Saved By the Fae Commander (Fae Overlords #5)

Chapter 1

ISABEL

The winter wind howls louder, and it sounds like impending doom.

Even though I’m buried under my warmest quilts, a shiver rushes through me, rousing me to full wakefulness.

I sit up in bed and stare out the window, but the sight unsettles me.

There aren’t as many lights flickering across Braemar as usual.

A week ago, the Winter Court army conquered my home city.

Thousands died during the ill-fated battle, and now too many houses are sitting empty with no lanterns burning in the windows at night.

The darkness covering the city is a stark reminder of all that’s been lost, and I quickly avert my gaze from the window.

Worry clenches in my gut as I contemplate the morning to come, and a shuddering breath leaves me. In the aftermath of the battle, I haven’t left the home I share with my father. Not once. I can’t risk a close encounter with any of the fae males, particularly the highborn ones.

But tomorrow is Tribute Day, and I will finally be forced to leave my home and visit Braemar Castle with my father.

Each household is required to visit the fae-occupied castle and offer a tribute of ten silver pieces to the Winter Court fae.

My father has promised to do all the talking when it’s our turn, but I still can’t banish the fear that pervades my senses.

The prospect of being around fae soldiers sends a chill to my bones. It feels like fate is suddenly trying to catch up to me, and no matter what I do, I won’t be able to stop it.

Too many young women, and some young men too, have gone missing since the fae conquered Braemar, and I can’t help but worry I’ll be next.

My dearest friend, Helena, just went missing, and my heart pangs with sorrow every time I think about her.

Recently widowed, she was renting the upstairs room in our house, but a few days ago, she set out on her mail route and never returned.

Papa looked for her but couldn’t find her anywhere, and I’m starting to fear the worst.

It’s well-known that the fae like to claim humans as concubines and pleasure slaves. Sometimes, they even claim humans as mates. A fresh shiver rushes through me at this thought.

My gaze drifts around my small but tidy bedroom until I notice my hooded cloak draped over a chair.

I’m planning to wear the cloak tomorrow during the required visit to the castle, keep my head down, and perhaps smudge dirt on my face just to make myself look unappealing to the fae males.

It’s a solid plan… but I fear it won’t be enough.

A deep, rumbling voice suddenly fills my head, pieces of a conversation that feel like a distant echo, as though it’s occurring far across the city, yet I’m somehow able to listen in.

You will assemble a contingent of fifty soldiers to guard the northernmost section of Braemar during the procession tomorrow.

As the humans line up to visit the castle and offer their tributes, and the line stretches to the gates, you will remain on alert for any signs of misconduct among them.

If you discover any humans carrying weapons, you will immediately toss them in with the runners we’re holding captive.

Dear gods, I wish the voice would stop resounding in my head. It’s an otherworldly voice, not quite human, making me certain it belongs to a fae male.

I try to push away the voice, but it keeps ringing in my head. It’s been happening for a little over a week, ever since the Winter Court army conquered Braemar.

The male is clearly a commander of some type.

Most of the time when I hear his voice, it’s when he’s issuing orders.

I try to pretend it’s only my imagination getting the best of me, that it’s not real, but deep in my soul, I know the true reason I’m hearing the voice, and it fills me with endless dread.

Then it happens. I feel his presence, as though he’s seated on the bed beside me, leaning in close. It’s not the first time this has happened either. My foreboding increases.

Waves of cold touch my face, yet it’s not unpleasant.

Instead, it sends an unexpected thrill throughout my body, a thrum of heat that coalesces with the enticing chill, causing my breath to catch in my throat.

His scent overwhelms me… freshly fallen snow, peppermint, woodsmoke, and spices. He smells like all things winter.

A whimper escapes me, and I close my eyes and try to will his presence away. Fear cascades down my spine. Does he sense me too? I pray he doesn’t. I pray that whatever is happening between us is strictly one-sided. If he detects my presence, I fear he’ll come looking for me.

I open my eyes and peer at my hooded cloak. Will a disguise really work tomorrow? I’ll be outside on the streets of Braemar, waiting in line for hours until we reach the castle. I’ll be too exposed. What if I encounter him during that time… the fae male behind the deep, rumbling voice?

Though I know his name, I dare not speak it aloud. In fact, I try very hard not to even think of his name. Yet it’s there, in the back of my mind, another echo I cannot escape.

Gideon.

That’s all I know. His name, the sound of his voice, the way he smells, and the fact that he’s highborn and clearly a powerful fae male who hails from the Winter Court.

The worry clenching in my stomach spreads, and my entire body trembles as I consider the terrible fate that awaits me if he finds me. If he realizes I’m right here in Braemar… that is, if he’s even aware of my existence.

Hidden. I must remain hidden. I can’t go to the castle.

I simply can’t. But it’s my understanding that fae patrols will be going door-to-door tomorrow to make sure each household visits Braemar Castle on Tribute Day.

If a patrol visits my house and discovers me hiding…

well, I don’t even want to think about what might happen then.

Escape. The word flits through my mind, a whisper that steadily grows louder. Outside, the wind continues howling, a backdrop to my panicked thoughts.

I climb out of bed and dress quickly, donning my warmest clothing.

After I finish getting dressed, I put on the hooded cloak, then hurry to pack a rucksack.

I shove extra stockings, two dresses, woolen socks, and underclothes into the bag, as well as a small painted portrait of my late mother.

Then I quietly tiptoe downstairs, praying I won’t wake my father.

Guilt pummels me when I consider how worried he’ll be when he discovers me missing, but I don’t see another option.

I must run. I must remain hidden from the highborn fae male whose voice keeps resounding in my head.

Gideon.

I shiver at the thought of his name. I don’t know what he looks like, but knowing he’s a highborn fae male, I imagine he’s massive and fierce.

And powerful. From what I’ve heard, all highborn fae males possess the ability to summon wings, and they can command other magic as well. More reason for me to remain hidden.

I creep down the hallway, past my father’s bedroom, and into the large front room that serves as Sinclair’s Bakery, the cozy establishment I’ve helped Papa run since his retirement as a soldier.

I grab several small loaves of bread, wrapping them carefully before placing them in my rucksack.

I also find some cheese and dried berries.

Pausing, I cast a longing glance around the darkened bakery.

Even though I know I must leave, my heart breaks at the thought.

I always expected I would spend my entire life in Braemar, and I thought I would always help Papa run the bakery.

And after he departed this realm, I would run it by myself, a profession that would allow me to make a decent living without having to depend on a husband for survival.

The bakery has been my home, my sanctuary, for so long that sorrow nearly drowns me at the prospect of abandoning the one place that’s always felt safest. This place was supposed to be my future, yet now I must flee because it’s no longer the refuge it once was…

all because of the Winter Court fae and the certainty that Gideon is currently within the walls of the city.

But maybe… maybe one day I will be able to return. After the bulk of the Winter Court army has moved on, with Gideon hopefully among them, I could possibly come back to my old life and try to pick up the pieces. This thought provides a tentative balm to my sorrows.

After securing my bag, I turn to the door, only for an abrupt strike of a match followed by a flicker of light to catch my attention.

I gasp when I spot my father seated at a table in the area that’s reserved for customers. He lights his pipe and puffs it several times. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize he’s likely been sitting there watching me this entire time. Yet he hasn’t spoken.

My stomach plunges to the floor.

Does he realize what I’m doing? Does he know I was about to run away without leaving so much as a note?

My guilt from earlier deepens. He’s always been a good father to me.

Kind and patient. Judging by his gentle demeanor, one would never guess he was once a decorated soldier who protected the walls of Braemar.

After my mother died when I was only ten years old, he retired from soldiering and opened this bakery, providing a new way of earning a living that allowed him to keep a close eye on me.

“Papa,” I whisper. “What are you doing awake at this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he replies calmly, no hint of anger in his voice. “Come sit with me, Isabel. I want to know what you’re doing.”