Bride of the Shadow King E-Book

Sylvia Mercedes

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 541

Beschreibung

For fans of The Bridge Kingdom and A Deal with the Elf King, this sweeping tale of love and betrayal is equal blends sweet and spice. A SHUNNED PRINCESS. A RELUCTANT KING. A MARRIAGE THAT COULD SAVE BOTH THEIR KINGDOMS . . . BUT DESTROY THEIR HEARTS. Though she is the eldest daughter, Princess Faraine lives in the background, shunned from court and kept out of sight. Her chronic illness makes her a liability to the crown, and she has learned to give place to her beautiful, favored younger sister in all things. When the handsome and enigmatic Shadow King comes seeking a bride, Faraine is not surprised that her sister is his choice. Though not eager to take a human bride, King Vor is willing to do what is necessary for the sake of his people. When he meets the lively Princess Ilsevel, he quickly agrees to a marriage arrangement. So why can't he get the haunting eyes of her older sister out of his head?

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Leave us a Review

Copyright

Dedication

1 Faraine

2 Vor

3 Faraine

4 Vor

5 Faraine

6 Vor

7 Faraine

8 Vor

9 Faraine

10 Vor

11 Faraine

12 Vor

13 Faraine

14 Vor

15 Faraine

16 Vor

17 Faraine

18 Vor

19 Faraine

20 Vor

21 Faraine

22 Vor

23 Faraine

24 Vor

25 Faraine

26 Vor

27 Faraine

28 Vor

29 Faraine

30 Vor

31 Faraine

32 Vor

33 Faraine

34 Vor

35 Faraine

36 Vor

37 Faraine

38 Vor

Epilogue

About the Author

ALSO AVAILABLE FROM SYLVIA MERCEDES AND DAPHNE PRESS

Vow of the Shadow King

Heart of the Shadow King (Forthcoming)

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First published in the UK in 2023 by Daphne Press

www.daphnepress.com

Copyright © 2022 by Sylvia Mercedes

Cover design by Jane Tibbetts

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-83784-030-4

eBook ISBN: 978-1-83784-031-1

1

For Stephanie Gail,woman of valor

1

Faraine

IF YOU’D MANAGED TO SNARE THE CROWN PRINCE Cornaith for a husband, we wouldn’t be in this situation, now would we?”

I close my eyes, trying to still the shiver running down my spine. My brother’s words hit me like slaps. They fall from his lips so casually, one would think he remarked on the weather or the cut of his tunic. But the bitter and unspoken emotion behind the words makes me wince and wish I could somehow sink into the cushions of my carriage seat and vanish.

I draw a long breath before raising my lashes and peering at Theodre, seated across from me. He’s resplendent in a fur-trimmed travel cloak and a plumed hat that takes up far too much room in this small space. A purely decorative sword is propped by his knees, the jeweled hilt wrought to correspond with his belt. Six fat rings, large enough to fit over his velvet-gloved fingers, flash at every move of his hands. He polishes one of them now, blowing on the faceted stone and rubbing it against his sleeve.

“War is such a fright, you know,” he says, as though the thought would never have occurred to me. “Hard for the average man to go about his business, what with having to drop everything and turn out to fight. Crops are left to spoil with only the women to do what needs to be done. And such ugly scarecrows they are! All hollow-eyed and bony-hipped. It quite turns the stomach to look at them. Out there with their plows and their scythes, and a gaggle of ragged brats trailing behind. It’s like they have no pride in king or country.”

He looks up at me, his dark eyes flashing in the dimness of the carriage. “Nothing an alliance with Cornaith wouldn’t have fixed. Their cavalry would have made our enemies take to their heels! Instead, we’ve got those gods-damned fae crawling all over the countryside, running raids, burning crops, stealing livestock, all like its good sport. So the people come crying to Father’s gates, wailing and holding up their starving children like there’s anything he can do about it. Other than send more of them out to fight.”

And it’s your fault.

He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to. I feel the accusation underscoring every word, every gesture, every glance. I feel it so profoundly, I begin to believe it.

My fault.

Burned crops. Displaced people. Starving children.

My fault.

I should have done better. I should have been better. When Prince Orsan of Cornaith came courting, I should have smiled and flirted and danced and teased. I should not have sat quietly off to one side, keeping to the shadowed edges of the room, striving to find places where the light and the noise and the laughter and the tremendous press of people wouldn’t break through all my defenses and leave me gasping with pain. I should have pushed that pain into the farthest recesses of my awareness—it’s mostly in my head anyway, isn’t it?—and pretended not to feel it. Pretended to be what I ought to be, what I was born to be as the eldest daughter of the King of Gavaria.

But I couldn’t.

Even so, Prince Orsan might have taken me. Negotiations were well advanced, all the offers and promises between his kingdom and mine nearing culmination. Perhaps I wasn’t the bride he’d always dreamed of. Perhaps every time he looked at me, I felt nothing but disappointment and resignation emanating from his sharp hazel eyes. But he knew the value of a good alliance as well as the next man. He knew the wisdom of uniting Cornaith and Gavaria against the threat of fae invasion. Plus, there was my substantial dowry to consider. Yes, in light of these temptations, he would have gone through with it.

Until he tried to kiss me in the garden.

Oh, gods! I close my eyes again, trying not to remember that terrible moment. We’d been strolling in the moonlight, to all appearances the perfect picture of a courting couple if one were to ignore the careful way I kept a good three feet of distance between us. He was quite handsome in a silver-embroidered tunic, his fair hair swept back from his forehead, a jeweled circlet ringing his brow. I wore a romantic, off-shoulder gown of delicate pink, my hair adorned with pearls. Music trailed after us, played by musicians hidden behind a screen of blooming flowers. I’d turned to the prince, intending to make some remark on their playing.

To my utmost surprise, Orsan had taken two swift steps, caught me by my shoulders, his fingers digging hard into my bare flesh, and pulled me against him. His lips crashed into mine. The abruptness of that contact was too much. Everything he was feeling washed over me in a wave—frustration, determination, fear, anger, embarrassment, inadequacy. All of it. All hitting me in one painful collision of lips and teeth and tongue.

My body surged in reaction. And I vomited. Right down the front of his pretty embroidered tunic.

The party from Cornaith left my father’s house the next morning, all negotiations abruptly ended. The day after, Father sent me to the Convent of Nornala. He didn’t speak to me, not even to tell me how deeply I’d disappointed him. It was as though he wanted to forget I existed entirely.

That was nearly two years ago. I’d heard nothing from home since then, not even a letter from my sisters. Theodre’s arrival shocked me three days ago, when he strode unannounced into my private room, filling the doorway with his big, plumed hat.

“I’ve come to fetch you home, Faraine,” he declared without preamble. “The Shadow King is looking for a bride, and you’re needed at once.”

I’m still not entirely certain why Father sent for me. Whoever this ominously titled Shadow King might be, I’m quite certain I am not the bride he’s looking for. But apparently, my younger sister, Ilsevel, declared she would not be bartered off in marriage. She’d thrown an enormous fit and locked herself in the east tower, dropping bits of crockery on the heads of anyone who tried to approach.

“Father seems to think you can talk some sense into the fool girl,” Theodre had said as he looked sneeringly around my small, sparce room at the convent. “No one else can, gods help us. But you’ve always had a way with Ilsie. Get her to recognize her duty to the crown and all that. Make yourself useful.”

Suppressing a sigh, I turn to the carriage window and lift the curtain, peering out at the countryside. We are on a decline, descending the mountain pass. My view extends over miles of lowland beneath a twilit sky. I spy what looks like the remains of a village not far from here—a caved-in hall, smoke still rising from its collapsed roof. Burnt-out cottages, blackened walls. Ruin. Devastation. And what became of those who had once called that village home? Are they dead now, run down and slaughtered? Or do they wander the countryside, homeless, helpless, even as early spring storms batter the land?

The whole world seems to exhale despair.

I sit back, letting the curtain fall. Though it’s bitterly cold, I pull the glove off my right hand and slip it under my cloak, feeling for the crystal pendant hanging from a chain around my neck. My fingers close around it, squeezing so that its sharp edges dig into the flesh of my palm. At first, it feels cold and lifeless. Slowly, however, it warms in my grip. I detect the faintest vibrating thrum deep inside. Closing my eyes again, I try to synchronize my breathing to that pulse. Pain recedes; the roiling in my gut diminishes. I let out a sigh.

Feeling Theodre’s gaze upon me, I open my eyes and look back at him. He raises an eyebrow. “Not a pretty view, eh?”

I shake my head. “I’d not realized just how bad things have gotten.” My tongue feels thick and heavy when I speak.

My brother snorts. “You’ve been hidden away in that convent too long.”

Hidden away. Not married and producing babies. Not ensuring the military support of our nearest neighbors. Useless. Disappointment. It’s all there. Hanging in the air between us. Unspoken but real.

I drop my chin. Perhaps I’m not being fair to Theodre. After all, I don’t know him very well. He’s several years my senior and spent most of his childhood away from Beldroth Castle where my sisters and I were raised. I saw him for state occasions and a precious few family gatherings, nothing more. This journey from the convent is the most time we’ve spent in each other’s company. I doubt we’ll seek each other out in the future.

“Ah well,” Theodre sighs, twisting yet another of his rings as though it’s pinching him. “If Ilsie can snag this Shadow King for her groom, it’ll all be made right. From what I understand, he’s got quite the impressive army at his beck and call, and no love for our enemies. Never thought I’d see the day when Father bargained with trolls, but hey! Desperate times and all that. Ilsevel’s not at all keen on the idea, but Father says you can use your gods-gift and make her see reason. I hope you can, for all our sakes! Though I can’t say I blame poor Ilsie when I think about it. I mean . . . trolls.”

He makes a face at the last word, a wave of disgust flowing out from him. I grip my crystal a little harder, breathing in time to its faint pulse. I’ve heard tell of trolls, of course: stories from the caravan merchants who stop at the convent for shelter on their way over the Ettrian Mountains. They tell of hideous stone-hide monsters towering seven feet tall and more, with fists like boulders and teeth of shining gemstones. Man-eaters. Bone-crushers. Brutes without brains or conscience.

I struggle to imagine such creatures having a king. I struggle still more to imagine my father bargaining with such a king for Ilsevel’s hand. Whatever he may think of me, Father has always loved my sister, with her ready laugh and sharp temper, her recklessness and courage. Of all his children, Ilsevel is the most like him—and many’s the time I’ve heard him sigh that she should have been born a boy.

How bad have things become that he would wed her to a monster?

The carriage lurches to a stop. It’s so abrupt, I nearly fall from my seat. My brother curses and flings out both hands to brace against the walls. “What in the seven secret names is going on?” he growls, grabbing his sword and using the hilt to hit the ceiling three sharp taps. “Oi! Fantar! What’s the hold up?”

A muffled shout. Followed by a thunk on the roof of the carriage.

My heart begins to race. “Theodre?”

My brother, heedless of me, mutters another curse and flings back the curtain over the window, sticking his head outside. “Fantar! It’s gods-spitting cold, man. Don’t leave us sitting around all—Argh!”

A burst of shock ripples out from Theodre. I just have wherewithal enough to reach out with both hands, grab hold of his jeweled belt, and haul him back into the carriage. There’s a flash of fire on the other side of the window, the gleam of a sword edge slicing down where his neck had been a moment before.

Theodre falls back in his seat. “Spitting heavens!” he gasps, blood draining from his cheeks. “It’s those gods-damned unicorns!”

I don’t have the words to question him. All hell has broken loose just outside the carriage door. Men are shouting, horses screaming in terror. Through a crack in the curtain, I see flashes of red heat, flickering flame. And in my head—explosions of terror. Terror not my own. Hitting me with the force of a battering ram.

I sink from my seat onto the floor of the carriage, gripping my crystal pendant. My brother stares down at me. His fear is the worst of the assault. It pounds me with brutal intensity. He blinks once. Then, grabbing hold of his decorative sword with one hand, he fumbles with the door on the other side of the carriage, pushes it open, and falls out. For a moment, I’m overwhelmed with relief as he takes his terror with him.

Another scream bursts in my ears. Theodre? One of our men? I cannot tell, cannot guess. What should I do? Crouch in here like a mouse in a trap, waiting to be found and dragged out by my hair? Surely that must be worse than facing whatever waits outside.

Setting my jaw, I work my way to the half-open carriage door and ease the gap wider. A mistake. Utter mayhem meets my eyes. Riders streak past on creatures shaped like horses with monstrous, flaming horns protruding from their skulls. They’re beautiful, terrible, glorious creatures ridden by beings equally beautiful, terrible, and glorious. Long hair streaming, shining faces alight with bloodthirsty joy, they wield swords that flame as bright as their mounts’ horns. They wear no armor—in fact, they seem to wear next to nothing at all, their muscled, godlike bodies fully displayed as they circle their prey and cut them down.

I spy the silver helmets of my brother’s guard. They fight valiantly from horseback, struggling to defend the carriage. One by one, they’re pulled from their steeds. Blood, terror, and death assault my senses. I am frozen in place, paralyzed.

Once again, my gods-gift proves to be a curse.

A rider turns suddenly, violet eyes alight in a face of such heart-breaking beauty, it takes my breath away. He sees me and smiles, flashing sharp canines. Digging his heels into his unicorn’s flanks, he urges the beast straight toward me. My vision is full of flames and laughter and the edge of an upraised sword.

Acting on survival impulse, I fall out of the carriage, hit the ground hard, and roll underneath. My skirts drag and catch, but I manage to get myself fully concealed just before cloven hooves skid to a stop at my eye level.

The next moment, a pair of bare feet land on the road. My pursuer drops to his hands and knees, turning his head to smile at me where I’m hiding. “Hullo, pretty thing,” he says in a language I do not know, but which somehow communicates perfect meaning as it reaches my ears. “Come out and play?”

He reaches his hand under the carriage, long nails snatching at my face. His savage lust hits me like a knife in the head. I scramble backwards. The horses squeal with fright, and the carriage lurches. I narrowly miss being crushed under a rolling wheel that catches my skirt and cloak, trapping me in place. Choking on a scream, I release the catch of my cloak, then grip my skirt with both hands and wrench free. The fabric rips in a long slash all the way up to my thigh. I stagger back from the carriage, struggling to find my balance.

Movement draws my eye. I look up to see my attacker, sprung to the top of the carriage, looming over me. He holds his sword out to one side for balance, but when he spies me, he raises it high. Tossing back his head, he utters a deep-throated, ululating cry of triumph.

As though by magic, a knife appears in his throat.

His eyes widen. A wave of surprise rolls over me. He drops his sword, and his hand comes up to touch the hilt of that knife. Wondering. As though he cannot fathom how it got there.

The next moment, he falls in a lifeless pile at my feet.

I stare down at the being, so beautiful even in death. The stillness of him is stark, the sudden silence of those powerful emotions that battered me only heartbeats ago. I’m numb, frozen.

Before I can pull a single coherent thought into my head, thundering hooves pound in my ear. I whirl just in time to glimpse a huge dark shape bearing down on me. A figure leans far to the side in a saddle; an arm reaches out. I let out a little bleat of surprise just before the breath is ripped from my lungs and I’m swung up into the air. For a terrible moment, I believe I’ve been struck.

Then, suddenly—calm.

I hardly know how to describe it. Where an instant before, the whole world stormed with horror, my every sense exploding with pain, now there’s stillness. Peace. I’m so shocked by it at first, I can’t even try to make sense of my surroundings. I can do nothing but close my eyes and lean into that calm, that quiet.

Slowly, my awareness returns. I realize I’m not standing on my own two feet anymore. I’m seated. Seated on the back of a large lurching beast and encircled by a pair of powerful arms. I choke on a gasp and twist in place, trying to get some sense of my captor. A pair of startlingly silver eyes look down at me. It takes me several breaths before I realize the face in which those eyes are set is an unnatural blue. For the moment, his eyes dominate everything.

Staring into them, I recognize immediately the source of that calm.

His lips are moving. He’s saying something, but I have no idea what. “I . . . I’m sorry?”

“Are you all right?” he repeats. He speaks my language, but his words are strongly accented with a husky, growling burr unfamiliar to me.

“I hardly know!” I blink, shake my head, and look down at my quivering body. “I think so?”

“Good,” he says. Then, “Keep low.”

A hand on my back forces me to bend over the neck of the beast on which we ride. A thick muscular neck with a shock of black mane, which I take at first to belong to a horse. But no, those are scales I see between patches of fur. This is definitely no horse.

I don’t have time to question further before a flash of fire draws my gaze to one side. A unicorn rider pounds into our vicinity, his mouth open in wild, murderous laughter. He swings his weapon, but the man at my back pulls on his reins, and his beast sidesteps. Steel and flames whistle past my ear. There’s a thick sound of a blade hitting skin. The unicorn lets out a bloodcurdling scream. Both steed and rider go tumbling.

I stare in open-mouthed horror. And yet that quiet, that calm, continues to surround me. The strangest, most unexpected sensation.

An arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back against a solid chest. “Best hold on,” the accented voice murmurs close to my ear. I just have time to grab a handful of thick mane before he spurs his beast into motion. It lurches forward, but it doesn’t feel like galloping. It’s as though the monster has become a streaking shadow. I can still feel the warm solidity of its body beneath me, but I can see no more than an impression of rushing darkness.

We bear down on another flaming unicorn and rider. I turn my face away, closing my eyes even as my rescuer’s sword arm moves. Distant screams of rage and death burst in the air but seem to belong in another world while I, here in my own small sphere of existence, am surrounded by peace.

The stranger pulls on his reins. His beast skids to a stop, suddenly solidifying. Its huge hooves clop on the stones beneath us. We’re no longer on the road but have ridden straight up the mountainside. No horse could scale such a steep incline. When I look back, the view makes my stomach pitch.

The arm around my waist tightens slightly. “Have no fear, my lady. Knar is as sure-footed as they come. Shall we rejoin the others?”

I seem to have forgotten how to talk. I can do nothing but nod and tighten my grip on the mane. Am I imagining the pulse of a heartbeat at my back? A beat so strong and steady, it works its way into my bones. Like the pulse of my crystal, only much greater, much stronger.

I shake my head and peer down to the road below. The unicorn riders have fled; I can still see a few of them vanishing into the deepening twilight, flaming horns and wicked swords flaring. But far too many broken and crumpled bodies lie around the carriage. “My brother!” I manage to gasp, finding my voice at last. “Where is my—”

I don’t have time to finish before I hear a familiar voice shouting, “Get your hands off me, you filthy rock-biters!”

Turning toward that sound, I spy Theodre a short way up the road, surrounded by three tall figures. They are startlingly pale, their skin faintly blue, their hair pure white. Two male, one female, each with their hands up, exchanging uneasy glances. Theodre stands in the midst of them, swinging his decorative sword in erratic arcs. He’s lost his hat, and his long, oiled locks gleam in the firelight. He looks rather like a lapdog snarling at a pack of wolves.

“I take it that’s the brother in question?” says the voice at my back.

“Yes, indeed.” I flush as Theodre spews another stream of invective at our rescuers. Or are they our rescuers? Looking around, I spy more of the strange scaly monsters like the beast I’m currently astride. They’re just as frightening as the unicorns, if not more so. And these people, they must be fae. Have I been saved from one set of foes only to be taken captive by another?

“Please,” I say, turning to look up at the rider behind me. “My brother is frightened. He doesn’t mean what he says.”

“Gods blight your nethers with pustule sores!” Theodre shrieks.

The stranger raises an eyebrow. “He sounds fairly impassioned.” His mouth quirks in a half smile. “But here, he’s had a fright. Not all men are built for battle. Shall we see if we can ease his fears?”

So saying, he rides his monster up to the little circle. Theodre spies him coming, his face paling at the sight of the awful steed. His knees knock, and I fear he will faint then and there.

“It’s all right, Theodre,” I call out. “You’re safe now.”

My brother’s gaze snaps to my face, his fear momentarily displaced by surprise. “Faraine! What in the seven gods’ names are you doing up there?” His voice is accusing, as though I’ve betrayed him somehow.

I press my lips into a line, then start to slip from the saddle. The stranger immediately moves to assist me, setting me lightly on my feet. I wobble, a little unsteady, but manage to make my way between the tall figures to my brother’s side. His churning fear lashes at me like a whip. I wince but extend a hand to him even so. “You’re safe, brother,” I say again. “These are our rescuers. I don’t sense any threat from them.”

“They’re fae,” Theodre spits, his lip twisting with disgust. “They’re always a threat.”

“Perhaps.” I glance around at the crumpled bodies surrounding us, both human and otherwise. “But not to us. At least, not this time.”

Theodre struggles to master himself. After a moment’s hesitation, he takes my offered hand. I bite back a cry as that contact of our skin sends his emotions jolting up my arm. Bracing myself, I try to send something back through that connection, some small measure of the calm I just experienced so unexpectedly. Theodre shivers and starts to pull back, but when I squeeze his fingers a little tighter, he stops trying to resist. After a moment, he seems to gather strength. Lifting his chin, he turns and addresses the stranger still mounted on the beast’s back. “This road belongs to King Larongar of Gavaria. I demand to know who you are that you would dare ride it.”

Cringing with embarrassment, I glance up. The stranger tilts his head to one side, looking contemplatively down at my brother. That half smile is still present at the corner of his mouth. “I am the man who has just saved you from becoming unicorn fodder.”

Theodre draws himself up, chest swelling, nostrils flaring. “I will have an answer from you! In the name of the king!”

One of the pale figures standing close at hand takes a step forward, touching a hand to the sheathed sword at her belt. “I’ll warn you, sir, to show proper respect,” she growls ominously.

“Peace, Hael,” the stranger on the monster says. He swings down from his mount and approaches us. A flaming sword lies close at hand, its red gleam shining against his blue-tinted skin and making the planes of his face stand out at sharp angles. “I’m sure the little human means no harm.”

“Little human?” My brother sounds as though he’s about to burst. I try to squeeze his hand again, but he shakes me off. “Do you know who I am? I am Theodre, Prince of the House of Cyhorn, heir to the throne of Gavaria!”

“Indeed?” The stranger looks down at Theodre, his brows rising ever so slightly. “And I am Vor, King of Mythanar, Lord Protector of the Under Realm.”

I stare up into those shining silver eyes. My heart seems to catch in my throat. I realize suddenly who our rescuer is: the Shadow King.

2

Vor

sTEPPING LIGHTLY FROM SHADOW TO FIRELIGHT to shadow again, I make my way through the fallen, both the dead and the wounded. I saw young Yok topple from his morleth in the midst of the attack, and I’m determined to find him. He’s much too inexperienced for a mission like this. He only just completed his va-trek earlier this cycle, leaving behind childhood and becoming a man. Though brave and determined, he is untested. But he was so keen to join this mission, bursting with need to prove his mettle. When he begged to accompany me into the human world, I hadn’t the heart to say no.

I didn’t reckon on encountering Licornyn Riders.

I find the boy in a crumpled heap within a meter of one of the riders. At least he seems to have fared better than his foe, who lies spread-eagled, his sword still gripped in one hand, his glassy eyes staring into the vault of purpling sky, his spirit fled to his god.

I side-step around the corpse and crouch beside my fallen warrior. He clutches his arm. Blood gushes thick and blue between his fingers. “What’s this, Yok?” I say, gently prying his hand away from the wound. “What have I told you about flinging yourself bodily onto the blades of our enemies?”

“You’re against it, sire,” Yok speaks through gritted teeth. “Dead against it.”

“That’s right. Next time, maybe you’ll listen to your sovereign.” I inspect the gash by the flickering light of a flaming sword dropped close at hand. It’s deep. Down to the bone. And there’s something about the color of the flesh I don’t like. “But you didn’t come by this blow from a sword, did you?”

Yok shakes his head. His skin has gone a ghastly gray, his eyes hollow in their sockets. “I’m afraid not, sire.”

He doesn’t want to say it, not out loud. But we both know the truth. This wound could only have been made by a licorne horn. Which means poison.

I sit back on my heels, looking round at the carnage. By the grace of the Deeper Dark, my people have escaped relatively unscathed. Aside from Yok, only two others suffered superficial wounds. The humans have not fared so well. By the time we came upon the scene, the armed escort had already been cut down, leaving only the blustering Prince Theodre and his fair companion. The only reason they’re still alive, I suspect, is because the Licornyn Riders intended to make them hostages.

As though drawn by some invisible force, my gaze shifts to the carriage where the prince paces back and forth, wringing his jeweled hands. But it’s not he who draws my eye. His sister stands close by, observing her brother. Her face is quiet and still, a stark contrast to the prince’s manic mannerisms.

His sister.

One of the three princesses of Gavaria.

Interesting. Very interesting.

With a quick shake of my head, I search among my own people for my captain. She crouches over the body of a smoldering licorne, attempting to cut the still-flaming horn from its forehead with her big stone knife. “Hael!” I call.

She turns, sees me, and quickly rises and hastens to my side. As she comes down the slope, her gaze shifts to the fallen young warrior beside me. “Yok! You devil-gnawed little cave fish! I promised Mar I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Are you determined to make a liar out of me?”

Yok tries to smile. The result is ghastly. “Sorry, sis,” he manages, his voice painfully weak. “I mean, it’s not as though I wanted to have my arm torn off.”

“Torn off?” Hael drops in a crouch, her gaze running over her little brother. Upon seeing his limb still attached to his body, she smacks him upside the head. “Ow,” he protests.

“Have done with mauling my soldiers, Hael.” I show her the wound. “I’m afraid it’s more serious than I first thought. A licorne got him.”

“Morar-juk!” Hael spits.

“Language, sis.” Yok shakes his head weakly. “You know Mar doesn’t like it when you swear like that.”

“Yeah, well, Mar doesn’t like it when her baby boy gets himself ripped up by licornes either.” My captain turns to me, her face set in a scowl that doesn’t mask the anxiety simmering in her eyes. “We have to get him home.”

“No!” Yok yelps.

She rounds on him. “What, you think we’re going to take you along with us just so you can die a slow, agonizing death while Vor dances with the human princesses? Think again, little brother!”

“I’m not going to endanger the mission.” Yok sets his jaw stubbornly and tries to sit up. Blood immediately drains from his face. He groans.

“Down, boy.” I plant a firm hand on his chest. He resists only a moment before sinking back to the ground. “Believe it or not, you aren’t vital to the success of this little venture.”

“Are you sure?” Yok murmurs. Sweat beads his brow, and his eyelids droop heavily. “Don’t you need my winning smile to sweeten up the human maidens?”

“They’ll have to make do with mine.” I turn to Hael, meeting her gaze. “He needs the uggrha healer. Before it’s too late.”

“I’ll take him,” she answers at once.

But I shake my head. “I can’t let you. I don’t know what to expect upon our arrival at Beldroth Castle. Larongar has been profuse in his promises of friendship, but humans are born liars. I don’t want to venture into the human king’s house without my captain at my side.”

She bites her lip as though she’s actively biting back protests. Swallowing hard, she gives a short nod. “I’ll send Wrag and Toz with him then. They both sustained minor injuries but are capable of providing escort. It’ll reduce our party rather more than I like, though.”

“It can’t be helped.” I look down at Yok again, pat him gently on the shoulder. “I’ll send Umog Zu to prepare your wound and speak a blessing over you for safe travel. Then it’s back to Mythanar for you, my friend. Be sure to give your mother my best.”

Yok’s lip twists in a bitter snarl, but he can’t even open his eyes. The poison is already spreading fast. I pray he’ll make it back to the healer before it reaches his heart.

Leaving the boy to the ministrations of his sister, I go to fetch the priestess as promised. Zu is busy applying a poultice to a gash on Toz’s forehead, but at a word from me, she tells Toz to hold the poultice in place himself and hurries off to see to Yok.

“Are you well, Toz?” I ask, pausing a moment. “Your pretty face broken beyond repair?”

He chuckles, flashing sharpened teeth. “I’ll use this pretty face to smash in the nose of the next elf who takes a stab at me!” Unlike most of our companions, his hide is made up in large part of crusty stone, his features craggy and rough as a slab of basalt. His head is as good a weapon as the club he likes to carry. Still, the Licornyn Rider somehow managed to deliver that cut to his forehead. Which can only mean they’re carrying virmaer blades, spelled with magic powerful enough to pierce even trolde hides. Not a comforting thought.

And here I thought this little jaunt into the human world would be simple.

Slapping Toz’s shoulder, I turn from him and seek out the two humans by the carriage. Prince Theodre is still pacing. I can just hear his haranguing voice running up and down the scales as he gesticulates wildly, the rings on his fingers flashing in the firelight. All the while, his sister stands quietly by, hands folded. Every so often, she offers a low answer, but I’m too far away to discern any words.

There’s something strange about that girl. Something . . . I cannot quite put my finger on it. Her gown is torn, her hair pulled down from her neat cap and veil, her face smudged with dirt. Yet she carries herself with such dignity, I would have guessed at her royal lineage without being told.

But that’s not why I struggle to tear my gaze away from her. There’s something else. Something more. It’s as though, when I look at her, I can almost, almost hear a single note of sweet, sweet song. And as that note hums around her, it creates a radiant aura.

I blink, turn away, and look again. The impression, whatever it was, is gone. Nothing is there but a small, delicate, human woman in a ragged, mud-stained gown.

“Enjoying the view?”

Sul stands at my elbow. My brother’s arms are folded across his polished breastplate, which still gleams, unmarred by battle. Not a hair on his head is out of place, and his face is as cool and easy as though he’s just come from the dinner table having enjoyed a hearty feast and fine wines.

He catches my eye, grins, and waggles his eyebrows. “You know, I’ve never been a fancier of human women. But I’ll admit, that particular specimen is striking. I notice you wasted no time in scooping her up for a little ride. How did she feel in the saddle, eh?”

I give him a look. “Get your mind out of the vruhag. I did what I had to do to keep the poor girl from harm. Nothing more.”

“Oh, certainly!” Sul’s grin widens. “No one doubts your honorable nature, most noble of kings and best of brothers. But while I’m sure your sterling virtue would prevent you from noticing, that’s rather a large rip in the demure maiden’s gown. When she was astride your steed, there was more than a little shapely leg on fine display. You, naturally, would have averted your gaze from such a sight, but the rest of us got an eyeful when you rode down the mountainside.”

Warmth pools in my gut. I had not been unaware of the amount of skin my passenger inadvertently showed during our brief ride together. I’d made a point to wrap a fold of my own cloak around her for modesty, but there was nothing I could do when she slipped from my saddle. The gown hangs in such a way now that one would not guess at the slit. I doubt the girl has any idea exactly how much she revealed in the heat of battle.

As though reading my mind, my brother prods me in the shoulder. “Now you’ve had a look into the human king’s larder, are you ready to make your selection? Or do you plan to taste a few more of his sweets before deciding which one to bite?”

I glare at him. “Keep your tongue behind your teeth where it belongs, or I’ll remove it and give you a proper lashing.”

“Steady, brother!” Sul laughs outright. “At the risk of losing my tongue, I feel I should point out that the humans’ carriage is going nowhere anytime soon. The traces were cut, and the horses escaped. I’m afraid your pretty little human will need to beg a ride wherever she’s going.” He places a hand on his heart. “I’m happy to volunteer a spot on my saddle. No need to thank me for my sacrifice.”

I don’t grace this with an answer and leave my brother chuckling behind my back. The prince and his sister are certainly in a vulnerable state. With neither horses nor escort, they are entirely helpless out here on the mountain slope in the deepening night.

My people have been hard at work, already dragging away the bodies of fallen Licornyn Riders as well as humans. Troldefolk do not believe in leaving the dead untended, especially our dead enemies. Souls unclaimed by the gods may latch onto their killers, haunting them unto death. Our priestess will perform sending prayers over the bodies of the slain before we continue on our way. Their weapons, however, we leave where they fall. It’s bad luck to claim the blade of a dead foe for fear it may seek vengeance. Thus, the burning blade of a Licornyn Rider lies near the carriage, smoldering into low embers and casting a red glare on the scene of Prince Theodre and his sister.

“This is your fault,” I hear Theodre muttering furiously. He waves his arms in a grand but futile gesture. “You realize, I hope? If you’d married Orsan like you were meant to, Father never would have sent you to that gods-forsaken convent. There’d have been no need for me to come out all this way to fetch you home again. Gods above, it makes me sick to think of it! I hope you’re prepared to explain to Father exactly why good men died tonight.”

I step a few paces closer. Theodre continues his rant, unaware of my presence. But his sister—the princess—turns and looks directly at me. At least, she seems to. I’m fairly certain she cannot see me in the dark. Her brow puckers with faint uncertainty, but her gaze never wavers.

For the first time I notice: her eyes are two different colors: one blue, one gold.

“Are you listening to me?” Theodre demands, whirling suddenly on his sister. He takes three aggressive steps toward her, his fists clenched and threatening.

“Brother!” She shoots him a warning glance and nods significantly my way.

Theodre stops abruptly, his mouth open. He turns, blinking against the glare from the burning sword. In another step, I fully enter the circle of light. Blood drains from the human prince’s face, leaving him ashen. He swallows hard. By human standards, he might be considered handsome. It’s difficult for me to judge, but his figure seems broad and sturdy enough, and he’s dressed impeccably after human fashion. If his jaw is a little weak, it’s nothing a neatly shaped beard cannot disguise. But there’s a smallness to him that is difficult to define. As though his spirit has atrophied, rendering him faintly contemptible.

His sister, however . . . I find myself searching in vain for that strange aura I’d sensed earlier, that indefinable music I’d felt, not heard. Perhaps I imagined it. Nonetheless, I’m oddly reluctant to look away. By the standards of my people, she’s hardly what one would consider pretty, being far too small and fine boned and delicate. Her hair is the color of warm jiru nectar, her mouth wide and pink beneath a long narrow nose. Her brows are dark, as are the thick lashes framing her unusual bi-colored eyes. I wonder if she’s considered beautiful among her kind.

I wonder if I might learn to think her beautiful, given time.

A pink stain creeps up her cheeks. She drops her gaze, sinking into a respectful curtsy. I’ve been looking at her far too long without speaking. Hastily, I offer a short bow. “Princess.”

“Good king,” she answers, casting me the briefest of glances before her lashes fall once more.

“Don’t talk to the troll folk, Faraine,” her brother growls. My hackles rise at the word troll, but I force my expression to remain calm when the prince turns to me. He takes a half step to place himself a little in front of the young woman. “You’ll have to excuse my sister’s manners, Shadow King. She’s been out of society for some years now and easily forgets herself.”

Swallowing back any comment on whose manners I find lacking, I force a cool smile and address myself to the girl. “It would appear the gods have smiled upon me this evening, for I have the pleasure of offering you and your brother aid twice over.”

She glances uncertainly at Theodre before answering in that soft voice of hers, “You and your people have already done us great service at the risk of your own lives, good king. We are in your debt.”

“Aaaaah, that is to say, not exactly in your debt,” her brother jumps in. “Rather, I should think we’d call it even, what with you making use of King Larongar’s road on your way to enjoy his hospitality. It’s only right you should render aid to your host’s kin, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Theodre!” the girl hisses.

“What?” the prince snaps back. “They’re fae! Don’t you know anything? Never let yourself become indebted to the fae!”

“Quite right, my friend,” I say smoothly, more to assuage the guilty expression his sister shoots me than from any desire to pacify the prince. “I would not dream of collecting on such a debt in any case. Rather, I beg you would do me the honor of allowing me to assist you further. I cannot help noticing you are now without guard or means of transportation. It would be my great pleasure to escort you to your father’s home, as I am even now on my way there to pay my respects.”

Theodre looks at his sister. She raises her eyebrows. Her expression is difficult for me to read, but she seems to be communicating silently to her brother. He purses his lips, glancing at the carriage, at the cut traces, then around at the night-darkened mountain. “Very well,” he says at last, turning back to me. “We’ll stay here tonight. In the morning your people can find our horses, and we’ll continue together.”

I suppress a snort. “My people prefer to travel at night. We will go on and hope to reach Beldroth before dawn.”

The human prince stares at me. “How exactly do you expect us to travel without our horses?”

“Simple. You’ll ride with us.”

Theodre slowly turns, peering out beyond the ringing firelight to the ominous forms of our morleth steeds standing in the deeper shadows. They toss their heads, stomp their hooves, and lash their sinuous barbed tails irritably. One of them snorts, emitting a red spark. Smoke trails from its nostrils.

The human prince’s eyes goggle. “Surely you jest!”

“You’ll find them quite comfortable. Far better than lurching along in that box on wheels.”

But the prince shakes his head and goes on shaking it, as though some mechanism in his neck has broken. “I will not be hauled around on the back of one of those monsters!”

“Theodre,” his sister says softly, “be reasonable. We cannot stay out here all night, alone. The fae might return, and we have no weapons, no guards.”

“I don’t care!” Theodre braces himself, looking from the princess to me to the shadowy morleth. “I’d rather be trampled to death by unicorns than ride on one of those devils!”

“Very well.” The princess draws her shoulders back, her eyes narrowing. “I’ll go then.” She turns to me, completely ignoring her brother’s spluttering protest of “Faraine! I absolutely forbid it!” Tilting her head slightly to one side, she says, “I am ready to ride whenever you are, King Vor.”

I meet and hold her gaze. There’s courage in her eye, unexpected and defiant. She may not be a warrior; that doesn’t mean she’s weak.

I extend my hand. She hesitates. Her lips press into a thin, contemplative line. Then, taking a quick step, she places her fingers lightly on my arm instead. She doesn’t meet my gaze. I feel the warmth of her touch through the sleeve and find myself wishing she’d accepted my hand. Perhaps it would go against standards of etiquette in human society. We’re going to have to take care not to inadvertently offend one another.

“Faraine!” Theodre growls. I ignore him and lead his sister away from the carriage to where my own morleth waits. He champs at his bit and flares his wide nostrils. The air of this world disagrees with him, and he’s losing large clumps of fur from his withers and flanks, revealing ugly scales underneath. Even I, used to morleth as I am, cannot help a little shudder at the sight of him. Compared to the blunt-toothed, long-nosed creatures humans use to pull their carriages, Knar must appear positively demonic.

But the princess approaches, her footsteps steady, the hand on my arm betraying only the slightest tremble. I find myself straining for another hint of the melodic song I’d heard surrounding her. I can almost, almost feel it, tantalizingly just out of range of perception.

“Have no fear, princess,” I say, hoping to put her at ease. “I’ve had Knar since he was a foal, born from a burst of sulfur and smoke in the land beneath the Fiery River.”

“Really?” She shoots me a quick glance. “He looks quite vicious.”

“Oh, he absolutely is. He would devour me in a couple of mouthfuls if he thought he could get away with it. But that’s the great virtue of morleth—you never doubt where you stand with them. They don’t pretend to be your friend, but if you treat them with respect, you can find ways to coexist to mutual benefit.”

She considers this. “Sounds rather like life at court.”

My mouth quirks. “Certainly not. Morleth are far better mannered than any courtiers I know.”

At this, Knar tosses back his head and lets out a honking bray that elicits a little scream from the girl. Then she presses a hand to her heart and laughs outright. It’s a bright, warm sound here on this cold mountainside. I have a strange feeling I could spend a great deal of time and effort contriving to hear that laugh again.

She looks up at the saddle high above her. “I’ll need a little help,” she says.

“Certainly, princess.”

A gasp escapes her lips as I catch her around her slender waist and lift her off her feet. She weighs so little, it’s but the work of a moment to set her lightly in the saddle. As I do so, however, the split in her gown opens again. She looks down, sees her own bare leg, and fumbles with the folds of fabric, trying to cover herself.

I turn my gaze pointedly away and mount behind her. Once settled in the saddle, I remove my cloak and drape it across her shoulders. She grabs the edges and gratefully wraps them around her for modesty. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it back and answer, “Of course.” Once again, I’m almost certain I detect a whisper of song. But it’s gone again before I can lay hold of it.

I turn Knar’s ugly head around, facing the carriage where Theodre still stands, gawping at his sister. “You have a choice, my friend,” I call out to him. “You may ride with us to Beldroth tonight or wait for dawn and hope someone comes along to help you chase down your horses. It’s up to you.”

The prince looks as though he’s about to choke on the expletives rising in his gullet. Instead, he manages a single, curt nod. Taking this as acquiescence, I turn in my saddle and call out, “Hael!”

“Yes, my king?”

“Find someone to give Prince Theodre a lift.”

My captain growls but salutes. Trusting her to accomplish the task, I urge Knar into motion, guiding him to where two of my men are helping young Yok into his saddle. Wrag and Toz, already mounted, hover close by, their faces wreathed in concern. Toz still has the poultice pressed to his forehead, and Wrag’s arm is in a sling. But they’re both in better shape than Yok, who looks ready to faint. Will he be able to make the ride back to Mythanar?

“Watch over the boy,” I say, addressing the other two. “Bring him home safely.”

Wrag nods solemnly. Toz grins, flashing sharp teeth. “Best of luck, Your Majesty. May you find success at the end of your mission.”

“From where I’m sitting, success seems to be well in hand!” my brother’s voice declares. I turn to find Sul mounted on his morleth, flashing me a suggestive grin. Wrag and Toz both laugh, and I’m suddenly grateful the girl riding in front of me doesn’t understand a word of troldish.

With a sharp pull on the reins, I angle my morleth down the descending road. “Hold on, princess,” I murmur close to the girl’s ear. I watch her fingers twine in handfuls of Knar’s dark mane. Then I urge my steed onward, into the night.

3

Faraine

IF SOMEONE HAD TOLD ME MERE HOURS AGO THAT I would, before the night’s end, find myself riding on the back of a great, spined, nightmarish brute, wrapped in the arms of a magnificent, blue-skinned warrior king, I’m sure I would have laughed out loud. I’m not a romantic. I never have been. I’ve spent the better part of my life avoiding such powerful and problematic emotions. Yet somehow, I find myself suddenly playing the role of a heroine straight out of a ballad!

After the first interval of riding, the initial shock begins to wear off, and I’m better able to comprehend that which takes place around me. The trolls are talking in their rough, rock-grinding language. The man riding at the king’s right hand is particularly chatty. I study him with covert glances, trying to get a clearer impression of him. He looks a lot like the king, with a similarly shaped brow and strong jaw. He’s taller and paler, however, and his skin is only faintly blue.

Once he looks my way and catches my eye. Just for an instant. But in that instant, I get such a jolt of suspicion, it turns my stomach. I look away quickly and avoid his gaze going forward.

The rider to the king’s left is the one he called Hael. I can’t get a clear sense from her, for she has my brother riding behind her, and his anxiety is so potent, it dominates everything around him. Still, if I push through Theodre’s storm, I can just catch a sense of something strong emitting from her. Worry, if I’m not mistaken.

“Are you comfortable, princess?” The king’s voice startles me. He’s been quiet for some time.

I shiver a little at the sensation of his breath against my skin but quickly master myself. “Faraine,” I say. “Please, my name is Faraine.”

He doesn’t answer for a moment. Then, “And you will permit the familiarity?”

I wince. How could I have forgotten? The fae hold names as precious and dangerous. To give one’s name to a fae can be a deadly mistake. But I can’t very well take it back now, can I?

“Yes, please.” I hope my voice doesn’t betray the tension in my gut. “I’ve been living away from court these last two years and have grown disused to titles.”

“In that case, you must call me Vor.”

“I’m not sure I could.”

“And why not? If I’m to call you by your name, it is only fair you should grant me the same kindness.”

“My . . . my father would not be pleased.”

“Your father is not here.”

Well, that’s true enough. But I feel the distance between me and Beldroth Castle shrinking with every step of this powerful beast I ride. Soon I’ll be back under my father’s stern and disappointed eye. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.

Hastily, I switch tacks. “And what of your people? How would they feel about such informality?”

“Shocked and horrified,” he answers at once. “Which should be a sight to behold, so you really must indulge me.”

A laugh burbles from my lips before I can swallow it back. “Very well,” I say, trying to recover my dignity. Then add “Vor” for good measure. It’s a strange name, so harsh and abrupt. Which doesn’t seem to suit him at all.

I lapse back into silence. I really shouldn’t be enjoying myself this much. Following the attack on the carriage, the death that surrounded me, the fear and the terror, my mind should be a wreck. Such a deluge of sensation would ordinarily leave me incapacitated for days. Yet here I am, head clear, pain free. It’s strange and incredible. I want to hold onto this feeling as long as possible.

The Shadow King reins his creature to a halt. We’ve come to a rocky promontory overlooking the valley below. In the distance, just visible under moonlight, stand the high towers of Beldroth. My heart lurches at the sight. I’m not sure whether I feel dread or homesickness or some strange combination of the two. While I miss my sisters, home has always been a place of pain for me. Life at Nornala Convent is lonely and dull, but I’ve enjoyed relative peace there compared to the turmoil of my father’s court.

“Is that our destination?” Vor asks.

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

I turn, trying to glimpse his face. He seems contemplative, possibly even a little uncertain. He glances down at me, catching my eye. “This is my first time traveling to the human world,” he says. “It seems very strange to me, building a fortress like that out under the open sky. To my eye, it feels dangerously exposed. Tell me, what should I expect upon reaching your father’s house?”

I hesitate. I must tread carefully here. “I suppose that depends. What do you expect?”

Once more I get a prickling of uncertainty from him. “Your father has promised me feasting and friendship. His messages have been . . . effusive. We have both stated our hopes of securing an alliance, of lasting peace and brotherhood between Mythanar and Gavaria for generations to come.”

Marriage. He’s referring to a marriage. He doesn’t have to say the word for me to know what he means.

“Well,” I continue, choosing to be direct in my answer, “if that is what’s promised, I believe there will be plenty of food and drink and merrymaking. I’ve seen my father host potential suitors before.”

“Really?” His tone alters slightly. “I understand King Larongar has three daughters. Has he secured marriages for either of your sisters?”

“Not yet.”

Vor is silent for a moment. He spurs his creature back into motion, and the party continues down the mountain road. At length, he says, “Where do you stand in the family? Your brother is the eldest, am I correct?”

His interest is disconcerting. In the space of this ride, he has already asked me more personal questions than Prince Orsan did over our entire month-long courtship. Part of me wonders if I should be offended or distrustful. Another part cannot help enjoying the attention. I must remember that he’s simply gathering information. He’s a strategist, and he wants to be prepared before he enters into negotiations with my father. That is all.

So why do I get such a strong sensation of . . . warmth from him?

“I am the second-born,” I say. “After me are two younger sisters, Ilsevel and Aurae.”

“Indeed?” Vor goes silent again, considering. While my gods-gift does not enable me to read another’s thoughts, I can almost feel him realizing I am the one my father tried to marry off to some suitor in the past. He’s probably wondering what’s wrong with me that the marriage did not succeed.

I swallow hard and quickly say, “You have a great pleasure ahead of you in meeting my sister, Ilsevel.”

“Is that so? And why is that?”

“She is widely considered the most beautiful woman in all Gavaria. To that virtue, she adds many accomplishments: dancing, riding, hunting, fine needlework. Her wit is unmatched among the ladies of court, and she is peerless in both humor and charm.”

“You seem very proud of this sister of yours.”

“I am. She is the darling of my heart.”

“High praise, I’m sure.”

“The highest I can bestow.” I look down at my hands, at the strands of black mane twisted between my fingers. “And, of course, there’s her gods-gift to consider.”

“Gods-gift?”

“Yes. Did you not know? The children of King Larongar were all blessed by the gods with extraordinary gifts on the day of their christening. Ilsevel was bestowed the gift of song. There is no voice in all the kingdom that can rival hers, and she plays all instruments brilliantly.”

“In that case, I look forward to many enjoyable performances.” Vor goes silent. I try not to but can’t help reaching out with my senses to discern what he’s feeling. His emotions are complicated. I’m not certain I could name them.