Chapter 14
14
A group of rogue humans defied King Fergus to rescue their princess.
The realization was a song in her veins, and Aven pumped her arms, racing down the halls back to her room to grab her wand. Amidst the screech of the alarm, soldiers and nobles seemed to separate from the walls themselves, and suddenly there were more bodies in the palace than she’d ever seen before. Maids scurried, liveried butlers and houseboys ushered the wealthy into safe spaces, and she alone fought her way against the tide.
Whatever lockdown meant for the fae, she needed to be outside the palace walls before it happened. She wouldn’t have much time, but hell if she’d leave without the wand in hand. She’d meet up with the band of humans and use it to fight their way back to her father.
Home.
Her lungs seized, and every breath she drew was hard after too many days of inactivity. Her muscles would need to warm and loosen for her to have any hope of fighting.
The disarray would work in her favor. The confusion would provide the smokescreen she needed to get the hell out of this gilded cage. She skidded to a stop outside her room, gripping the door handle and using it to propel her way inside.
Surely Cillian had taken anything he deemed dangerous out of the space, but there had to be something she could use, reserving the wand for when she really needed it. She’d already scoured through the dressers looking for something. She grabbed hold of one of the candleholders, testing its weight. Metal but not sharp enough to do any kind of damage. Heavy, though.
It would have to do.
She grabbed the wand from underneath the bed and tucked it into her skirt pocket.
Aven gripped the fabric in one hand and the candleholder in the other as she ran down the hallways. A smile split her face. This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. One last leg of the journey and she’d be out of here and back where she belonged.
Now she wouldn’t have to choose between the fae brothers, the icy, pigheaded Roran and the lying, emotionally unavailable Cillian.
It was much easier than she thought to fall back into familiar patterns. Her body knew exactly what to do. Some things were a part of her, as much as her blood and her bones, and Aven fell back into a familiar rhythm. She lifted the candleholder high, brought it down with all her strength on the head of one of the passing guards. The hit barely made a dent in his helmet, and she launched herself at him. The surprise of the attack worked in her favor as well. The fae soldier didn’t expect her to wrap her arms around his neck and yank him back off his feet, using his body weight against him. Didn’t expect her to slam the candleholder against his temple and send his helmet flying. She brought it down again and again and again until blood erupted from his split skull and his eyes rolled back in his head.
None of his comrades stopped to help him.
None of them even knew he’d gone down.
Once he crumpled to his side on the floor, she unwound herself from him and reached for his weapons. A sword, much longer than she would have liked, but serviceable. She tested it and gave the blade a flick through the air while she got her breath back.
A search of the soldier brought her a dagger as well, and she tucked that one into the fabric roped around her waist before she patted her pocket.
Good, the wand was still there.
Aven made her way down the hall toward the staircase she knew would take her to the back door. A faster way of escaping than risking going out the front. No doubt the band of humans would try to muscle their way in through the gates. So Aven went in the opposite direction.
The perfect time to run.
She’d make her way out and then?—
And then… Well, she’d figure it out later.
It didn’t matter.
Just a few more feet and she’d be free.
Huh?
The alarm continued to blare, and the distinctive clank of iron bars falling into place sounded in a loud echo.
She couldn’t be too late.
Aven pulled up short, her chest rising and falling violently, searching for another way out. They couldn’t have locked the entire palace in, right? What if there were humans in here who had somehow made it past the gates?
Damn it. She had to?—
Suddenly, she noticed a shadow behind her. Arms came around her waist and yanked her off her feet in an eerily similar move to the one she’d pulled. She reacted on instinct, yelling and kicking back at whoever grabbed her. The person slammed her down on her feet with a jolt she felt all the way to the top of her head, her teeth clacking together.
“Thought you could try to run from us? Enterprising little princess, aren’t you?” Roran hissed against her ear. His hold on her felt like bands of metal, slowly constricting and stealing the breath out of her lungs until Aven gasped.
He squeezed tighter and tighter until she couldn’t feel her fingers and dropped the sword.
“We’re trying to keep you safe.” His ire shifted into a chuckle. “I should have known. I told him to keep an eye on you, but he wouldn’t listen.”
She screamed and slammed her head back, but Roran was faster, ducking to the side before he threw her forward. Aven landed on her hands and knees, swiveling around in time to see two men rush at Roran.
They lifted their weapons in the air.
He released her in order to meet their rush, throwing her a glance that told her to stay put. Aven bolted for the door but not fast enough to avoid a third man.
The look on his face… something wasn’t right.
The human reeked of sweat and days on the road. He reached out, and she was too slow to stop with these damned shoes. Her forehead met the bulky muscle of his forearm, and she skidded backward.
“Aven!”
She blinked, stars dancing in front of her eyes, then yelped when the human dragged her to her feet. He slammed his elbow into her side hard enough for the breath to rush out of her lungs.
“Stupid fae wench,” the man hissed out with a sneer.
Fae? They thought she was?—
Before she had a chance to retaliate and show this stranger exactly who she was, Roran was there. Bones creaked. Blood squelched. He filled her vision with his power and strength, his hair catching the dim light—short and silver, almost unnervingly perfect. That faint woodsmoke and autumn leaves scent hung in the air between them, unshakable.
“You’re coming with me,” he ground out. “Now.”
Her head spun dizzily, her side aching where the pointy elbow had dug into her ribs, making it hard to breathe normally. Roran whisked her out of the room and down a short dark hallway, his grip firm but not rough, his movements precise as he pressed his hand to a panel among the wooden walls.
The crackle of electricity filled the air before the panel swung open, and he pushed her inside.
“There. You’re safe now.”
Safe?
Her ears rang when the panel slid closed behind them. A small light sunk into the wall illuminated the small closet space, hardly enough room for the two of them to sit with their legs out without touching each other.
No, she wasn’t safe.
He’d trapped her inside.
“Why did you bring me here?” Aven swiped the dust and blood from her arms, her fingers caught on the ripped fabric.
“That is a strange question to ask when you should be thanking me. It’s a safe spot. And it’s not like we’re going anywhere for quite some time. Not until my brother clears the palace from the vermin who infected it.”
She spun on him. “Those were my men. They came here for me .”
“Then you’ll be responsible for their deaths, won’t you? I’m sure I couldn’t keep you from those feelings, anyway.” Roran scrunched his nose and made an ugly face. “Very mortal of you.”
“You have a lot of nerve.” Her chest shuddered. He struck a chord with her. He was right, too. She would carry the weight of all those deaths on her the same way she had from the beginning.
Roran, unbothered, drew out his dagger and began to clean the blade against his pants. The movement flexed his wrist slightly, the tendons shifting with the kind of quiet control she couldn’t help but notice.
“Do I?” he drawled. “Seems to me you’re the one with the nerve because you have no idea what’s really going on with things. You’re so interested in escaping you didn’t even stop to think .”
“I know you’re a bastard.”
Her hand shifted to her pocket, her body angled so Roran wouldn’t see her move. Good. Her wand was still there. It hadn’t been lost in the jostle.
“Yes, well, some things are obvious.” He smiled at her. “I’ve never seen anyone so determined to kill themselves the way that you do, Aven. Well done.”
“Oh, I do love it when you talk pretty to me.” She banged her fists against the wall. Seamless, strong. The door had disappeared and sealed the two of them inside. They were trapped like rats, in a cage inside a cage, and her only company was the cocky brute who delighted in tormenting her.
The bruise in her side ached.
“Oh, stop with the pounding. We’re not getting out of here until Cillian comes for us. It’s his blood that will unlock the door. He made sure of it in this particular room.”
Sweat formed along her hairline. “And if he dies?”
Roran’s smile twisted into a smirk. “He won’t.”
“You seem awfully sure of the fact.”
“Because it’s the truth.” Roran tapped the handle of the blade on his knee and held the dagger by the point. “Why do you hate me so much?”
She finally lowered her arms to her sides before she sat cross-legged in front of him with her back to the door. “What is there to like? You’re a walking ball of insults, you’re arrogant, and you believe people should fall to their knees in front of you. Grateful for your presence,” she snapped.
“You’ve done none of those things.”
“I find nothing in you to like,” she corrected. “For the aforementioned reasons and a host of others.”
Roran blinked at her. “But I saved your life.”
“You killed my men. Those are my people out there, like you said.”
“Those mortals wanted to kill you.”
“No. They came here for me. You should have just let me go with them. Instead you manhandled me and brought me to this tiny chamber I’m forced to breathe the same air as you for who knows how long.”
“You think this is any better for me?” he retorted. “You’re not exactly a picture of mental health, little princess. You’re brash, you’re insulting, and you have a ridiculously bloated sense of entitlement for someone so fragile.”
“Then we will both just have to put up with each other.” Aven crossed her arms over her chest. “It will be a pleasurable experience for neither one.”
“Well—”
“No. Don’t say anything about how well you pleasure women, I really don’t want to hear it now,” she added before he could say anything contrary.
Roran’s smirk remained in place. “At least I would know something about it. You strike me as the uptight kind of woman who has never enjoyed the touch of a male. Or do you prefer female companionship? Your lady’s maid is awfully pretty.”
He got her back up by talking about Nora that way. “Leave her out of this.”
“Ooh, someone is feeling a little sassy. What’s the matter?”
He reached for her, and she slapped his hand. “Touch me and you’ll lose your hand.”
“What? Are you going to bite it off? I’m the one with the weapon.” Roran stifled a yawn. “Maybe you’ll just bore me to death.”
“We’ve already agreed these are less than ideal circumstances. If you’re going to insult me the entire time, then it’s going to make things much harder.”
“Haven’t you heard? Insults are a love language. Perhaps I’m doing it because I find you so irresistible.” He winked.
Good heavens!
He was going to drive her crazy. Being here already brought her to the edge of what she could tolerate. “Tell me more lies. Here I thought your brother was the better liar out of the two of you.”
“If we talk any more about Cillian, then you really will bore me to death.”
“Wow, it seems you have issues with your brother. Care to discuss it?” She shifted to cross her opposite ankle over the other. “We have the time.”
“I no more want to talk about Cillian with you than I want to hear about your past.”
“Oh, come now. I might have some crazy stories for you.”
He jerked his nose toward the rune still tattooed on the side of her face. “Want to start with why you covered yourself in runes?”
Of course he’d want to know about those. “I thought you didn’t want to hear about my past.”
His face soured at her retort and almost made her laugh. Almost .
“They’re for protection. At least, that’s how it started.” She held out her wrist to show him the rune there, the ink still fresh and black. “Most of the time, the runes don’t always last as long as these do, but the tattoos ensure that they serve their purpose. Protection and speed and things like that.” She paused, swallowed, and swiped her tongue along her teeth. “Then I started doing more because my family didn’t like them.”
“Of course not. A princess should not be fighting the way you do, and they certainly don’t need to paint themselves like this.”
“I did what I had to do in order to protect people,” she retorted. “Maybe it’s not the life I thought I would lead, but it’s my life. What choice do I have?”
“Ah, so the runes are a form of rebellion.” He nodded like he understood.
She opened her mouth to reply then closed it, open and closed, searching for a better way to answer him. Eventually she came out with, “Maybe they are. So what?”
He held his hands up in front of him like a shield. “I’m not saying you’re wrong. We all find ways to fight back against our situation.”
“Oh, come on.”
“What?” he asked.
“You’re telling me you don’t like being the prince of a kingdom as powerful as this one? Sure thing. Next you’ll tell me there are two suns rising in the sky and that milk comes from trees.”
“I’m not telling you anything of the sort. But are there things in my life I’d change?” Roran thought for a moment and then shrugged. “Sure. There are.”
“Now you have me curious.” Aven leaned forward, curving her spine to rest her elbows on her knees. “I’d love to learn more.”
“You’ve heard enough,” he retorted, flashing his teeth at her. “Just because we’re stuck in here doesn’t mean I have to talk to you.”
“Tell me the truth. You don’t want to be around me any more than I want to be around you. Your father and brother are probably making you play the nice guy when you really want to use that dagger on me and slit my throat.” Her gaze dropped to the gleaming blade. “Am I right?”
He said nothing for the longest moment, and she nodded.
“I thought so.”
“I’m not saying I’d rather you be dead. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. Because here we are and we’re both stuck pretending.” He blew out a breath. “It’s exhausting.”
Indeed. It really was tiring to have to pretend to be something other than what you were.
“I never had to pretend when I led my men,” she found herself telling him. “Sure, war sucks. The fighting itself is the worst, and I wouldn’t wish it on an enemy. But the camaraderie, the way they listened to me because they knew I had the skills and not just because of my status… it felt liberating.”
And satisfying in a way nothing else had ever been.
Roran studied her before he leaned forward and mimicked her posture. “Mortals like to pretend they are the more solid of our two races. The more stable. The good ones. Yet you are just as beastly as we are, simply without the vision.”
“I really do love our chats. Remind me to make them into my schedule for the future.” Aven faked nonchalance, stretching her legs out so that the soles of her shoes nearly pressed against Roran’s. She crossed one ankle over the other to mirror him. “Considering I have nothing but time now.”
There was no way King Donal could force her into a match with Roran. They’d both hate it! He was the most obstinate, asinine person she’d ever met, with an ego the size of a boulder and no brains to match.
“There is nothing quite like being told what’s wrong with you,” she said.
“I’m sure this isn’t the first time someone has pointed out the obvious.” Roran’s expression remained soured, his lips pulled down and small lines fanning out from his icy eyes. “Or perhaps not. The mortals might be cowed at the idea of their little warrior princess. Too scared of you to talk to you about your faults. Not to mention it would be a mirror held up to their own.”
“I get it, Roran. You have a problem with me and my kind.” She fought to keep the sharpness out of her tone and failed miserably.
“That’s why you shouldn’t take it personally. Mortals are a disease. Although you’re not half bad to look at.”
“Good enough to mount, good enough to kill, good enough to manipulate into the direction you want,” she clarified.
“Finally, you have it right.”
His grin infuriated her. Yet the desire to slap some sense into his head wasn’t as strong as it used to be.
Especially with his scent filling her head and making it spin. Not an altogether unpleasant sensation, but this was the wrong time. And the wrong person. “Must be tough being second to your older brother. Don’t tell me you have no aspirations to lead.”
“You have no idea what I want,” he barked.
“That’s why I’m asking you about it now. Seems to me you have no jealousy with your brother, but I find it impossible to believe.”
“Cillian and I have always had our differences. He’s pleased to be next in line for the throne. It doesn’t exactly give me the leverage I’d like to tread my own path, but I make the best of it.”
“What would you like to do, then?” she wanted to know.
“Bake pies,” he replied sarcastically.
She kicked at him. Roran kicked back, much lighter than she had expected.
“It doesn’t matter what I want. I serve Mourningvale.” His words came out rough, almost a growl.
Aven’s breath caught as he shifted closer, the press of his knee against hers sending an unexpected jolt through her body.
When had the space between them become so small?
Her heart stammered as his ice-blue eyes dropped to her lips, lingering there for just a heartbeat before meeting her gaze again with an intensity that made her pulse race.
“Aven.”
He reached out, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her face with a gentleness she never would have believed him capable of. His touch lingered at her jaw, and despite every instinct screaming at her to pull away, she found herself leaning into his hand. For one wild moment she thought he might ?—
The door behind her suddenly opened. Aven lost her balance and tumbled backward, staring up into Cillian’s amused and upside-down face.
“Look what I’ve found. It’s good to know at least some sense remains in your head.” Cillian directed the comment at Roran before holding out a hand for her. “Come, now. Let’s get you settled in your room. The conflict is over.”
Aven allowed Cillian to help her up and couldn’t help the look over her shoulder at Roran. Their relationship shifted, somehow. They wound up somewhere between hatred and understanding, and she wondered what he might have told her had they not been interrupted, and why it felt like such a loss that she’d never understand.