5. Chapter 5
“ C are to explain who set the forest on fire?” the fae male inquired in a silky smooth voice, hand resting on the hilt at his hip.
“What does that matter now?” the dark-haired woman next to Ren found her voice first. “At least those bastard ogres were put down before they had their way with us.”
“Ogres?” he murmured, as if tasting the word. His dark hair tied loosely at the nape, a few rebellious strands breaking free across his slender brow. Broad-shouldered and tall, he carried himself more as a warrior than a courtier.
His emerald gaze settled on Ren, and Ren felt like she was being judged or weighed against some invisible measure only he understood.
Though the fae male wore plain clothes in shades of charcoal and navy, he wasn’t a low-rank fae soldier.
The gold ring glinting on his hand gave him away.
A plain gold band, save for the sapphire gleaming at its center.
Ren knew that stone alone could buy a ship, a home, maybe a man’s life.
His voice held the clipped and refined accent of the high fae who had strode through human villages to collect their dues.
An emblem gleamed on his chest: a crescent moon cradling a thorned rose, silver on midnight blue. House Vaelaran.
And Ren knew with a sinking feeling that this was no ordinary fae .
Why someone like him sat in this wagon, she didn’t know. But instinct had her scanning him for the bulge of hidden weapons. Was he another threat she’d have to contend with, or the kind of ally who could cut her throat before the night ended?
The male fae in question turned his gaze to the blackened clearing, where smoke still curled from the scorched ground and the ogres’ remains. “Impressive. Not many can take down a hunting pack. Brutish bastards and not easily felled.”
“ Impressive ?” Ren echoed, eyes narrowing. “Funny, we didn’t see your brave soldiers saying that when they left us in chains like bait.”
Ren shoved the fury clawing at her chest, forced down the scream rising in her throat.
Her hands trembled as she gestured toward the broken foliage where the fae soldiers had fled, the torn leaves and crushed branches still whispering of their cowardice.
She buried every wild thought, every roar of rage, and wrenched her focus onto the words spilling out of her.
“The others ran ,” Ren spat. “The moment the ogres burst through the trees, the so-called valiant soldiers of House Vaelaran left us." Her jaw locked so tightly it ached, but the words kept coming. “And now the ogres are dead, but so are half the prisoners – torn apart while the soldiers tucked tail.” She arched her head to the side, as though daring him to give her an answer worth hearing. “And yet, here you are. Still standing. What’s the matter? Couldn’t run fast enough, or did you stay just to gawk at the aftermath?”
The male fae's gaze fell to the scorched ground and the bodies scattered across the earth. Ren could have sworn she saw surprise flicker across his face.
“I…” he began, the word catching. “I stayed to cover their evacuation of the prisoners.” But it was clear now, even to him, that evacuation had been little more than panic.
Then his eyes flicked toward the twisted remnants of the shackles, still clamped around blackened limbs.
“Nearly half of them were still chained,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
"The priority would be to release them all first.”
“Well, they didn’t,” Ren said flatly. .
“It wasn’t enough,” he whispered .
“No,” Ren muttered, her gaze lingering on the limp, lifeless bodies of the other prisoners. Silence stretched as her eyes stayed fixed on them. “It wasn’t.”
Ren’s expression shifted, the raw edges of weariness giving way to something sharper. Her composure solidified like steel drawn from the forge. “Are you planning to put the rest of us back in chains now, or are you waiting until the blood dries?”
Ren braced herself, arms tense, feet half-shifted to bolt or burn, whichever he pushed her toward first. If he so much as twitched in the direction of binding her, she would raze this whole damn forest to ash, consequences be damned.
Silence followed her question, thick as the smoke still rising from the battlefield.
They stared.
Predator and prey, though who was which, neither of them could be sure.
Then, the male fae drew his steel, a polished curved blade.
Ren’s lip curled. Her gaze snagged on a fae sprawled in the dirt nearby, his hand still clenched around his sword hilt.
She strode over and pulled hard at the fae’s limp wrist. Once.
Twice. The stiff fingers wouldn’t release, so she snarled and kicked until the blade jarred free with a metallic clatter .
She didn’t give a damn how heavy it was or how it felt foreign in her grasp. “Mine now,” she muttered.
All that mattered was that she had steel. The male fae hadn’t spoken a word, only flicked his gaze toward her.
And then he advanced.
Their blades met in a crack of steel. The vibration rang up Ren’s arm, but she shoved back. He pressed once, twice, then swirled. Ren countered, gritting her teeth as she locked steel against his again.
He lunged, and she blocked, teeth rattling from the force. His emerald eyes gleamed. There was only a click of his tongue when her guard slipped.
Another when she struck too wide, leaving her ribs open.
A third when her footwork faltered on a patch of scorched earth.
Each sound was a judgment, a mark on whatever ledger he was keeping .
Ren’s frustration flared. She bared her teeth, swinging harder, but he twisted smoothly, parrying effortlessly.
He was testing her reflexes, her resolve, her limits.
Steel rang again and again, until the entire world narrowed to the clash of their blades, the heat of his scrutiny, and the slow realization curdling in her gut.
He wasn’t just fighting her.
He was deciding what she was worth .
Ren swung with raw fury, but he turned aside every strike with infuriating ease, his curved blade singing as it carved through the air.
Then too quick for her tired arm to counter, he twisted, his weapon slamming against hers. The shock knocked her back. She stumbled, boots scraping across blood-slick earth, until the ground gave out beneath her balance, and she went down hard on her ass. The breath whooshed out of her lungs.
When she looked up, the curved steel glinted above her — pointed straight at her chest. The fae male’s stance was unshaken, every line of him honed and deliberate, emerald eyes burning down into hers.
“Yield,” he commanded.
Ren’s chest heaved, air scraping ragged down her throat. She clenched her jaw, every instinct snarling to spit in his face. But her arms trembled from the weight of the fight.
Her lips parted. With one curt nod, she forced herself to bow to the moment. “I yield.”
Ren’s attention flickered to the edges of her sight, catching the movement of the others beyond the circle of their clash. The younger girl’s eyes hadn’t left Ren for a second, her lips moving in what might’ve been prayer.
The dark-haired woman leaned against a tree, one brow cocked, a crooked smirk tugging at her mouth as though this whole bloody dance had been nothing more than a tavern brawl.
Ren caught the way the woman's eyes glittered, sharp and assessing, following every strike, every falter, as though she were weighing Ren as well.
Ren’s amber eyes returned to the male fae. Slowly, he drew a breath and straightened, rolling his shoulders back like dawning an old cloak.
“Well,” he chuckled, brushing ash from the sleeve of his coat, “I could have you shackled again, but I suspect you’d take that personally, and I’m rather fond of diplomacy.
” He turned to her, a smile ghosting across his lips.
“You just turned a hunting ground into a bonfire, and you know how to wield a sword. You’re dangerous – the kind of dangerous House Vaelaran needs. ”
There it was, the way his tone pivoted, already conniving, as if the dead could be swept aside with clever words and courtly charm. Of course he’d dress it up like a compliment – dangle a proposition like some gilded chain that she’d blindly reach for.
This was precisely why she could never trust the fae.
“I have other problems that require that kind of enthusiasm,” the male fae continued.
“Is this your version of a proposition? Because your offer of service could use work,” Ren snapped.
“You’re quick on your feet and loyal enough to stay and fight when running would have been easier.”
“I was trying not to die. Don’t confuse that for loyalty.”
He stepped over a charred ogre corpse, eyes trained on her. “No, you’re not the loyal type. You’re the burn-it-down-and-walk-away type. Which is exactly why the realm needs you.”
Ren laughed bitterly. “The last time someone needed me, I wound up here – on my way to the butcher’s block.”
His gaze lingered on her, calm but assessing. “I’m offering something else. A choice.”
“There’s always a price with your kind.”
As he had deflected her blade before, he deflected her words just as easily. “There are monsters to slay. I could offer you protection, coin – whatever it is, you name it. You can come to court and serve a crucial role in protecting the kingdom. Fight if you choose, leave if you don’t.”
Ren glanced over at the younger girl watching their every exchange in bated silence. “She goes home first,” Ren stated. “Then maybe I’ll consider your offer. And by maybe, I mean don’t count on it.”
“Deal.”
“And don’t think for a second I trust you.”
His eyes glinted in amusement. “If you did, I’d be worried.” Then he tilted his head, watching her with that same unnerving curiosity. “What’s your name?”
Ren hesitated, weighing the wisdom of giving it to him. “Ren Harper.” Her chin lifted. “And yours? ”
He paused. The air itself seemed to shift as though the forest already recognized who he was. When he finally spoke, the name landed like steel on stone. “Prince Talen of Vaelaran — at your service, or your mercy. Hard to tell which, really. Try not to swoon, it’s unbecoming."