“Does that mean you aren’t going to run?” Mariel asked, cocking her head.
The wood fae glanced at his compatriot on his left, and then they both laughed. “She’s hoping we’ll run because she’s clearly too terrified to fight us.”
“Very well then,” Mariel said flatly.
Speed hurtling through her, she whipped her bow from beneath her cloak and nocked an arrow, loosing it toward the enemy before he even blinked. The arrow punched into his neck, spraying blood onto Mariel’s cheeks. Making a face, she wiped it away, and grabbed another arrow.
A whistle went through the air. Mariel glanced up to find the tip of an arrow flying right toward her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she jumped to the side just as she loosed her own arrow. It hit the wood fae square in the gut. He groaned and thumped to the floor.
Two more arrows flew toward her. She held up her bow to knock one to the side just as she leapt out of the way of the other. Whirling toward the attackers, she found two more nocked bows aimed right at her.
She roared and raced toward the wood fae crouching in the corner, her fingers curled tight around her wooden arrow. In an instant, she’d reached them both. She shoved the end of her arrow into one of their skulls and kicked the other in the chest.
But she missed the kick. Instead, her foot found air. The wood fae grinned and slammed his head into hers. Pain lancing through her skull, she fell hard onto the stone floor, her teeth knocking together.
She called upon her magic to dull the pain.
Spinning her legs beneath her, she pushed up into a crouch and nocked another arrow. She pulled back the string and loosed. The arrow found its mark, more blood painting the ground.
Footsteps pounded the floor as warriors clad in Air Court armor rushed into the Great Hall. The Grand Alderman strode behind them, his sleek ginger hair glistening beneath the golden sconces. He motioned for the guards to attack.
Quickly, the guards cut down the final two wood fae, and the air became thick with the scent of blood. Mariel grumbled to herself. She’d taken out four. She could have managed two more by herself.
“Oh, thank the Dagda, Aengus,” Imogen said, shakily pushing up from her hiding place behind the throne. “What is happening here? What is going on?”
“Guards, take her!” Aengus shouted the words, his lips twisting into a cruel smile.
The guards rushed toward Imogen, swords raised before them. Mariel frowned and shifted to the side to block their way. She didn’t understand what new horror had descended upon this court, but she did know one thing. Aengus was even more terrible than Sloane.
“Stop!” Imogen shouted, stepping out from behind Mariel’s back. “What in the name of the Dagda is the meaning of this, Aengus?”
“Grand Alderman,” Aengus said, still smiling. “Address me by my proper title, Imogen.”
Imogen gasped. “How dare you. Guards, do not listen to this man. I may not be your High Queen now, but I have far more power than this male will ever have. I am your new High King’s mother, which makes me the Queen Mother.”
“None of that matters,” Aengus sneered. “When you are guilty of treason.”
Tense silence thundered through the throne room. Imogen gaped at her former lover, her hands trembling by her sides. Mariel shifted slightly to the side so that she faced the both of them head on. She had a feeling something terrible was about to happen, and she wanted to be ready to bolt or fight should the need arise.
“I am the queen,” Imogen hissed. “Guards, take this male away from me. Throw him into the dungeons. I cannot bear to look upon his face for even a second longer.”
The guards shifted uneasily in their boots, clearly unsure of where they stood. Mariel frowned. Why were they listening to the Grand Alderman over the Queen Mother?
“I have proof.” Aengus reached behind his back and whipped out a wrinkled, folded parchment. Instantly, Imogen’s eyes widened in fear. She hurled herself toward the Grand Alderman, a low guttural shriek ripping from her throat. The guards shifted in front of Aengus to block her way.
Mariel stayed silent, watching and waiting, biding her time.
“This letter,” Aengus began, waving the parchment in the air, “is written in your very distinctive handwriting. Everyone in the entire realm could recognize your strange, jagged scrawl. Would you like to know what it says?”
“Don’t you dare, Aengus. I will have you hung.”
Ignoring her, Aengus unfolded the letter. “Dearest sister, I write this note to you trapped by my witless yet cunning, and cruel yet weak husband.”
Mariel risked a glance at Imogen. The Queen Mother’s face had gone stark white.
“I fear I may be stuck here the rest of my long—but shortened—life. He is a cruel king, and the air fae are worse off from his rule. I have come up with a plan, one intended to rid us all of his reign once and for all. I fear Thane will wish to take his place, but he is not ready. I will do whatever is in my power to stall his coronation. Oh dearest sister, I wish you were here. I could use your counsel more than ever. All of my love, Imogen.”
Aengus crumpled the note and tossed it onto the floor. He drew his gaze up, his smile as wicked as darkness itself. Imogen let out a sharp cry and dove toward the floor, but Aengus quickly kicked the note out of her reach.
