Theron stepped forward, his gaze calculating. “And yet you escaped.”
I met his eyes, daring him to accuse me of cowardice or abandoning my men. “I had a purpose that supersedes my own life or the lives of those men. Finding Isabeau.”
“The witch,” the king muttered, making a warding sign with his fingers. “She’s cursed the place against us.”
“No,” I said, wiping blood from a cut on my cheek. “This isn’t her magic. This is older. Darker. But she was here.” I pointed toward the forest that stretched beyond the castle grounds. “And she left a trail.”
“You want to continue?” Theron asked incredulously. “After what just happened? After losing six men?”
“I’d sacrifice a hundred men to reclaim what’s mine,” I said without hesitation. “The wolves are in the castle now. They won’t follow us into the forest.”
The king studied me, his eyes narrowing. “You seem very certain of many things, Coventry. Very determined to recapture this girl.”
“She’s not just a girl,” I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “She’s more valuable than you know. And if your son has convinced her to use her powers against the kingdom...”
I let the implication hang in the air, knowing the king’s paranoia would fill in the rest. His fear of magic, of witches, of anything that threatened his orderly world, would serve my purpose.
“Very well,” he said after a moment. “Continue the hunt. But I want her alive, Coventry. Alive to face proper justice.”
I nodded, already turning toward where my horse waited. “As you command, Your Majesty.”
Within minutes, I had gathered the remaining hunters—men who hadn’t entered the castle, who hadn’t witnessed the slaughter inside. They looked nervous, casting glances at the castle as if expecting the wolves to pour out after us, but they obeyed when I ordered them to mount up.
As we rode toward the forest edge, following the clear trail left by two horses, one of them moving with an odd gait that suggested it wasn’t an ordinary mount. I felt that strange pull again. A tugging at my very center, urging me to turn around, to go back. To abandon the hunt.
Her magic, trying to dissuade me. It wouldn’t work. Nothing would stop me now. Not wolves, not curses, not the disapproval in Prince Theron’s eyes or the fear in my men’s faces.
Isabeau had thought she could escape me. Had thought another man could protect her. She was wrong. She belonged to me. Only to me. And if I couldn’t have her, no one would.
I shall give you her, a dark voice entered my mind. The Dark Lord’s presence undeniable.Bring her to me, and I shall free you for your curse. I shall let you touch her again, own her.
That was all I needed. I dug my heels into my horse’s flanks, urging it faster along the trail. She couldn’t have gotten far. The forest would slow them down, its paths treacherous and shifting. I would find her. And when I did, Prince Alain would die screaming while she watched. Then she would understand the price of defiance.
My veins burned with a strange fire as we pressed deeper into the forest, the trees closing around us like a cage. Part of me screamed to turn back, a primal instinct warning of dangers beyond mortal understanding. I ignored it. I’d faced the Dark Lord’s witch and survived. I’d made deals with powers that would drive lesser men mad and another just struck. I feared nothing in these woods.
Nothing but losing her forever.
“You’re mine, Isabeau,” I whispered to the trail ahead, to the forest, to the magic that even now tried to turn me from my path. “You’ve always been mine. And you always will be.”
Or you’ll be no one’s at all.
fifty-seven
Isabeau
The unicorn’s stride beneath me flowed like liquid silver, each step impossibly light compared to any horse I’d ever ridden. The creature’s magic hummed against my thighs, a gentle vibration that seemed to resonate with the amber stone still warm in my pocket. Beside me, Alain’s mare struggled to keep pace, her hooves cracking against fallen branches where my unicorn’s steps made no sound at all.
And just like those contrasting gaits, Alain’s voice broke the forest’s peaceful whispers with yet another question. His hundredth since dawn, each one chipping away at what little patience I had left.
“But you must have some idea where the magic comes from,” he persisted, ducking beneath a low-hanging branch. “Was your mother a witch? Your grandmother? Is it hereditary or—”
“For the love of the gods, Alain.” I closed my eyes briefly, willing myself not to snap at him. The man had saved my life, after all. Had ridden through the night to warn me about the hunters. Had finally believed me when no one else would. But his endless questions were making my head throb. “I’ve told you three times already. I don’t know.”
He had the decency to look slightly abashed, running a hand through his dark hair that was becoming increasingly disheveled as we traveled. It made him too handsome, and I felt the odd flutter in my core when his icy eyes met mine. The prince was adapting to forest travel about as well as a cat to water. Which is to say, with stubborn dignity and obvious discomfort. Even for a strong rider, this forest wasn’t made for humans, and I was learning I wasn’t all the way human.
“I’m only trying to understand,” he said, gentler now. The morning light filtering through the canopy caught in his blue eyes, making them seem almost translucent. “If we’re going to face a sorceress powerful enough to twist an entire forest and curse three princes, shouldn’t we know what we’re working with?”
It was logical. Frustratingly so. But logic didn’t create answers where there were none.
