“Have you seen her?” I glare down at her.
She cringes back as Ilyana swings the door wide and steps out. “Your consort insulted me.”
“Have you seen her?” I fist my hands. “Has she been here today?”
She turns her nose up and rests her hands on her hips. “You really should teach her—”
I grab her by the throat and ignore her squawk of protest. “Where is Emma?” I punctuate each word with a squeeze.
“She’s gone.”
“Tell me where or I will strip you and your family of all titles, land, and holdings, and cast you into the Neverending Sea.”
“I don’t know!” she squeaks. “Gwenarie was here earlier and said she was taking the consort to the market.”
I release her and turn, stalking toward the livery. “Saddle my horse!” I bellow down the white stone hallway, the sound racing aloft and into the crystal spire far above.
“My lord.” A guard takes off running ahead of me as a fire burns at my back like a phantom cloak.
Gwenarie has gone too far this time. If I find Emma safe and well-treated, I may have mercy and only banish Gwenarie from the palace grounds. If I find Emma otherwise—flaming spikes jump and dance ahead of me—then Gwenarie will pay the price.
I thought I was a temperate fae. A male who could control his anger and desires. But all that is gone now, burned away by my unerring need to protect Emma. Even the seeker fades as my need for my nightling surges inside me.
I climb into my saddle and set off across the lush grounds, heading to town with a contingent of guards at my back. Why do I feel this seeping chill in my bones? I can name it. Fear. It’s something a king doesn’t admit but feels all the same. Ifearfor my nightling far more than I should. After all, she’s a consort, not a mate. And she’s mortal. No day king can have a mortal mate. But those rational thoughts turn to dust as I imagine her in danger, or Gwenarie hurting her. Perhaps Gwen is my fated mate—after all, Grimelda almost said as much when she discovered the curse’s purpose. My mate is already here, but someone made it so I can’t recognize her. Who could cast such a spell? Perhaps Varan or any one of my enemies. Maybe even Sigrid lobbed the curse from afar. It’s unlikely, but possible if he had a witch powerful enough. Preventing me from finding my mate, from becoming whole, from harnessing my feral—these are sure ways to ruin my reign before it’s ever truly gotten started. It makes sense, and the seekers are just part of Sigrid’s plan to bring me down.
A wild thought careens through me. The hope that Emma could be my fated mate. But I know it’s not possible, not when the day realm has never been ruled by a mortal. The magic has decreed it so, and no king has been strong enough to break that spell. The day king’s mate must always be an immortal, lest he meet the same end as the noble in the tales of old. Even so, Emma is mine. I will protect her even if no mate bond urges me to do so. I care far too much for her to ever let her come to harm.
I grip the reins tighter and spur my horse faster, thundering down the cobblestone streets until I reach the market.
Emma isn’t here. Gwenarie’s gaudy carriage would be easy to spot if she were doing any shopping at the overpriced shops the nobles prefer. The market lane has gone quiet, my subjects staring up at me with surprise and awe. The fiery crown atop my head is there, reminding them that the power of the sun flows through my veins, the strength of the entire realm focused in their king. Their trust only reinforces my need to get to the bottom of the curse, the seekers, and to find Emma.
“I’m searching for a carriage.” My voice booms across the large square, and a flight of birds takes off from the white statue of my father that rises above the market. “It’s gold with a ruby peacock along the sides, and a white horse pulling it. The lady Gwenarie owns it. Has anyone seen it?”
Silence. They seem too stunned to respond.
I pull some gold coins from my saddle bag. “Perhaps this will wake your memory?” I hold them up, the sun glinting from them.
“I seen that carriage.” A lesser fae approaches, her back bent and her arms covered in some sort of bark. “It drove through here hours ago. In a hurry, it was. Going fast.”
“Which way?”
She points. “Headed to the city gates, I reckon. Out to the Day Wood.”
I toss her several coins. She catches them, her hands expanding like the limbs of a tree to grasp them, then I throw more to the side. The crowd rushes to pick up the coins, and I take off at a gallop toward the gate. My guards ride close behind. No good can come of Gwenarie leaving the city with my nightling. Whatever she’s up to, it won’t end well for her.
I hurtle out of the gate and into the trees, following the cold sensation in my heart as if it’s tethered to Emma. Perhaps it is, because I can taste her fear on the air, her worry acrid on my tongue. She’s here somewhere amid the trees, or she was very recently. I jump a fallen log, then another, racing ahead as my guards follow. I’m almost glad Brock isn’t here. He’s an excellent warrior, but also skilled at being a scold. Dashing out into the Day Wood after my consort would definitely get him going on the “act like a king, not a prince” reprimand he favors as of late.
Dodging trees, I slow my pace and spy a set of carriage tracks ahead. “There!” I point, and my guards catch up as I race along the path.
When we come to a clearing, I stop and dismount. Her scent is here. The ground is disturbed as if several others were here, too.
“My lord?” A guard follows me as I stop in the middle of the clearing and turn in a circle, searching for my Emma.
The distant creak of a carriage wheel catches my ear, and I mount my horse and take off toward it. More carriage tracks ahead of me show a different route through the trees. They lead back to the road, and I find Gwenarie’s carriage riding quickly back toward town. I lean down and urge my horse faster.
Catching up, I go around it and block the road.
The coachman blanches and drops the reins. “My lord.”
