Chapter 10
Huntyr
Ikilled the wrong damn man.
I wasted my time flirting with the actual Fae prince, only to drive my blade into a guard instead.
How had I ever found him attractive? Really, I should have known just from his cocky arrogance alone.
Even now, Derian watches me with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face, gesturing lazily for a guard to come and collect me.
I rip my arm from the male's grasp before he can touch me and stride to the front of the room on my own, ignoring the way the Fae track my movements.
“What if we don’t want to marry you?” I challenge, my voice cutting through the tense silence.
His gaze follows me, unyielding, as I step beside the other women gathered at the front. He descends the steps, coming to stand before me, suffocating me with the scent of leather and citrus.
“Doesn’t every girl want to marry a prince?”
I lift my chin, meeting his eyes without flinching. “I’ve never been one to meet expectations.”
Our gazes lock in silent confrontation.
“So you say,” he finally murmurs quietly.
Derian turns toward the crowd, angling himself between them and the King.
“There are many benefits to winning the Conclave beyond marriage. Winners are among the most respected warriors in the Fae kingdom. My wife will have my protection. She’ll live in my castle, never wanting for jewels or riches. ”
He glances at me again, as if measuring whether his words sway me. I arch a brow impetuously. I grew up slinking through the slums. I never cared for wealth, and now that my stepmother is dead, I have more than enough to last a lifetime.
This prince is sadly mistaken if he thinks diamonds will get me to fall on my knees for him.
Derian inclines his head, almost as if acknowledging my lack of interest.
“The winner of the Conclave also gets a gift of her choice from her betrothed.”
“Anything?” the girl to my left whispers, wide-eyed.
I glance at her. She’s short, the top of her red hair barely reaching my shoulder. I noticed her earlier because the white and silver gown she wears is eerily similar to mine.
“Anything,” Derian confirms with a charming grin. “You could ask for the biggest estate in the world, and I’d set sail the next day to find it for you.”
His eyes find mine again, as if waiting to see if that entices me. I'm distracted though, too focused on noticing the women standing near me.
The redhead’s dress is almost identical to mine. And the brunette next to her? Her gown mirrors the redhead’s.
I scan the line of women, my stomach twisting as I do. We’re all different. All varying in height, complexion, and hair color, but there is one thing we share. The silver threaded through our gowns.
Well, fuck.
Someone saw me.
Every muscle locks into attention as I mentally scan my body, confirming that all my weapons are still in place. My pulse hammers.
And yet…
The Fae aren’t arresting me.
Derian still watches me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve, not a murderer he’s suspicious of.
I exhale slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax. Someone might have noticed my dress, but they didn’t see enough to know exactly who I was.
Which means I have a choice to make.
I can fight my way out, expose myself as the Huntress, and likely die in the process. Or I can stay Lady Lachlan for a little while longer and go along with this stupid contest.
Play along, find the right moment, and kill my real target.
I weigh the options in seconds.
“What if I don’t want jewels or land?” I ask, my mind spinning with possibilities.
Derian steps toward me again, closing the space between us until he’s so close a simple shift forward would press my breasts against his chest. The proximity sends a rush of anticipation over me, but if he’s as affected, he doesn’t let it show on his face as he stares down at me.
His attention is absolute, like no one else in this room exists.
“Win the Conclave,” he says, his voice low and sure. “And I’ll give you anything you want.”
And with that, my decision is made.
Not only does this Conclave give me a second opportunity for revenge, that prize sure sounds tempting.
I don’t want a damn thing from him, but I might need something. Or rather, Tyla needs something.
That Fae potion only bought her a little more time. Joneson seemed sure the Fae had something stronger, though, something that might even be able to cure her. Without even realizing it, Derian just gave me the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.
A plan takes shape, sharp and clear.
I’ll compete in this Conclave. Win. Take the healing tonic for Tyla.
Then, once she’s cured, I’ll kill my brand-new husband on our wedding night.
Maybe I’ll even get lucky and take out his bastard brother, too.
A slow smile spreads across my lips as I stare up at the prince.
“Let the games begin.”
His lips pull into a slight grin. “The game has already begun, Lady Lachlan.”
We’re forced to spend the night in the castle, locked away in separate rooms like prisoners. I suppose they’re worried we’ll try to sneak out, or maybe even try to kill each other before the Conclave even begins.
I wake to sunlight glittering through the window, sore from sleeping on a mattress that was too soft while still trapped in the suffocating gown from last night.
My ribs ache from the corset’s relentless grip, and a sharp, familiar pounding in my temples nearly blinds me.
Without my tonics, the headache is unbearable, each throb shooting stars across my vision.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try to focus on anything but the pain.
My thoughts quickly wander to Tyla, and guilt twists in my gut.
She’ll be worried when she realizes I didn’t come home last night.
Maybe Kristona will check on her, though I doubt even he can save me now.
By the time anyone realizes what’s happened, I’ll already be on my way to the Fae lands. Too late for rescue.
Not that I want it.
As ridiculous as this competition is, it's also my chance to get everything I’ve ever wanted: a cure for Tyla and revenge for my father.
All I have to do is kill six noblewomen and claim my prize. Easy.
I sit up, wincing as I reach behind me to fumble with the laces of my corset. I’m halfway through tearing the gown off when a knock sounds at the door. It swings open before I can respond, and a servant enters, bowing slightly.
“Good morning, Lady Lachlan.”
“Call me Huntyr,” I snap. Lady Lachlan will always be my stepmother, and I want nothing to do with her cursed name.
The servant hesitates, blinking as if she’s unsure how to handle my tone. “Very well, Huntyr. I’ve been asked to deliver something appropriate for your journey.”
She steps forward, a gown draped over her arms. It’s green velvet, simple and sturdy, with thick fabric to keep me warm on the voyage. Practical, yes, but the skirt is too narrow, too restrictive.
“Is there another option?” I ask, raising a brow.
Her lips press into a thin line. “Is the color not to your liking?”
“It’s not just the color,” I say, waving vaguely at the gown. “I need pants.”
“Pants?” Her tone is incredulous, like I’ve just asked her to fetch me a dragon.
“Yes, pants. Trousers. Something I can actually move in.”
She stares at me, clearly trying to decide if I’m joking. “The other ladies will—”
“I don’t care what the other ladies are wearing.”
The servant sighs, bowing again before leaving the room, locking the door behind her. Rolling my eyes, I strip off the silver gown, letting it crumple into a heap on the floor. I rip the pins from my hair, groaning in relief as the dark waves tumble down my shoulders.
When the servant returns, she opens the door cautiously, her arms laden with garments. “I’ve brought—oh!” She squeaks and nearly drops the bundle, her cheeks flushing as she slams the door shut behind her.
I grin at her embarrassment. “It’s just a body. We all have them.”
She mutters an apology, avoiding my gaze as I scoop up the leather trousers and gray blouse from her arms. The loose top slides over my head easily, a welcome reprieve from the suffocating corset.
The pants are snug but comfortable, the soft leather molding to my legs.
The belt fastens securely around my waist, its pouches perfect for stashing weapons.
“That’s better,” I sigh, running a hand down the fabric.
The servant hands me my boots without a word, watching as I tug them on and lace them tightly. Once finished, she curtsies awkwardly and scurries out. By the time the guards arrive to escort me to the docks, I’ve slipped a dagger into the waistband of my pants and tucked another into my boot.
The castle halls are quiet as I follow the guards, my boots clicking softly against the stone. Salty air coats the back of my throat. Silently, I pull my cloak over my shoulders, tying it at the neck as we step onto the dock and I scan over my surroundings.
“Stay here,” one of the guards barks, depositing me among the other contestants.
I cross my arms, glancing at the women gathered. Three look terrified, one looks half-asleep, and two are practically buzzing with excitement. They glance at me, their expressions turning sour as they take in my outfit.
“Do you see what she’s wearing?” one of them whispers loudly.
Of course, it’s the blonde who brought up my father last night. She looks me up and down with a sneer. “They probably didn’t teach her how to dress properly at that school of hers.”
No, but Kristona taught me how to kill, which will be far more useful.
I blow her a kiss, flipping her off for good measure before turning my attention to the ship.
Derian stands near the ramp of a sleek, obsidian ship, carefully decorated with Fae symbols.
He’s dressed for travel, in a loose-fitting tunic and versatile trousers that hug his muscular thighs.
I keep my appraisal of him short before glancing away to hide the fact that I’m listening in on his hushed conversation with his advisor.
“They’re not going to like this,” Roland warns.
“They don’t have a choice,” Derian replies, his gaze sweeping over the dock. “The Conclave has been declared. It cannot be undone.”
With a flick of his wrist, he signals for us to board. Guards push us forward onto the ramp, and as soon as my boots hit the ship’s deck, I feel it… a strange hum of power beneath my feet.
There are no oars, no sails. Just magic, pulsing through the vessel like a heartbeat.
They waste no time in undoing the ropes that tie us to the dock, and the other women and I are herded towards the center of the main deck.
I refuse to shudder, forcing my expression to remain neutral as the ship eases free and starts moving along the waves.
The port district fades behind us, until Velia is nothing more than just a shadow on the horizon.
Then, with a sudden lurch, the ship begins to rise.
Gasps ripple through the women as the deck tilts slightly and the vessel lifts itself into the air. They clutch the railings and each other, their fear evident in their wide eyes and trembling hands.
I stand firm, though, simply adjusting my footing and keeping my eyes on the horizon.
Let them gape at the Fae magic. Let them all marvel at the wonders of the world they barely understand.
I refuse to be impressed by any of it.
I need to stay focused. I need to nurture the fiery rage boiling in my stomach, because the time is coming when I’ll finally be able to release it all. And when I do, Prince Derian is going to regret ever laying eyes on me.