Fated to Flurry (Fated to the Draken Riders #2)

Chapter 1

Rowan

The neat rows of endless tents fill the dawn-lit clearing like a regimented forest of pale fabric. The white fabric seems to glow faintly in the blush of the morning, casting geometric shadows across the dew-dampened grass.

Fae tents. A fae war camp.

Betrayal and exhaustion make my knees buckle. I barely manage to keep from dropping to my knees, my body trembling from exhaustion and the aftershocks of adrenaline. With the sight of the enemy camp, the last stray hopes I had of this being some colossal misunderstanding vanish into the foggy mist.

There is no misunderstanding. No elaborate ruse or secret mission.

The three men who I'd thought were Eryndor's champions, my friends, my.

.. something more... are enemy warriors.

Kai, Kyrian and Logan are fae infiltrators who'd lied their way through our defenses.

Through my defenses. Every shared moment, every touch, every kiss —had been nothing but a calculated, choreographed show.

“Fuck me,” Ellie mutters under her breath. She has her hands braced on her thighs, her red hair out of its braid. She looks as defeated as I feel.

Kyrian, who’d carried me for hours over his shoulder, doesn’t even look winded. Of course not. He's fae. Immortal. The conglomerate of preternatural strength and years of lethal training.

Years... How many years? How old are these men? These males.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can think of saying to Ellie. “I didn’t know.”

"None of us did."

I know she means well, but she hadn’t been the one to let the fae into her life and body and soul.

Between the tents, fae soldiers are already moving with purpose, their lithe forms slipping gracefully between guy ropes and stakes.

There is an occasional sharp glint as a piece of silver armor or weapon catches the light just right.

They are busy with morning chores and routines and everything that it takes to keep an army running.

They are busy getting ready to destroy my kingdom and everything I’ve sworn to protect.

"The reality is not what you have been taught to believe, Ainsley," Kai says, his voice carrying that same commanding authority that had once made my pulse quicken for entirely different reasons.

He splits his attention between me and the sprawling camp ahead, those glacial blue eyes scanning the perimeter with the practiced assessment of a warrior who has done this countless times before. Because he has.

"That much we agree on." I force my legs to lock and my spine to straighten as I meet his glacial blue gaze. At least that is the same as it’s always been. Cold, judgmental and bloody arrogant. As for the rest of him… It’s all just different enough to make my skin crawl.

If Kai was unfairly beautiful before, now, with the glamour completely gone, his every damn perfection is magnified tenfold.

His dirty blond hair catches the dawn's glow, those silver threads I'd glimpsed earlier now clearly visible, woven through the strands like captured starlight.

The pointed tips of his ears peek through the disheveled locks, no longer hidden by fae magic.

Even his posture is slightly different—less human restraint, more predatory grace.

Even his shadows are more aware now. More alive.

More deadly.

“I will kill you,” I tell him quietly. “Maybe not today. Or tomorrow. But one day.”

“Just him or all of us?” Logan inquires, running a hand through his black hair, which at least has the grace to be damp with sweat.

Kyrian elbows him in the ribs.

“What? I was just clarifying the rabbit’s intentions.”

“Don’t call me that.”

There’s a flicker of something like regret in Logan’s golden eyes. As if he’d expected to stay on good terms after revealing himself to be an enemy soldier and kidnapping Ellie and me to their territory.

“You are correct,” Kai replies steadily, though his attention has shifted back to the terrain, shadows swirling around his body. “The part about you not killing me today. Or tomorrow. That part is correct.”

“Asshole.”

“Also correct.” He raises a hand in a signal that I’ve learned means attention. “We are about to have company."

Logan shifts back to his wolf form in a flash of light, Kyrian and Kai taking up positions on either side of Ellie and me.

They move with the synchronicity of a well-trained unit, their stances relaxed but ready, their eyes constantly scanning the surrounding woods for threats that I can’t make out.

I hate them. These males lied to me and played me.

Who’d toyed with my mind and body and heart for this single purpose: so that when they were ready to take me, I’d naively follow their orders, suspecting nothing until it was too late.

The only person I hate more than this trio of warriors is myself.

“Is it just me, or do they look entirely too tense for operatives who are about to meet back up with their own army?” Ellie says.

She’s got a point.

"These aren't friends of yours?" I ask, marking the way Kai's shadows have begun to writhe more aggressively around his arms, the way Logan's hackles are raised in his wolf form.

"Friends is a complicated word," Kyrian answers.

"No, it really isn't." I put my hands on my hips, ignoring the way my muscles protest after being hauled around. “Pretty straightforward concept, actually."

Kyrian sighs and spares me a quick glance over his shoulder, his tousled dark hair framing his angled jaw.

“Whoever is coming might or might not wish me dead. Either way, they will unlikely be at liberty to actually kill me. You on the other hand, they will absolutely want to unalive. Which would be inconvenient after all the trouble we went through to kidnap you.”

Well, at least he’s direct.

"Here we go," Kai says, though I've no idea what he is looking at. The words carry that familiar edge of controlled tension that I've learned means trouble is about to find us whether we want it or not.

True to form, a heartbeat later, a patrol of five fae warriors melts out of the trees’ shadows. They move with the same fluid grace as the triad, their steps making no sound on the leaf-strewn ground. Also, all four are armed, their blades leveled directly at us.

Neither Kai nor Kyrian make any move for their weapons, which either means they're supremely confident or we're supremely fucked. Given my recent luck, I'm betting on the latter.

"Identify yourselves," the male at the front of the patrol orders. He's tall and lean with auburn hair pulled back in a warrior's knot and more blades strapped across his chest than anyone should need.

Kyrian steps forward with that infuriating confidence that transcends species.

Even disheveled from our trek through the forest, with his dark hair falling across his forehead and his clothes rumpled, he somehow manages to look like he owns the entire damn camp.

So much so that when he dropped his hands behind his back, like a general conducting inspection, it looked natural. “You first, sentry.”

The armed patrol straightens almost imperceptibly.

“You—” the patrol leader’s brows furrow then lift suddenly. “Your highness?” The words grow more certain, his fist rising to touch his chest. “Stars, Prince Kyrian. What are you doing here?”