But run where? I can barely ride. I definitely can’t outrun them on foot. And my magic…
I flex my fingers, testing the bindings. They don’t budge. The shadow magic holding them is strong, fed by the guard who cast it. As long as he’s conscious, they won’t release.
I’m trapped.
The castle towers loom larger with every stride. My heartbeat kicks up a notch or two. My breathing is shallow and too fast. I force myself to slow it, to draw air deep into my lungs.
Panicking won’t help me.
Several guards turn back, their hands going to their sword hilts.
“Rider approaching!” one of them calls out.
“It’s a single rider,” another confirms. “Moving fast.”
I twist as far as my bindings allow, straining to see.
A figure on horseback is bearing down on us at a full gallop. He has no saddle and no armor. Just a tall, broad-shoulderedmale riding like his life depends on it, his dark hair streaming behind him.
My heart stops because it’s Sebastian.
I know it.
He’s too far away to tell for sure, but I know it anyway.
He came for me.
He came.
The guards react instantly. “Form up!” the leader barks. “Protect the prisoner!”
Three of them wheel their horses around to face the approaching rider. Swords ring as they’re drawn from scabbards. The others close ranks around me, boxing me in.
At this point, I can see clearly. The horse is bareback. Sebastian has determination in his eyes. He doesn’t slow down as he draws nearer. If anything, he speeds up.
He comes at them like a battering ram, steering the mare straight for the line of guards. At the last moment, he veers hard to the left, ducking under a sword swing that whistles over his head. He slides from the mare’s back with a grace that shouldn’t be possible without stirrups and hits the ground running.
His hand closes on the nearest guard’s arm, and he wrenches the fae from the saddle with a force that sends the guard crashing to the ground. In the same motion, Sebastian rips the sword from the guard’s grip and spins, bringing the blade up just in time to deflect a strike from a second attacker.
His own sword stays untouched in the scabbard at his side.
He’s fast, especially for someone his size. He parries the guard’s blow, pivots, and catches the fae across the ribs with a strike so brutal it dents the breastplate. The guard crumples.
But the others aren’t waiting. The leader shouts something, and four of the remaining guards raise their hands in unison. Shadow magic erupts from their palms in thick, dark ropes that streak toward Sebastian from every direction.
He dodges the first tendril, cuts a second apart with his blade, and drives his shoulder into a third guard hard enough to send the fae flying off his feet. But a whip of shadow catches his left arm and yanks him sideways. Another wraps around his ankle.
He tears free with a snarl, raw strength shredding the shadows like cobwebs, and buries his fist in the nearest guard’s face. The fae’s head snaps back, and he goes down hard.
But more magic comes. It’s relentless. They’re not fighting him like soldiers anymore, but like hunters intent on capture. Every time he breaks one binding, two more replace it. A tendril wraps around his sword arm. Another coils around his chest.
Nooooooo!
He’s going to lose because it is impossible to fight magic with a sword.
I have to help him. I reach deep, past the hollow ache of my depleted well, past the thin remnants, and I pull. It hurts like dragging a blade across my hands. But the ember is there, stubborn and small and mine.
I hold on to it. I think of Sebastian shackled and cowed before the queen.
