Lorcan pushed through the archway and waved for Reyna to follow. She hurried behind him, her dark hood framing her face. It completely obscured her brilliant hair from view, along with her ridiculous trousers. When he had opened the door to find her in what amounted to little more than silken pajamas, his jaw had almost hid the floor.
He’d known that she was a far cry from the other members of the nobility. He’d said as much on the way to the Ice Court. Still, he had not expected such a vibrant display of rebellion so soon. Despite her supposed disinterest in courtly ways, she had done everything she could to ingratiate herself into the Air Court. She listened to gossip. She smiled when lords prattled on about their wheat stores. He had to admit he’d been slightly disappointed at first.
In truth, it seemed she was hiding herself as well as even Lorcan did. Beneath the gowns and the rosy cheeks, Reyna Darragh was something else, and he wasn’t entirely certain he knew what that something else was just yet.
No matter. He would find out.
They moved across the hall. Reyna followed his instructions and kept her gaze focused on the floor before them. As the prince’s personal guard, Lorcan was unlikely to be questioned by anyone else. Unless they thought he was stealing away the princess.
They continued on, and the guards scarcely glanced in their direction. Soon, they were past the danger and headed toward the tunnel. Lorcan knew the way well. He led them through winding corridors and down endless stairwells until they reached the magical wall that blocked the tunnel. He pressed his hand against the stone and waited, smirking when Reyna gasped as it fell away.
To set the trap, Lorcan had chosen the Witchlight Woods deep beneath the shadows of the mountainous Cyclone Peaks, hidden only a few steps east of Dalais Castle. The two attacks on Reyna had both occurred inside the castle, but Lorcan had a hunch the next culprit wouldn’t try a similar approach. He would bide his time, waiting until Reyna was alone. Outside the castle, if possible.
He had started some rumors with the guards and servants, who he knew would tell the others, after asking Vreis about the strange orders he’d received. Vreis hadn’t known where the orders had originated, and his despair at being used as a pawn felt real. They were still no closer to finding out who was behind this, but hopefully they would be, after this night.
From an outsider perspective, Lorcan could imagine how others saw Reyna. Her gowns were lush and hugged her curving frame. Her hair was smooth and scented. Reyna had killed one of her would-be assassins. She’d protected herself just fine. But there were no living witnesses to prove it, except Reyna’s own sister. Indeed, even Lorcan found it difficult to imagine the princess taking down a trained male twice her size.
Still, he would not underestimate this princess. Despite her slight size and her beautiful gowns, he saw the truth in her eyes and her strength in the way she moved.
At the end of the tunnel, the Bay of Wind blinked under the waning light of Danu and Brigantu, their twin moons. There were several boats bobbing along the shifting surface like dancers weaving to a muted song. But that was not their destination this night. Lorcan pointed to his right where the Witchlight Woods hulked in the darkness of the night.
The woods were small compared to the great, looming forests he’d encountered in the Ice Court, but it was one of the only groves found in the air fae lands where grassland was far more common than trees. Small enough to walk from one side to the other in only a matter of days, but large enough to get lost in if one did not know the way.
Now, the hulking yew trees, drenched in snow, looked like sentinels ready to strike.
“This is the Witchlight Woods then.” A hint of a smile played across Reyna’s lips as they strode down a path slick with a recent snowfall. Wingallock soared overhead, white wings outstretched, having found them near the tunnel exit.
“Don’t look so giddy,” he said. “We’re not here to play.”
“Aren’t we?” She arched a brow. “We get to trap an assassin.”
He grunted. “Only you would consider play to be putting your life in danger.”
“I thought you were my big, bad protector who would never let anything happen to me.”
He grunted again, his boots crunching snow.
“Besides,” she said, chirpily. “I have my dagger now.”
“The delight in your voice is alarming.” He cut her eyes toward her, lips twitching. “I have never met a princess who finds so much joy in stabbing things.”
“Just wait until you see me with a sword.”
They found a small clearing just off the path. Several trees had been downed in a recent winter storm, winds yanking the roots from the ground. It seemed as good a place as any to set a trap.
“Wait here,” he said.
“Are you certain this will work?” she asked with a dubious expression on her face. “Who in their right mind would truly believe I would come to these woods alone in the middle of the night?”
“No one. The rumors I’ve spread suggest you will be here right at dawn. Being homesick, you wanted to go in search of hoarfrost worms.” He strode over to a yew tree and snapped off a branch toward the bottom, one so low that its absence would not be noticed. Retracing his steps, he began to brush the bristles against the ground, obscuring his own set of footsteps but not hers.
“What in the name of the Dagda are you doing?” She watched him intently. “You might be brushing away your footsteps, but the snow still looks disturbed.”
He stared at the ground. She wasn’t wrong. Where they had not yet walked, the snow looked smooth and pristine, glistening even in the dead of night. On the other hand, he’d left behind a bumpy, flaky mess.
“If the assassin comes and sees a second set of footprints, he might not approach,” Lorcan pointed out.
“Right,” she said slowly, frowning. “But I am certain this little trick of yours will only arouse far more suspicion. If it looks as though we’ve hidden a set of footsteps, then it will clearly seem like a trap.”
