“I’d love to,” I reply.
Fallon leads his mate away to greet other guests, and Rawson rejoins me, smiling at my amazed expression.
“Jenna is an incredible warrior, despite her size. We ride out together regularly. She was adamant that I bring you today.”
“I’m glad you did.” I smile back.
We walk through the tent as Rawson greets guests, stopping every few steps for introductions and small talk. I nod alongpolitely, and something warm unfurls in my chest—a feeling I can’t quite name. It reminds me of when I lived in the Whispering Glade with my parents, before everything fell apart, before fate wearing the face of a King tore me away from that simple, peaceful life. The music, the voices, the shared joy around me now—it all feels hauntingly familiar, like stepping back into a memory I’d locked away to shield myself from the ache of what I’d lost.
Belonging.
It’s been so long the feeling is almost foreign—nearly unrecognizable. But yes, that warm, cozy sense of belonging, of being part of something larger than yourself, something meaningful and enduring. That profound connection to other Fae, to a shared purpose, to a community that sees you and accepts you exactly as you are. Something I’ve desperately longed for as long as I can remember, through all those lonely nights and disconnected days, searching for a place where I truly fit in.
Rawson grabs two glasses of Fae Wine from a nearby table and gestures towards the chairs along the tent’s edge.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the glass and settling in to watch the celebration.
I sigh, and Rawson glances over.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, just … sitting here, watching all this, I wonder how we’ve let our King twist our knowledge so completely. It makes me feel like an idiot.”
“It’s how he maintains control. King Malaxor has always valued power above all else. It’s all you’ve been taught, all you’ve been allowed to know. It’s not your fault, Alaya.”
“We have entire libraries full of books, Rawson! We’re neither ignorant nor uneducated. How has he hidden this?”
“It’s simple when you don’t have a conscience. We Equitae are proof of his hunger for power and dominance. Did you know there are fewer than a thousand of us left in Heartwood? We once numbered in the hundreds of thousands, with hundreds of herds roaming across Kaladia. If you could have seen us then—free to remain in our Horse Forms for months, even years.”
I watch him now—this large, strong, intimidating Equitae with moisture brimming in his eyes. I gently place my hand on his knee and nod for him to continue.
“Then The Corruption came, and our herds turned on each other, all fighting for the same scraps of fertile land to survive. But while we battled amongst ourselves, King Malaxor began destroying entire herds—not out of necessity, but because he believed Earthbound Fae were the true protectors and Guardians of Kaladia and all we deserved was annihilation.”
I feel his tension beneath my hand and withdraw it.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I whisper.
“Don’t be. I don’t hate you personally for what he’s done, not like some do. I’ve always suspected he twisted history to serve himself. What matters now is our fight to keep Heartwood and its Equitae safe. If you’re a means to that end, I trust Reth will do what needs doing.” He huffs out a breath, and his yellow eyes flash in my direction. “Now I feel like a right bastard for saying that to you.”
“I understand. I might not be so easily willing to lose my life, but I know what my captivity means for the Equitae.”
He huffs and tips his glass back, finishing the Fae Wine in one gulp.
“Want another? Then we dance.”
“I’d love another, but I don’t dance.”
“I’ll change your mind.” He winks, striding across the tent to grab more drinks.
I watch the children steal cakes from the food table while I wait for him, when my chair jerks backwards and I tumble to the ground. Before I can understand what’s happened, a strong hand grabs my arm and yanks me under the tent’s edge. My hair falls in a chaotic mess around my face. I try to brush it aside to see who’s grabbed me when a heavy boot crashes into my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs. I curl around the pain, clutching my belly as another kick strikes my back. I cry out as agony radiates through me in sharp waves.
A hand wraps around my throat, pulling me to my feet and slamming me against a tent pole. I cry out again at the fresh jolt of pain in my back.
“You dirty fucking whore,” a voice hisses into my face. All I can see are the blinding glow of green eyes and long curly black hair.
Ceira.
“I—I don’t know what you mean,” I say, her fingers biting into my skin.
