Chapter 2
I don’t know what to make of Jaxon and Darius.
Barely ten minutes after Rian’s reprimand, their laughter rolls through the Forbidden Forest, light and careless, as if darkness doesn’t trail out of their foreboding leader like oil leaking from a lantern.
They respect their prince, no denying that, but it’s more like brotherhood than obedience. It doesn’t fit the stories whispered in taverns, tales that paint the Shadow King and his heir as tyrants whose own allies tremble before them. In those stories, even the king’s friends die screaming.
If the rumors are true, Rian’s own father, once the king’s right hand, was executed for failing to quell a rebellion that almost resulted in humans crossing the Veil and infiltrating Fae territory.
If the humans did make it across, would they have tried to conquer land or rescue the innocents stolen away?
Or would they have been slaughtered before their feet ever touched the magical soil?
A fist rises into the air. Draven.
Jaxon and Darius slow their horses. My mare mirrors them obediently then stops.
At the front of our procession, the rolling darkness thickens and then retracts into Rian’s body. The prince dismounts in one fluid motion. He grabs his stallion’s reins and strides into the forest, vanishing into the dusk like the shadows themselves called him home.
Where is he going?
“We will camp here.” Draven’s deep voice carries finality.
He swings down from his mount with grace that shouldn’t belong to a man his size.
The others do the same.
Jaxon tosses his horse's reins onto his saddle then approaches my mare.
“You’re a sturdy one, aren’t you, girl?” he coos, running his strong palm over the mare’s snout with affection and then sliding his palm over her neck. “You’re not even out of breath.”
The mare huffs, nudging his palm. Jaxon chuckles and obliges her request with more strokes.
“Forgive him,” Darius says, appearing on my other side, dark eyes glinting. “Jax’s always been better with the beasts than females.”
“Shut up,” Jaxon growls, but he doesn’t stop petting the horse.
Darius grins wider and raises his arms, offering his hands. “Allow me?”
Pride demands I refuse, but despite what my recent mistakes might imply, I’m not a fool. My thighs ache, and my spine is stiff. I’ll fall on my face if I try to dismount on my own.
Swallowing down my objection, I lean forward and place my hands on his broad shoulders.
Darius’s palms settle around my waist. His hands are so large that his thumbs nearly touch.
I stand in the stirrup, groaning at the pull in my muscles, and drag my leg over.
He steps back to lower me to the ground. My body brushes against his, and I suck in a breath.
Hello at last, my beautiful mate.
His first words to me echo like a haunting.
A scowl twists my lips.
I’ve spent days trying to forget the declaration that Anton had labeled as a joke.
Whatever Darius meant, I don’t care to know. The last thing I need is another tether that ties me to the Fae. I need to focus on severing the one I already have.
But Darius’s eyes linger, his grin softening with an unreadable emotion. Before he can speak, a shadow bursts through the air, solidifying into a hand, and shoves him back.
He hits the ground with a laugh.
Jaxon snorts. “You’re walking a fine line, my friend.”
“It’s worth it.” Darius stands and dusts himself off, shooting me a quick wink before striding over to the supply wagon.
My cheeks flame.
Jaxon mutters something under his breath before taking our horses’ reins and leading them to rest under the trees.
I cross my arms, unsure what to do with myself, then wander into the shade. I didn’t realize we’d be stopping to camp for the night. Honestly, aside from noting we traveled southeast, I’ve thought of little else except my sister, Juniper, and all of the Fae’s secrets.
The last rays of sunlight flicker through the branches of the canopy above. The air smells of damp earth and moss, tinged faintly with salt. We must be near the coast, close to whatever port the Fae want to reach.
What could the Fae want there?
Are they planning to leave the continent?
And would they truly expect me to go with them?
“Gonna help, princess?” Draven’s gravelly voice rustles the air.
My head whips up. Bedrolls sit high in his arms. Behind him, Darius and Jaxon prop a tent up with their shadows. Hammers made of darkness drive stakes into the ground while others drape the off-white fabric over the structure.
“Well?” Draven grunts.
I hurry over. He drops a bedroll into my arms and then jerks his head toward a midnight-blue tent that’s already risen behind him. The fabric glimmers faintly with an emblem that catches what little light remains.
The selmary rose with thorns curling around the stems.
Shadows have cleared away the surrounding trees to provide enough room for what I now know is the royal tent. Though, I wonder what the emblem represents. It’s not the king’s crest. The vicious snake wrapped up in thorny, wispy shadows strikes terror in all who see it. It’s not one you forget.
“You never answered our question.”
I fumble with the bedroll. A grin tugs on Jaxon’s lips.
I ask, “What question?”
“Ale or wine?”
“Oh.” I readjust the bedroll in my arms. “Ale, I suppose.”
“What?”
“AH-HA!” Darius cheers from across the rocky clearing separating us. “That’s my girl.”
Heat rises once more in my cheeks, and they only grow hotter when Draven shifts the bedrolls to one hand and smacks Darius on the back of the head.
“This can’t be.” Jaxon looks stricken. “I’ll have to change your mind at the port.”
“What do you mean?”
“The port.” He takes the bedroll from my arms and tosses it into the royal tent.
Then he faces me, hands on his hips, a mischievous grin pulling his lips.
“We’ll find a tavern, and I’ll order you wine and ale.
I’m convinced you will prefer wine to that swill that tastes little better than rainwater. ”
I don’t argue.
Honestly, it seems like a privileged position to hold.
In Verdanthia, people are happy with whatever drink they can get their hands on. It might not be the wisest way to shake up the monotonous, dreary days of working to survive, but it’s effective. And it's one of the few vices the Elders permit.
Will General Ironheart and his goons continue to allow that freedom? Or, like the night Steelvice enforced an archaic curfew for unwed women, will life in Verdanthia become even more oppressive for the neighbors I left behind?
“How will you walk into a tavern?” I ask. The memory of Jaxon and Rian entering Odden’s Tavern plays in vivid color, along with the hatred and distrust of my neighbors filling the mead-soaked air.
“With my two feet stuffed in my boots.”
“No, I mean…” I wave a hand at his head, motioning toward his two very pointed ears. “Aren’t you afraid of how people will react to seeing you?”
I may have never been to this port, but I doubt there’s anywhere in the former human kingdom where people would not balk at the presence of four Fae soldiers in their territory.
And that’s without knowing one is the notorious, violent Shadow Prince.
“That’s simple.” Jaxon walks over to the wagon. He removes one of the wide trunks, rests it on his shoulder, and carries it to the midnight-blue tent. “We will conceal ourselves with glamour.”
“Glamour?”
He drops the trunk just outside the tent. A plume of dirt rises in the air. I cough and wave a hand.
When the dust clears, my cough morphs into a choked gasp. Jaxon stands in front of me. Only, his handsome features have changed.
His sharp jawline is rounder, softer. His strong brow is flat. His deeper skin tone lightens, like the first tan after spending a winter bundled from the elements. Barely there but noticeable.
His hair pales. His nose widens. And then the crests of his ears round.
I stumble back.
Jaxon looks like himself, and yet he doesn’t. He looks ordinary. He looks…human.
The truth hits me like a deluge of ice in a winter storm, chilling me to the bone.
Silas, the Fae believed to be a human rebel, had concealed his nature from everyone in Verdanthia… He possesses the power to change his appearance. Anton, too.
I thought it was a unique gift. Jaxon’s display proves otherwise.
“Well?” He holds his arms wide. “What do you think? How do I look?”
Like a fox in sheep’s clothing.
Have Fae infiltrated Verdanthia under the guise of being human before?
The traveling merchants… Are they truly from distant towns, or are they secret Fae, peddling their wares to desperate, unsuspecting humans?
My already dwindling trust in the Fae continues to plummet into a well in my mind, its depths endless.
I should have reached my limit. I shouldn’t feel an ounce of comfort or relaxation in the Fae’s presence. But Gods save me, part of me still craves the connection I felt in that camp.
I don’t know if that makes me a fool or something worse.
At my expression, Jaxon’s smile dims. He lowers his arms. He opens his mouth to speak and—
“You look like a prissy male who prefers to drink wine with the ladies rather than enjoy a hearty ale with the men,” Darius calls from the other side of the clearing near two tents.
In the blink of an eye, Jaxon’s smile brightens. “Ah, you’ve found me out.”
He releases the illusion, returning to his usual appearance.
“Wine is the drink of choice for many beautiful, fine ladies.” He winks at me. “And it’s an easy way to weasel my way into their company.”
Darius snorts. “Weasel is an accurate word.”
“Would you like to make a bet on the subject?” Jaxon crosses his arms.
Darius tosses a second bedroll into a tent. “A bet on what?”
“On which of us can charm the most ladies tomorrow at port. I know you’ve been asleep for a few weeks, but surely your ability to converse hasn’t withered away like your muscles?”
A handful of leaves carried on a shadow hits Jaxon in the face.
I jump away from the scattering debris.
Jaxon’s eyes glint. “Is that the best you’ve got?”
Darius huffs. “Mother, I forgot what a prick you—”