“How am I supposed to do that? We’re on foot.You’refae, and I?—”
His hand closes around my throat, and my feet leave the ground. My back slams into the wall hard enough to drive the air from my lungs. He doesn’t say a word, watching while I fight for air. He holds me there until I’m certain that this is the moment he’s going to kill me. Then he drops me.
I fall to the ground, coughing and wretching.
“When we reach the town, you will tell whoever asks that bandits attacked us, killed your guards, and took the horses. You escaped with your …” His lips twist. “Your pet.”
“Pet?”
“Does your court not keep my kind as pets?” The words are soft, almost gentle. “Or are we only good enough to kill?”
“I’ve never seen—” I stop, because that isn’t true. Not when I think about it. Therehadbeen a time … before my mother died … when there were servants in the palace … ones that always seemed a little strange to me.
Had they been fae?
He crouches down, and his eyes meet mine. “If you run, I’ll catch you before you can take ten steps. If you scream, I’ll tear out your throat before the sound fades. If you try to signal anyone …” He pauses, head tilting slightly. “I’ll kill them first.Slowly. And make you watch.”
I nod, fighting to stop tears from falling.
He straightens, and touches his throat. A collar appears there, dark iron, with bruised and broken skin where the metal meets flesh. His posture shifts, shoulders curving inward, head bowing. The transformation is instant. He no longer looks like the predator who’s held me captive, but instead how I’d always expected fae animals would look.
Cowed. Weak.Prey.
My lips part. It’s a performance. Iknowit’s a performance, but it still makes me sick. I’m seeingfae magic. The very thing the collars are supposed to destroy.
We set off down the hill toward the town, and he drops back until he’s two steps behind me. Having him at my back makes the skin between my shoulder blades twitch, every instinct screaming at me not to let him out of my sight.
He’s dangerous. He’s not what I’ve been taught to believe.
A farmer passes us on the road, leading a cart piled high with cabbages. His eyes move over me—my torn clothes and dirty face, the bruises visible on my throat—and then to the fae shuffling along behind me.
“Rough journey?” The farmer frowns at me.
What if I ask for his help? Tell him that the fae with me is not the weak, broken thing he appears to be?
I open my mouth … andnothingcomes out. The fae’s hand brushes the small of my back, a touch so light I doubt the farmer sees it. Terror surges through me, and my throat closes up.
“Bandits,” I manage to say. “On the road. My … My fae managed to get me away, but my guards … they … they …”
The farmer shakes his head, features softening. “You can find the inn near the center of the town. There will be rooms there. It’s called The Crossed Keys.”
“Thank you.”
He nods and moves on. I stay where I am, watching as he disappears around a bend in the road. I should have said something. I should have found a way to tell the farmer that I was a prisoner.
“Had you spoken—” The fae’s voice comes from just behind my ear. “He would have died. And you would have watched the light leave his eyes.”
My eyes snap to him.How did he know what I was thinking?
His hand flicks toward me. “Your face speaks your thoughts.” His eyes narrow. “Hold still.”
“Why? What?—”
His fingers brush my cheek, and the air shimmers around me. “Come.”
“What did you do?”
He doesn’t answer me, and sets off along the road. Frowning, I follow him, and by the time we reach the small town, he’s fallen behind me a step or two again. I walk through the town with my captor at my heels. He plays the role of a docile pet with frightening ease, while I play a traumatized noblewoman. The terrible thing is I don’t have to pretend very hard. My terror is so constant now, it’s almost become background noise, a steady hum beneath every thought and every breath.
