I kick open the study door with enough force to splinter the ancient wood, pausing only long enough to stab another soldier in the chest before leaping over the corridor banister. I crash into a side hallway, rolling to absorb the impact, and keep running through passages I could navigate blindfolded.
A blade catches my shoulder, slicing through silk and skin with equal ease. I hiss at the sharp pain but don’t stop moving. I can’t afford to stop when half the castle is hunting me. My midnight-blue cloak flaps behind me like wings, the expensive fabric now soaked red with my blood.
I know every shortcut, every secret passage, every hidden door from years of exploring the castle’s depths. The knowledge serves me well now as I make my escape, slipping through cracks in the walls that most fae don’t even know exist.
I don’t stop running until I collapse against the rough bark of an old oak, my chest heaving as I veil myself once more with shaking hands. My breath comes in ragged gasps as warm blood from my shoulder wound drips steadily into the tree’s gnarled roots, feeding the earth with evidence of tonight’s betrayal. Somewhere behind me I can hear the distant sounds of shouts and hoofbeats, the search party already spreading out through the forest like a plague.
“Well, shit just got real,” I pant to myself, pressing my palm against the wound to slow the bleeding. The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of going unnoticed, and now I’m the most wanted fae in the realm.
I make my way back to where I left my horse, moving carefully through the underbrush. The faithful mare whickers softly when she sees me, her dark eyes reflecting concern as she scents the blood. No one notices as I mount and gallop away from the castle, disappearing into the deep forest where the shadows are thick enough to hide even a bleeding fool with a target on his back.
I’ve seen enough. I know enough. The political landscape of Vanir has shifted beneath our feet like sand in an earthquake, and everyone I care about is now in mortal danger. I have to get to Locke, Esme and the wolf, they need to know what’s happened, need to understand that everything has changed.
We are now all we have. The entire realm will be hunting Esme before the sun rises, every soldier and bounty hunter eager to claim the price on her head. They’ll paint her as a usurper, a dangerous half-blood who corrupted the king’s mind with forbidden magic. Kidnapped him—or so they will be made to believe.
The king is gone, imprisoned in his own castle by those he trusted most.
Esme will be hunted like a rabid dog until we can find a way to free him and restore the rightful order. The High Bells have sounded, for civil war brewing. A war the Night Court can’t afford to wage against itself, but one that seems inevitable now.
I press my hand tighter against my wound and close my eyes briefly as I urge my horse to move faster through the treacherous forest paths. The pain is nothing compared to the weight of what I’ve witnessed, the knowledge that sits like a stone in my chest.
Our lives, our very survival, now depends entirely on Esme regaining her powers, the magic that was stripped from her by the very goddess who was supposed to have her back in the Mortal Realm. Is there no trust anywhere? Fuck them all! We don’t need them. Esme gave us all a tantalizing glimpse of her true potential in the Great Hall that day, power that made the very air tremble with possibility. They’ve reacted with fear and chose betrayal, striking out like cornered animals rather than trying to understand what she could become.
They will all pay for their treachery, every last one of them. The queen, the general, the soldiers who turned their backs on their oaths. I’ll see them all brought low before this is over.
“They don’t know what’s coming,” I whisper to myself, my words carried away by the wind rushing past my face. The forest seems to listen, the ancient trees bearing witness to my vow. “But I do.”
When the reckoning comes, when Esme reclaims her birthright and her power. I’ll be there to watch their perfect little coup crumble to ash.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LOCKE
There’s a reason I guard the gates.
No, it’s not because I follow my father’s orders and obediently do his bidding like some well-trained hound. I’m definitely not the most loyal soldier in his ranks, not anymore. In my two hundred and fifty years of life, I’ve learned that blind obedience is a luxury I can no longer afford. I learned that the hard way, through blood and betrayal and watching good fae die for causes that weren’t theirs to begin with. I’m not even the most feared warrior in the Night Court. Honestly, that title might belong to Rue considering what he can do with a whispered word and a well-placed dagger, though I will never, hands down, never admit it to him. His ego is insufferable enough as it is.
No, I guard the gates because when something dangerous is clawing its way toward the heart of the realm, when darkness threatens to spill over our borders and devour everything we’ve sworn to protect, I’m the first one they send to kill it. The forest and I are one, have been since I was barely past my first century, when the ancient magic of Kasamere first recognized something kindred in my blood. My battle prowess is wellknown throughout Vanir thanks to my father and his ruthless, unforgiving training that left scars on more than just my body. My ability to access the forest’s magic, to call upon the very roots and branches as extensions of my will, that is my deadliest secret, the ace I keep hidden beneath layers of stoic silence and carefully controlled rage.
My father knows this, he understands exactly what weapon he forged in me through years of discipline and violence. Yet, he sent these fae to their deaths anyway, dispatched them like lambs to slaughter with orders to kill the one person who’s managed to crack through the ice around my heart. Did he really think his final words to me about knowing where my loyalties lie would be heeded? Did he believe his threats would carry the same weight they once did?
He has yet again misjudged me, miscalculated the very nature of the monster he created. Now, after two days of evading the enemy through Kasamere’s twisted paths, exhausted and weary from constant vigilance, they are already dead and don’t even know it yet. Today the forest is hungry, restless with ancient magic, and in desperate need of sacrifice. I can feel it’s need for blood thrumming beneath my boots, eager and patient all at once.
“Where’s the girl?” A soldier shouts as they close in on me, weapons raised and ready, steel glinting in the filtered light that manages to pierce Kasamere’s canopy. They all know me, know my reputation, my kill count, the way I move through battle like death incarnate. So, they step forward tentatively, respect and fear warring in their movements. A few archers have their bows drawn and aimed at my chest, arrows nocked and ready to fly. Cloaked figures hang back in the shadows, magic wielders waiting to unleash their power, but everyone waits, hesitates.
Their orders are clear, kill Esme, eliminate the threat she represents to their carefully constructed world. They wouldn’tdare harm the general’s son, his greatest achievement, and his greatest disappointment rolled into one. This is where they made their greatest, most fatal mistake.
“The girl is not your concern!” I shout to be heard across the open expanse of land, my voice carrying through the trees with an authority I inherited from the man they follow in stupidity. “She is the heir to the Night Court throne and under my protection. It is our king’s direct order, sworn before the court and witnessed by all.” I lift a tired brow as I slowly open my palms, feeling the power surge up from the ground below us like a tide of fury. “Or is his word not law anymore?” I question, watching as some of them actually pause to consider my words, uncertainty flickering across their faces.
“She’s not one of us!” Someone shouts from the back, voice filled with the kind of blind hatred that’s been festering in certain corners of the court for decades. I sigh, bone-deep exhaustion settling into my shoulders. I’m tired, tired of fighting, tired of politics, tired of watching good people die for the ambitions of those who see them as nothing more than chess pieces. I’m in desperate need of a drink, a shower, and sleep, in whatever order fate decides to grant them. I’m in no business of saving anyone who doesn’t want to be saved, anyone who would rather cling to their prejudices than see the truth standing right in front of them.
One of the soldiers feels emboldened by the momentary hesitation of his companions and decides he’s over waiting for orders. He charges at me with a battle cry that echoes through the trees, sword raised high, boots pounding against the moss-covered ground. I lift my own sword, muscle memory and years of training taking over, eager for the familiar rhythm of combat. Kasamere groans beneath my boots, a sound like the earth itself awakening from slumber.
I close my eyes briefly, giving thanks to the magic that flows through root and branch, and the forest answers my call with enthusiasm that borders on bloodlust.
Roots rip through the earth with a thunderous snap that splits the air like lightning, erupting from below with enough force to crack stone. The advancing soldier staggers back, eyes wide with sudden understanding that this is no ordinary fight, stumbling directly into a gaping hole that opens beneath his feet like a hungry mouth. The roots continue to burst from the moss like organic spears, finding their mark with deadly precision, impaling the nearest soldier through the gut and lifting him screaming into the air, his cries echoing through the forest canopy. Another tries to run, panic overriding training, but he doesn’t make it more than a few desperate steps before a branch coils around his throat like a serpent and yanks him backward with a sickening crack of bone that echoes through the clearing.
I watch in dark fascination as the clearing erupts in chaos, arrows flying through the air only to be batted away by branches that move with intelligence and purpose. Soldiers scream and scatter like startled birds, but it doesn’t matter, Kasamere has already marked them, claimed them as offerings to sate its hunger.
