“Youdo? Or all of the Lost Kings do? It sounds to me like you are planning a suicide mission. Is that it, Sebastian? Are you going to take on the queen alone? Because that would be foolish. She knows that you are still in the Shadow Court. It’s why she is still on her way here, despite your escape. Belen told Julienne and me earlier.”
His eyes flare with shock for a moment.
“It doesn’t change anything. You need to leave, Isla.”
“Why do I have to go?” I frown. “What if I refuse?”
A muscle twitches near his eye. I’ve struck a nerve.
Good.
“I won’t let you stay,” he tells me.
I want to scream. I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until the stubbornness falls out.
“I am a grown woman. You might be a king, but you don’t have any say over me.”
His mouth twitches in what I think is the start of a smile.
“For what it’s worth, I respect your courage. I like you.” He shrugs.
Something warms in me, but I push it down. This is no time for feeling warm and fuzzy over a stubborn male.
“But this is not your fight,” he goes on.
I frown, shaking my head. “Of course it is. It is all of our fight. We need to come together to win. You are only one; you stand no chance.”
He gives me the ghost of a smile, and my heart stutters. I’ve gone quite mad. That much is clear.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Our time is running out. If you don’t leave now, we will be captured.”
“I told you I’m—” I start to say.
“Hold on tight,” he tells me.
“What?” I frown. “Why?”
My hands close around the saddle horn.
Sebastian leans over and brings his hand down hard on Jack’s rump. I suck in a breath as Jack jumps beneath me. Then he launches forward like an arrow from a bow, and straight for the barrier. I’m thrown back in the saddle, my fingers grabbing tighter around the horn, my thighs grip too. The world blurs around me as Jack tears across the grass at a flat gallop.
I have to hold back a scream.
It isn’t long before Jack hits the barrier at full speed. I feel that familiar tingling sensation rushing over my skin, and then we’re through. The air changes instantly. It’s colder, heavier,tasting of damp earth and rot. The ground beneath Jack’s hooves turns from green grass to grey mud.
Jack keeps running, his hooves throwing up clods of wet earth. The saddle lurches beneath me with every stride. I’m bouncing, my seat precarious.
I take in a few deep breaths and grapple for the reins. They’re flapping loose against Jack’s neck, just out of reach. I lean forward, stretching my fingers. One hand firm on the horn. Body low. Reaching with the other hand.
My fingers close around the leather.
“Whoa,” I say. My voice is thin, breathless. Jack’s ears flick back, but he doesn’t slow. “Whoa, Jack. Easy.”
I pull the reins back, steady and firm. I sit deeper into the saddle, pressing my weight down through my seat bones, and I keep my voice low and even.
“Easy, boy. Easy now. That’s it. Good boy. That’s it, Jack.”
His stride shortens. The wild gallop becomes a lope, then a jarring trot that hurts me in places I care not to mention. I keep talking to him, keep my hands steady on the reins, keep my legs pressed against his sides.
