Chapter 5
Kyrian
For a terrible heartbeat, no one moves. Even the guards hesitate.
Not out of mercy, but confusion—unsure if they’d heard their commander correctly.
I can see the questions flashing in their faces.
Cut off her hands here and now? Just outside the command tent?
Or take her somewhere first? Then one of Theron’s advisors steps forward.
"That's... brilliant, my lord." His eyes gleam with approval. He rolls his shoulders, the motion oddly predatory. "She cannot create more auric alloy without her hands, yet will be able to provide the crucial intelligence we require. A clean solution to a dangerous problem."
Murmurs of agreement ripple through the now sizable crowd we’ve collected. The shifters especially seem taken with the idea, nodding and exchanging looks of satisfaction.
Rowan goes rigid.
I step forward instinctively, but Kai is already moving—fluid, methodical, deadly. His expression is unreadable, but I recognize the quiet fury in the set of his jaw, the coiled tension in his limbs.
And then he speaks. Not to guards. Not to Theron.
But to the space between them all, his voice level and smooth as silk—coated in threat.
"That's going to be a problem, your highness.
I may have forgotten to mention one other important fact.
Rowan Ainsley is also my fiancée and it would inconvenience me to have her maimed.
" His voice hardens. "And who knows. Slait might well consider such a move an act of war.
Are you prepared to declare war on behalf of Flurry, Prince Theron? "
I stare at Kai.
Rowan stares at Kai.
Kai stares at Theron. Stares down at Theron. Then cracks his knuckles casually before sweeping one arm out to pull Rowan flush against the front of his body. “About those accommodations you mentioned, a single tent will do. And if we could trouble you for some breakfast?”
Theron's face cycles through a remarkable array of expressions—surprise, fury, calculation. "Fiancée," he repeats slowly, tasting the word. "The Ainsley girl, the alchemic war criminal who’s terrorizing my people is -”
“My beloved fiancée,” Kai finishes for him. “Yes.”
I stick my hands into my pockets, as if all this is old news to me, my thoughts scrambling to figure out how Kai imagines this playing out.
I’ll concede that his antics are effective in the short term—vital for keeping Rowan’s hands attached to her wrists—but they also have state-level consequences.
The advisor who'd praised the hand-cutting idea now looks considerably less enthusiastic. War with Slait over a single prisoner, no matter how valuable, would be a problem. And Theron would be in a load of hurt if he were determined to be the cause.
“How... joyful,” Theron says finally. “And when exactly did this engagement take place?"
“A conversation for another time.” Kai rests his chin on the top of Rowan’s head, his arm wrapping her waist possessively. It’s not diplomacy, it's dropping a torch into an oil barrel and calling it strategy.
Theron tucks his thumbs into his belt. “Is it?”
“Begging your pardon, your highness,” the advisor who’d applauded Theron’s plan moments earlier invites himself into the discourse once more. “The male before us claims to speak for the Slait throne, but have we any proof of his identity?”
“That is a fair point.” Theron cocks his head, examining Kai with more scrutiny that most dare. “I’ve not seen you. Has anyone?”
Negative murmurs come from all directions.
“I’m rarely paraded around. That dubious honor goes to my twin sister, Autumn. The heir apparent. Her you’ve laid eyes on I imagine?” Kai shrugs. “Unless you are too low to attend adult functions.”
Bloody hell. Has Kai learned nothing of what happens when you prod Theron’s pride?
A vein pulses on Theron’s temple. He is going to tear this entire camp apart to prove the engagement a lie.
“I’ll have the messenger dispatched to Slait immediately to verify the situation.
In the meantime, you will remain here as… guests.”
“Of course.” Kai nods. “Now about breakfast.”
A quarter hour later a contingent of guards is escorting us to our new quarters, at which point I imagine Rowan will peel the skin off Kai’s face with her bare hands just to make her true feeling about his and this engagement clear.
Because she hates us. All of us. Possibly in different orders depending on the hour, but still.
We’re squarely in her traitorous bastards column.
I hate how much that hurts.
The biggest irony though is that despite knowing all this—despite knowing Rowan will fight this sham engagement tooth and nail, let alone agree to a real one—I can’t stop the spike of jealousy that punches through me at the thought of it being Kai who came up with the idea.
“Well, that could’ve gone worse,” Kai says, falling back to walk in step beside me. Rowan and Ellie walk just a few paces ahead of us, in plain sight but far enough to keep from hearing the conversation.
“How exactly?”
“No one is dead or dismembered.”
“Yet.”
“Yet,” Kai agrees.
“By that metric we’re practically winning.” I stop, stepping in front of Kai to cut him off—which isn’t a move compatible with life most days, but right now the risk is worth it.
“What the fuck is the plan?” I ask. “Because Theron isn’t wrong about Rowan being a war criminal.
Did you see the wolves? They are out for blood—and I can’t fully blame them given what the auric alloy does to their kind.
Except the master criminal architect of their torment has no idea what she’s really been doing. ”
“So we enlighten her to the truth.”
“Yes, I’m sure she will be in the perfect mood to talk after being betrayed by her friends, kidnapped, dragged into an enemy camp, and declared betrothed.
” I run a hand through my hair. The plan was to use the fae army as a wall between us and the humans, fill up on supplies and then have a very long, very private journey to Slait during which time we’d get Rowan to come around.
Understand the full picture. Agree to work on the antidote needed.
Kai resumes walking, the camp before him parting to allow his passage and privacy. “You should do the talking this time.”