Eventually, the two soldiers return, bringing news about the disturbance.
“A man who didn’t have the required tribute tried to steal silver coins from another man in line,” the tallest soldier says. “Since the dungeon is full, the thief has been thrown in the corral near the gates where the runners and other prisoners are being kept.”
I give a slight nod and continue standing watch on the castle steps, determined to find my mate. Each time there’s a skirmish in the line, I send a pair of soldiers to investigate.
Some humans get scared and try to run, while others attempt to slip out of line to avoid paying the tribute entirely.
Fools.
Don’t they realize there’s no escape?
Considering that human soldiers from this very city recently attacked and slaughtered a nearby fae settlement, completely unprovoked, I don’t harbor any sympathy for the citizens of Braemar. They are getting exactly what they deserve.
Though we never attack the humans or orcs first, they frequently attack our new settlements, and the Winter Court army has been forced to conquer city after city as we strive to keep our people safe.
The armies from the Spring, Summer, and Autumn courts are in the same situation. Many of our priestesses claim we’re on the verge of a new age of total fae rule over the realm, and I’m starting to believe it’s true. Because it won’t be long before the four fae armies have conquered every human and orc settlement in existence.
A slender figure with a cloak obscuring her face walks to the front of the line, and when I catch a glimpse of golden hair, I find myself walking closer to her. But when she looks up and staresdirectly at me, my heart sinks. It’s nother. It’s not the human female from my dreams.
I growl and return to my place on the steps. Occasionally, a scream echoes from inside the castle, and it causes the humans in line to startle and whisper among themselves. But surely they must know what the screams mean.
Families who arrive without the required tribute must instead hand over a daughter or a son. Some will be used as slaves, others will be used for pleasure, and some will even become valued concubines.
Before I can feel a speck of pity for the humans’ plight, I remind myself of the faefolk that were recently killed by the Braemar soldiers, several fae children among them. My resolve hardens as I stare at the line of humans. The citizens of Braemar and other human cities and towns must learn to live in close proximity to my people. They must learn to make peace with the will of the gods.
Eventually, the sun dips below the horizon, and the fae soldiers patrolling the courtyard light torches. I watch, with a growing sense of trepidation, as the line of humans begins to dwindle. When I glimpse the very last household standing in line, I find myself holding my breath until they come close enough that I’m able to glimpse all their faces.
My pulse thunders in my ears, and rage courses through me.
The golden-haired female isn’t among them. She didn’t come to the castle today. Why not?
Dear gods. I think of the runners, the foolish humans who’ve tried to escape the walls of Braemar recently, and I immediately summon wings and shoot into the sky. Soaring over the dark city, I head straight for the corral where the runners and other prisoners are being kept.
I ignore the greeting from a fellow commander as I scan the faces of the women who are huddled in the corral. But my golden-haired mate isn’t among them. Fucking fires.
After returning to the castle, a trip to the dungeon reveals she’s not being held prisoner there either. I hasten through the corridors of the castle, visiting all the rooms where servants and slaves are housed, leaving no corner unsearched. Eventually, when the hour is late, just as I’m on the verge of descending into madness, I encounter King Theron in the corridor. Immediately, I summon an aura of casual calm. I have no intention of admitting to the Winter King, or anyone else, that I’m searching for a human female I keep dreaming about. A female whose name I don’t even know. I suppress a growl.
“Good evening, King Theron.” I give him a deep, respectful nod.
“Good evening, Commander. How fortunate that we ran into one another. I have a task for you that requires the utmost discretion.” A flicker of unease enters the king’s eyes, but he blinks fast and his expression turns serious but composed. Perhaps I’m not the only one who’s hiding something tonight.
“Ah, a task that requires the utmost discretion.” I force a wide smile. “As always, my king, I am at your command. Though I do hope the task can wait until morning, as I was on my way to have some fun downstairs.” It’s a lie. I wasn’t actually on my way to join the drunken revelry in the banquet hall, but he doesn’t need to know that.
One corner of his mouth twitches. “Yes, the task can wait until morning. It’s quite simple, really. I need you to visit 12 Marlow Street and check on the people who live there, a human man and his daughter. Their names are Tomas and Isabel Sinclair, and they are friends of my… latest acquisition.”
His latest acquisition. Ah. He’s referring to Helena, a human female that his brother, Prince Alaric, recently gifted to him.The human female who happens to bear a striking resemblance to Elssandra, his late mate. I was in the banquet hall when the prince carried the trembling human woman inside and set her down before King Theron. How interesting that the king is trying to help Helena’s human friends. At least I get the sense that he’s trying to help them.
“Did the Sinclair household fail to show up today? All households were required to visit the castle and pay tribute, and the extra patrols we deployed on the streets of Braemar were supposed to ensure no one skipped the event.” As I speak, I think about the one face I expected to see at Braemar Castle today, the golden-haired female who never made an appearance. Gods, could the missing human woman and the female from my dreams be one and the same?
Isabel. Why does that name suddenly fill me with warmth?
“As I said, the utmost discretion,” the king says. “I want to know if the Sinclairs are still living on Marlow Street and why they failed to show up today. But regardless of what you discover, you will take no punitive actions against them. You will leave that up to me.”
“Very well, King Theron. Consider it done.”
I start to move past him, but he grabs my arm and glances around as though to ensure we have complete privacy.
“If the Sinclairs are not in residence at 12 Marlow Street, I trust that you will quietly track them down and inform me of their whereabouts,” he says in a commanding tone.
