Chapter 3 – Rowan
ROWAN
The trees sway overhead as the wind picks up.
The sky grows darker with what looks to be an incoming afternoon storm.
I peer into the deep shadows of the woods, an uneasy feeling settling over me.
All at once, the overwhelming feeling of being watched prickles my skin, sending an icy shiver down my spine.
“We should go.”
Reaching down, I scoop Maksa back up, and together, Riven and I reluctantly trudge back to the castle. The weight of what’s ahead hanging over us.
“Magic is irrelevant anyway,” Riven mumbles nearly under his breath, reciting something our father often told us as children. “Only the royal fae lines even have magic these days. And with nearly all the demons gone, the world has grown beyond it.”
I scoff at the familiar lecture. “It’s easy for Father to say when he controls nearly half the world’s magic himself. No one would dare challenge him, and he likes it that way.”
Riven’s mouth tightens. “I wouldn’t bet on that.
Tension with Miselys has moved beyond simple animosity and battles over trade routes.
And Kovaria is restless; the raids along the border are only getting worse, and then there are the rumors…
” My brother’s tone turns grim, maybe even bitter, before trailing off entirely.
My head whips toward him and I freeze in place. “What rumors?”
Riven looks to the sky, and immediately I know whatever he was about to say isn’t something my ears were meant to hear.
My eyes narrow and I turn around to glare at him. “What are you keeping from me?”
My brother doesn’t get a chance to answer, because just at that moment, Maksa twists in my arms, scrambling up higher until her paws rest atop my shoulders, her ears—still too big for her head—alert and listening.
“Maksa! What—” My spine stiffens, and both Riven and I glance nervously around the dirt path at the surrounding woods. I half expect my governess, Alita, to appear from somewhere in the dense brush, her favorite switch in hand.
I’ve barely regained my grip on the little wolf before she leaps from my shoulder, and the moment her paws touch the ground, the little menace takes off in a full sprint, disappearing between the trees.
“Rowan, don’t—”
“Maksa!” I shout, taking off after her, Riven’s warning an afterthought at my back as I dart into the woods after her.
She was just a little thing when I found her—or rather, when she found me.
Maksa, a tiny wolf pup, just appeared one day. She sat just beyond the tree line of our little training circle, watching me shoot arrows for hours.
She was so skinny, her mostly white coat broken up by large tan patches, with tan and black freckles dusting her muzzle. A small chunk was missing from her left ear, and she was so nervous, any unexpected sound or movement made her flinch.
After I spotted her watching me, I kept up my routine of shooting, careful to keep one eye on the pup and another on the woods, should her mother be lurking nearby.
Only after a long while was she finally brave enough to step within the circle. She didn’t even try to sneak a bite of the snacks I’d brought with me. A few strips of dried meat and cheese lay out on the boulder between us. She just crept closer, watching me all the while.
I’d lost myself in shooting, and the next time I looked up, she was gone. A wave of disappointment slid through me as I scanned the trees, but there was no sign of her.
The next day, she was back. And after nearly another full day of her watching, I carefully set down my bow and quiver, moving closer.
She watched me, but didn’t run as I drew closer and closer until I was close enough to scoop the little thing up and claim her as my own.
The little princess made herself right at home. She slept on my bed, eating the cook’s meals, so long as they were prepared to her own specifications—she’s a spoiled brat.
A brat who would not survive a minute in these gods-forsaken woods alone.
Maksa flies through the training circle quick as lightning. When she reaches the trees again, she changes direction, bearing further south.
I tear after her, hastily snatching an arrow from my quiver while running through the circle and loading it into my bow—just in case.
It’s not long until I lose sight of her completely, my heart racing as panic sets in, and I slow my pace, searching through the thick vegetation for any sign of her pretty white and tan fur. After a few long seconds, I realize I’m much farther into the woods than I’ve ever been before.
“Maksa!” I call out, my voice echoing in the surrounding quiet.
I stop, holding my breath, desperate to hear the familiar sound of her whine when she wants to be picked up, or the sound of her feet thrumming across the thick mess of pine needles below.
But I hear nothing, nothing besides the faint chatter of birds and the brush of the leaves in the breeze. Until—
What was that?
Voices?
Hoofbeats?
I twist around, trying to orient myself off the path. Am I close to the road?
I inhale sharply, still pressing forward but slower now, growing more cautious the deeper into the woods I go.
But hope rises when the surrounding trees thin, the dark forest lightening as the sky becomes visible once again.
Tripping over roots on my way out of the woods, relief floods through me when I spot Maksa, sitting atop the small hillside just ahead—staring at me.
I blink at her, confusion ebbing into irritation as I climb the hill to join her.
“Maks. What are you—” My question cuts off the moment I crest the hill.
Below us lies the bend in the road, right before you reach the gates to Rosecliff.
Normally quiet, today it’s full of activity: a small caravan of soldiers moving through. I stare down at the men—or rather fae—my eyes catching on the swords slung across their backs, dagger hilts glinting in the sun at their hips, bows and quivers full of arrows on a few.
I don’t recognize any of them, but a little of the tension in my shoulders ease at the sight of Sitara’s white and gold colors, and the star crest on their armour.
The men are laughing, shouting to one another as they drag something behind them—or should I say, someone?
The soldiers are too preoccupied with their prisoner to notice me—high up on this hill at their backs.
I dare a step closer, peering down at the filth-covered man, nearly every inch of him caked in dirt—or was that blood on the side of his face?
His hands are bound before him, and he trips and sways wearily as the Sitari soldiers, who appear to be growing increasingly irritated with their burden, drag him roughly forward, each time a little harder than the last.
But despite his circumstances, the man laughs.
Laughs!
In fact, he holds his head even higher as he laughs at the soldiers who curse and spit at him until one of them, having had enough of the man’s antics, shoves him forward hard enough that he falls.
More shouts ring out, bringing the small military convoy to a halt.
At the disruption, a rider toward the front turns his horse around.
His presence alone is enough to put a stop to the prisoner’s harassment, and every Sitari soldier takes a wide step back as he approaches.
His auburn hair shines in the sunlight, and I tilt my head to study him.
To study the familiar way he sits upon his saddle, his rigid posture, the set of his jaw…
Without warning, Maksa takes off again, racing down the hill and toward the caravan of soldiers.
“No!” I shout, not giving it a second thought when once again, I pick up my skirts and tear after the stars-blasted wolf.
Maksa is just about the friendliest creature on this side of the fae lands, but the soldiers waiting at the bottom of the hill don’t know that… and when they see a gawky wolf pup bounding up to them, I’m fairly certain they’ll shoot first and ask questions later.
I’m so wholly focused on Maksa, slipping and sliding, just barely keeping my footing on the way down the muddy hill, all while shouting at the soldiers not to shoot… that I don’t notice the familiar rider sliding down from his horse, that is, until Maksa leaps right into his arms.
My face twists in horror, but one quick look has that horror dissipating nearly as quickly as it comes, and I don’t slow down either before I, too, tackle the rider, wrapping my arms tight around his waist.
“Stand down! Stand down!” I hear the rider rumble out to his men. I glance up quickly, not realizing how the other soldiers have their weapons at the ready, waiting for his orders.
Strong hands grip my shoulders as the male pushes me off of him, holding me at arms length in order to inspect me fully. After a few seconds of sharp scrutiny, he pulls me roughly back in. My arms wrap around him so tightly, I don’t think he could shrug me off again if he tried.
My heart warms at the familiar deep rumble of his laugh that tumbles out of his chest, my grin spreading ear to ear.
“Are you acquainted with this,” a nearby soldier starts, then pauses, “feral little thing, Your Highness?”.
“This feral little thing is my sister.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Your princess.” He calls out that last part loudly, and the effect is immediate.
I shove my brother back roughly, my grin quickly sharpening to a glare when everyone around us drops to one knee, bowing their heads, one fist over each chest. Well, everyone except their prisoner—the only one left standing besides Fel and I.
Fel’s amber eyes sparkle at what he’s done, a smirk on his face. He knows just how much I hate all this pomp and circumstance.
“On your knees, swine,” a gruff voice snarls, pulling my attention just in time to see one soldier whack the back of the prisoner’s knees with his fist, forcing the man to the ground with a grunt before raising his arm to hit him again.
I’m already moving to intervene. “No! No, it’s all right. He doesn’t… None of you have to—”
“Stand down, Breck,” Riven shouts at the soldier as he gracefully descends the hill, finally catching up.
Breck drops his chin deeply in respect, halting his assault on the man.
I eye the prisoner, inches deep in the road’s muck, still on his hands and knees. Sensing my gaze, the prisoner lifts his head, raising his eyes to meet mine. They’re blue. A pretty shade of blue, I notice, before he winks.
Winks!
His blue eyes sparkle and mine narrow, my mouth already opening to tell him off when his attention slides behind me. I turn just as Riven reaches us, and he too immediately embraces Fel in a tight hug.
“What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were coming!
” Riv gives him a playful shove, and Fel’s hands fly up to steady Maksa, who’s now wrapped around his neck like an oversized floof of a scarf.
He pries her off, carefully handing her to me before running a hand through his hair, attempting to smooth it.
“Neither did I, but...” He looks around; all eyes are on us. “We’ll talk later, alright?”
Riven and I exchange glances, but he nods slowly in acceptance.
Fel’s eyes fall back to the little bundle of fluff in my arms. “Maksa’s grown.”
The little wolf’s ears perk up at the sound of her name. The last time Fel was home was right after I first found her, and I swear she likes him better than me.
“She’ll be six months old next week,” I say, scratching behind her ear with a smile.
“Come on.” Fel inclines his head toward the castle; the gates are open, the guards having already spotted us. He turns, grabbing his horse’s reins, and both Riven and I fall in step beside him, with me holding Maksa tight to my chest, lest she decide to run off again.
It’s a short walk to the gate, but I can’t help but look back over my shoulder every few minutes to check on the prisoner Fel brought with him.
He notices, smiling at me each time I do.
“We found him less than a mile south of here,” Fel says, taking note of my curiosity. “He and a couple of others, scouting close to Rosecliff.”
“What for?” I ask, scrutinizing the prisoner again.
“That’s what we need to find out.” Fel’s expression is harsh, and I realize as we pass through the high stone walls of Rosecliff that the pretty blue-eyed boy is unlikely to walk out of them just as pretty—or at all.