Bright Wicked 2: Radiant Fierce (A Twilight Fae Fantasy Romance)

by Everly Frost

  We thud to the ground as he jumps off the back of the wagon, holding me tightly before he slides me to the ground with barely enough time to get my bound feet under me. I slip in the sludge, forced to lean back against him before I find the side of the wagon with my hands so I can balance on my own.

  “Stay there. Don’t move,” Hagan orders.

  He turns to Nathaniel, who’s already hobbling to the edge of the wagon before he sits and eases off the edge of it. The wagon bed springs up as soon as Nathaniel’s weight lifts off it.

  Farther back in the wagon, scuffling indicates the wolves are waking up. Hagan slams the doors shut, locking them again as the animals jump to their feet, their teeth bared. He wraps an arm around my waist and yanks me away from the side of the wagon just in time.

  The wolves race toward us, snapping their jaws, but they can’t get through the bars.

  Hagan’s dangerous eyes meet mine as he continues to grip me like a bag of wheat.

  Another group of guards runs from the gates, all carrying swords.

  Suddenly, I find myself with wolves at my back, hunters at my front, and the circle of a wild man’s arm around my waist. My only ally, Nathaniel, stands chained and as angry as the darkest star, his glare sharp enough to peel the skin off Hagan’s face.

  The hunters take up position around us while another guard strides between them carrying a set of chains—for me, no doubt.

  He grabs me from Hagan, yanks me around, and takes hold of my bound hands, throwing me off-balance enough that I slip again, nearly losing my footing. I bend my knees and engage every muscle in my body to stay upright so I don’t end up bending over and giving these men a view of my backside. Damn my bound feet!

  Hagan’s hand snaps out to steady me from behind, sliding beneath my left arm and curling up around my chest, pulling me upward. His other fist wraps around the guard’s arm. The man catches air as Hagan throws him backward.

  “You don’t want to touch this one,” Hagan warns.

  Even though Hagan now stands behind me, Nathaniel is in full view a few paces away. His lips are pressed together in a grim line, his glare a dangerous threat. He takes a step toward the guard, who immediately shoves the chains at Hagan and backs off.

  It doesn’t seem to matter that Nathaniel is bound. They still fear him. Dear stars, they should. Even I do. Sometimes.

  The chains clatter on the ground as Hagan allows them to unwind. The sharp sound tells me that under the sludge, the courtyard must be made of stone—hard enough that any fall could break my bones.

  Still holding me upright with one hand gripped under my left armpit, Hagan’s big hand extends farther across my left breast than I’d ever allow if I had a choice, but he’s the only reason I’m not a lump on the ground.

  I crane my neck to keep an eye on his movements. Seeming oblivious about where his hand is resting, he slings the chains over his shoulder and pulls a dagger from his belt. He raises it high so Nathaniel can see it.

  “To cut her bindings,” he explains.

  “Fine.” Nathaniel’s response carries a warning.

  Still gripping my chest, Hagan reaches all the way down to slice through the rope around my ankles, freeing me.

  His hand slides away from my chest as soon as I regain my balance. Then he drops to a knee behind me and slices through the rope binding my wrists. The cord snaps and I expect him to step away from me, but he grips both my hands, easing them slowly back to my sides.

  I suck in a breath as the blood flows freely through my arms in painful increments. Still, Hagan doesn’t step away, pressing my arms at intervals starting at my biceps and working down to my wrists. The pain eases with every point of pressure he applies. It seems like an unnecessary mercy and I’m not sure what to make of the unexpected kindness from this ruthless man.

  The chains scrape against the ground before he drags my arms forward, clicking the shackles around them before wrapping the extension around my waist and bending to shackle my feet.

  Tanner approaches but keeps his distance. “We need to move. The King’s impatient.”

  I glance at Nathaniel. It will be a problem if the hunters try to separate me from him, such as sending us to different rooms. The Law won’t let us separate.

  I watch the men around us carefully as Hagan orders us to march. We can’t walk faster than a shuffle, but when Tanner asks if they should unshackle our feet, Hagan gives him a look that tells him not to be an idiot.

  We proceed in silence into the dark corridors.

  I’ve never had to test my power against metal—my starlight can burn some substances, but steel is an unknown for me. What’s more, I’d have to burn through my own armor to get to the chains since they’re wrapped around my waist outside my suit. The idea of running around partially naked doesn’t appeal.

  Tanner leads us while Hagan takes up the rear. Nathaniel and I shuffle side by side. It’s a painful ascent through dark, dank corridors lined with moldy tapestries and up endless staircases. I count the minutes before we finally reach a wooden door. Whatever elegant design used to be carved into it, the surface now contains deep gashes that resemble claw marks.

  Hagan thumps his fist on the door three times, pauses, and then thumps again.

  The doors swing open. Tanner steps to Nathaniel’s right while Hagan steps to my left, ushering us inside.

  The room is brighter than I expected. From outside, the castle ascends into the haze that covers the sky, but I didn’t imagine that above the haze, the light might be clearer. We must have climbed high enough now to have access to real light.

  Weak sunlight slants across the floor through wide windows on the right-hand side.

  Two wooden thrones sit at the other end of the room, both the same size as each other, their high backs rising far above their occupants’ heads.

  A man sits in one of the thrones, but he rises when he sees us.

  Like the hunters, he’s naked from the waist up, wearing only black pants that tug across his muscular thighs. Colorful runes cascade all the way down his right arm from his shoulder across his bicep and down to his wrist. He wears silver bands on both wrists that gleam in the light as he scratches his chin. I can’t see the color of his eyes from this distance—brown or nearing black—while his hair is black and his upper lip is shadowed by growth in a way that accentuates his lips.

  I wasn’t sure how to picture Cyrian, but I didn’t expect him to appear as much like a warrior as he does.

  I prepare myself for discovery as he strides toward us, ready for him to identify me as fae.

  Chapter 18

  Cyrian ignores me completely, his focus purely on Nathaniel as he draws to a stop in front of us.

  I sense Nathaniel’s surprise too, even though he quickly hides it. We both expected Cyrian to recognize my power immediately. I don’t know why he hasn’t. Unless my power is so completely diminished right now that there’s nothing to sense. I should be relieved, but being so drained makes me feel even more powerless than I already am.

  I sense Nathaniel’s simmering rage as his focus shifts to the other throne.

  A woman writhes on it. She’s wearing mahogany armor in a very similar design to mine that covers her body from her neck to her ankles, but her feet are bare. Her chestnut brown hair cascades down her sides, knotted in appearance, as if she’s either been grabbed multiple times or she’s thrashed for long enough to knot it herself. Possibly both. Her full lips are pressed together and her face is pale in a way that tells me she’s in pain but unable to scream. A bruise stretches across her cheek from her cheekbone to the corner of her lip.

  Her likeness to Nathaniel is startling.

  I was surprised by Ethel’s cold beauty, but Christiana is gorgeous in an earthy way and her presence is powerful. I can feel her anger despite her pain. Whatever Cyrian is doing to keep her in her seat, if he lets her go… she will kill him.

  Nathaniel wrenches so hard on his chains that they creak and groan as if they’re g
oing to rip apart, causing Tanner to glance at him in alarm.

  “Cyrian!” Nathaniel roars. “We had a deal. I became your Shield. You leave my sister alone.”

  Cyrian meets Nathaniel’s glare, appearing unconcerned. He’s as tall as Nathaniel, possibly even larger. “You broke our deal.”

  “I crossed the border for you,” Nathaniel says. “To kill the fae Queen.”

  Cyrian’s eyebrows descend into a dark frown. “Why would you do that? You have no loyalty to me.”

  “I went to Bright to end the war by wiping Imatra off the face of the Earth. I did it for my people.”

  It alarms me how convincing Nathaniel sounds, how forcefully the story spills from his mouth.

  “Ah, for your beloved people. Of course,” Cyrian says.

  “I fought Aura Lucidia at the border,” Nathaniel continues. “When I beat her, I forced her to take me to her Queen.”

  Cyrian’s eyebrows rise as if he’s finally surprised. “You fought Aura of the Lucidia?” He pauses. “And survived?”

  “More than survived.” Nathaniel growls. “I prevailed.”

  I keep my expression clear, not giving away any emotion that might contradict Nathaniel’s story while Cyrian narrows his eyes.

  “But if you had succeeded, I would have sensed it,” Cyrian says. “Killing Imatra would spill magic across both Bright and Fell.”

  Nathaniel’s jaw ticks. “Imatra lives. But I know her weaknesses now. I infiltrated her people for an entire day. I know how to attack Bright.” He takes a short step forward. “Let my sister go. Honor our deal. And I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  Cyrian’s gaze slides to Christiana. He rubs his chin. “Maybe I like your offer. But maybe I like your sister more.”

  His gaze slides to me as Nathaniel’s fists clench.

  Cyrian studies the symbol on my face and my armor. “Who is this?”

  Hagan steps forward. “We found her with Nathaniel. She’s one of Luciana’s warriors.”

  Cyrian scoffs. “They don’t exist.”

  “Clearly, I do,” I say, challenging Cyrian’s claim.

  “You do not speak unless spoken to.” Cyrian’s fist flies out at my cheek, but I lean left to avoid it.

  He quickly regains his balance, frowns at me, and then lets fly with a series of powerful punches, which I rapidly lean left and right and duck to avoid. His attacks demonstrate skill—not as much as Nathaniel, but I’m surprised by how agile he is and how quickly he recovers. It confirms my initial assessment—he isn’t a king who spends his days ruling from the throne. He gets his hands dirty.

  “Hmph.” Pulling back, he considers me with new interest, but the intrigued light in his eyes doesn’t feel like a good thing.

  To Hagan, he asks, “How did you capture her?”

  “I caught her,” Tanner announces, stepping forward and drawing Cyrian’s attention.

  “How?”

  “She… uh…” Tanner frowns. He licks his lips as if they’re suddenly dry. I didn’t fight back when he captured me, and I can see him struggling to come up with a story that sounds good now that he’s in the spotlight.

  Hagan speaks up again. “She didn’t fall easily. She took ten arrows to her body before she was overcome. After that, she was stunned for long enough to be bound and chained.”

  “Ten arrows.” Cyrian casts a gaze up and down my body. His hands twitch at his sides as if he wants to poke every arrow wound. “Where?”

  “Her back, my king.”

  Cyrian laughs. “You shot her in the back. Very clever.”

  “Cowardly, you mean,” I say.

  Cyrian arches an eyebrow at me. “You prefer a fair fight? Well, how about we make things fair then.”

  He points at Tanner. “You. Take off her chains. I want to see what she does when she’s not bound.” Cyrian takes a step closer to me, his eyes glinting in the pale sunlight. Up close, I see that they are chocolate brown, but with such thick black rims that they appear charcoal.

  “I sense a fire in you, whore of Luciana,” Cyrian says. “I might even be willing to swap you for Christiana.”

  Beside me, Nathaniel’s fists tug at his chains so hard that they strain, but Cyrian appears unaffected. “Your wife or your sister, Nathaniel. Whom would you choose?”

  Tanner’s cruel smile grows as he removes the shackles from around my feet and hands. The chains slip away—and I’m free.

  My instincts fire at once, screaming at me to help Christiana, distract the King, and unchain Nathaniel—but the intense friction in the room makes me pause. Whatever I choose to do next could escalate the simmering violence I sense in Cyrian.

  Christiana must be bound by a spell—I can only free her by using my magic, which is clearly not an option right now when I’m depleted. Everything else requires attacking a human, which I can’t do. Except for freeing Nathaniel. I can certainly do that.

  As if he reads my thoughts, Nathaniel gives me a quick shake of his head. As long as Christiana is bound by magic, we can’t act.

  Cyrian folds his hands in front of his chest, his biceps bulging as he waits for me to do something.

  He slowly arches an eyebrow at me. A challenge to attack.

  I picture myself spilling his teeth across the floor, the satisfying thud of my fist against his cheek, and the shock that would wash across his face. All in my imagination.

  The silence grows.

  His eyebrows lower and his expression fills with disappointment when I don’t make a move.

  With a sigh, he turns to Nathaniel. “I’m a man of action. If you had assassinated Imatra, I would have hailed you a hero of the people. But you failed.”

  Nathaniel draws upright as Cyrian approaches him again. Despite telling me not to act, Nathaniel pulls at his chains, the links clattering and creaking.

  “What’s more,” Cyrian continues, seeming unaffected by Nathaniel’s growing anger. “I don’t believe that you fought Aura Lucidia and won. Not by yourself. If ever there was a fae for whom myth is a reality, it’s her. She is the first fae beside Imatra whose violent reputation has spread across Fell country. Nobody beats Aura Lucidia—not even her own people.”

  He suddenly points at me, an accusing finger, and I startle.

  Does he know who I am? Has he been playing us all along?

  “She fought Aura Lucidia for you. Didn’t she?” Cyrian shouts. “Only a female Warrior of Luciana would have a hope of challenging the fae Queen’s Champion. That’s why this woman is with you now. You conspired with her to get you across the border, but then you failed. You should have sent her to kill Imatra instead.”

  Nathaniel has become very still, but he suddenly seems extremely aware of my position and Christiana’s, his perceptive gaze traveling the arc of the room before returning to Cyrian.

  The King steps away from him. “Our deal is off. You remain a traitor to the throne. I will, however, allow your sister to say goodbye to you before I have you flogged to death.”

  He continues without taking a breath. “As for this woman… I’m intrigued by her. I will keep her until she bores me.” He half-turns back. “Which could be sooner rather than later at this rate.”

  Cyrian turns his back on us with another wave of his hand.

  Inky light spills from his fingers and slides through the air toward Christiana. I freeze, shocked by the ease with which he called the dark magic to himself. No spells or incantations or sacrifices. He simply waved his hand.

  I shudder as I consider the seed of magic that lived in Maggie’s heart. If that’s where Cyrian’s power is coming from so readily, then it’s no wonder the humans are being crippled under its life-draining force.

  Up on the throne, Christiana jolts against her chair, pressing into it and turning her head to the side, trying to avoid the dark light flying toward her. Cyrian said he was going to free her, but I guess she’s experienced enough of his magic to believe that he could be lying. Judging by the way she braces, the magic headed her way cou
ld mean an increase in pain instead.

  I fight every instinct in my body that tells me to dig deeper than I have before, to seek the last possible shreds of starlight in my bones and use them to break the spell. If Nathaniel gave me any indication that I should make a move, I would do it regardless of the danger.

  The light settles across Christiana’s body, falling around her head and shoulders like a blanket.

  She inhales sharply, her eyes widening, and her cheeks filling with color. Instead of hurting her, the magic appears to release her, after all.

  Leaping upright, she wobbles before she recovers her balance.

  Gasping in a breath, she releases it with a fearsome scream. “You. Fucking. Liar!”

  She flies from her seat, but not at Cyrian. Not even at Nathaniel.

  Hagan is her target.

  Chapter 19

  Hagan stands his ground as Christiana charges at him, her bare feet flying across the floor and her hair sailing behind her.

  Cyrian doesn’t make a move to stop her, settling back onto his throne and watching her with a smile that indicates she entertains him.

  Closer to me now, she is somehow littler, more fragile than she appeared from a distance, but she rams into Hagan at full speed, hitting his chest with her fists.

  “You promised me!” she screams. “You promised to keep my brother away from the castle! If you had any respect for my mother, you would have kept him safe.”

  Hagan takes her pummeling with a growing frown.

  When her fists have no effect on him, her open palm cracks across his cheek in a fierce slap.

  She has as much impact as if she’d slapped a tree. She raises her hand again, but Hagan catches it before she lands another blow.

  “Do not take your anger out on me, woman,” he says.

  “Woman?” she shouts at him, her scathing gaze raking across his face and chest. “How dare you call me ‘woman’? You filthy hunter. Look what you did with the honor my mother gave you.”

  While Hagan grips Christiana’s wrist, Tanner launches into action, grabbing her waist and dragging her away from Hagan.