came all this way to get me out of bed. You could have sent a messenger,” she teased to change the subject.
An arrogant grin tugged at his lips. “I prefer to entice ladies into bed, not out of them.”
Faythe gaped at him, though she was glad to see his usual cavalier attitude had returned. As insufferable as it was. She picked up a small decorative cushion and launched it at him. Nik didn’t even have to move an inch as her unbalanced throw didn’t come close to hitting him. He only chuckled at her, then his look fell serious with a furrowed brow, killing her retort as the shift in mood rallied her anxiety.
“Actually, I came to warn you.”
Faythe kept quiet.
“I didn’t get the chance to last night, but you need to be wary of General Reylan.”
At his mention, Faythe fell cold under the thick blankets, shifting to sit up straight in anticipation. “He seems pretty harmless to me,” she muttered, failing to add confidence to her words.
Nik shook his head. “His ability—it’s extremely rare and…variable.”
Faythe’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She knew fire could be unpredictable, but the prince’s warning seemed too laced with concern for that to be the only danger. She didn’t mention she’d already caught a glimpse of his magick during their unexpected late-night encounter in the kitchens for risk of it sounding like a far more scandalous meeting than the slightly hostile run-in it was.
“I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t handle.” It was false arrogance, and she only said it in an attempt to settle the prince’s worries.
Nik smiled, but he was far from convinced. “He has a mind gift…of sorts.”
A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2 Page 15
