“Roarke, you must stop this foolishness,” Crux replies. “He is a fool, and you are risking your life over a human woman you will never be allowed to marry. Every magic bearer who comes to this realm tries to fight the Fae and we have all failed. Are you so unhappy here you are determined to die?”
Shoving Crux against the wall, I let my beast rise close to the surface. He can see it in my eyes. How deadly I can be. A low growl rumbles through my chest. “She is my mate.”
“Fuck me. You’re a shifter.”
“And you are a bloody fool. Any warlock worth his salt should have been able to sense that.”
Crux holds up his hands, trying to force some space between us. “I didn’t try, mate. We all have our secrets here.”
I peer down at him, unsure what I might have missed about him given the semi-smug look on his face.
“I’m a Druid,” he says quietly. “One of the ancients.”
“And still you cannot escape?” Taking a step back, I force myself to calm. If he is as he claims, perhaps we can work together if—when—I free Aurelia.
“My magic depends on my connection to the physical world. But this realm...” He runs a hand through his hair as he leads me into the kitchen towards the stove and the trapdoor. “The essence of every living thing here is controlled and manipulated by the Fae. They take so much, there is little left for me to tap into. Outside the veil, I could command mountains. Inside, I am lucky to be able to tumble a single rock down a hill.”
He pushes the stove away from the wall. “You are certain this human is your mate?”
“Yes. The connection I feel to her is unmistakable. And she is not entirely human. Her father—” I stop, holding Crux’s gaze, trying to impress upon him the importance of what I am about to say. “Her father was one of the Fae guards. She is part Fae, and if she can tap into her power...”
“Fuck me.” Crux shakes his head. “Then talk to the idiot. And when you are done, tell me what I can do to help.” He mutters to himself as he opens the trapdoor, believing me more of a fool than Abbot. I probably am, but I will not stop until Aurelia is free or I am dead. If Abbot knows anything, he will tell me or suffer my dragon’s wrath.
“Abbot! You had better have information for me,” I yell as I stomp down the stairs.
He huddles on the thin pallet of blankets, his arms around his shins, his knees drawn up. “If I do, it is yours.”
Smart man.
“The Prince. What do you know of him?”
“N-nothing.” Abbot shakes his head, his brows furrowing in confusion. “I have never seen him without the King. He always comes to Aurelia’s stall on Market day, usually for a pair of socks—which he demands for free, of course—and asks her questions. But she knows not to engage the Fae. I taught her that from an early age. Sometimes they take more valuable wares, and she keeps a few items hidden away in case they are ever dissatisfied with what she offers them.”
“Have you ever heard his name?”
With a shake of his head, Abbot runs a hand through his thinning, gray hair. “No. My…June said that the Fae guard their names carefully. They only speak them to one another and never where a human could hear.”
“Fuck.” I punch the stone wall, breaking four knuckles in a single blow. My dragon roars at the pain, and when I release a bit of my hold on him, he huffs, and steam escapes my lips. The injury heals quickly—in less than the time it took me to descend the stairs—and I start to pace the small room.
“Aurelia will never be free until she can tell the bastard Prince she does not love him—using his name. Until then, she will very likely spend her entire captivity bound, beaten, and terrorized. I willnotlet that happen.”
Abbot chokes back a sob. “This is all my fault.”
“Yes, you dolt. It is.” I run my hands through my long, black hair and pull tightly on the strands. I must return to Aurelia soon. If the Prince truly has her bound to that beam, she has been there all day in terrible pain.
I shed my coat and dig in a leather bag I retrieved from my cottage earlier in the day—the one I haven’t used since the Fae magic trapped me here. I’d been on my way from Greenland to the wilds of Alaska where I’d last seen my brothers. This bag held all of my earthly possessions at the time. Several changes of clothing, some gold, and…fuck me. How could I have forgotten?
Under one of my journals left inside, under the last few gold coins I never traded away, I find my belt. The iron studs are purely decorative, but there are enough of them I might be able to use them—somehow.
“Wait,” Abbot peers up at me, his eyes wide. “You said ‘bastard Prince.’”
“Yes. He is. The King never claimed a mate.” One by one, I pop the iron bolts from the leather and tuck them into a small pocket inside the bag.
“June’s final Market day, she saw the King and the Prince walking among the people. There were whispers of ‘the bastard Prince.’ But that night, June told me the Prince wasn’t a bastard. She spent two nights in the Fae tower with her lover, and he used his glamour to hide her when they walked the halls.”
“Is there a point to this?” Dusk is close, and every second I spend away from Aurelia is pure agony.
“She saw another human. A woman. On the King’s arm. And the Prince? Looks just like her.”
