And Reyna did not like being bested any more than she enjoyed captivity.
A knock sounded on the door, but Reyna stayed right where she was. She knew who it was. The daily routine had been embedded into her soul, along with her misery.
The door swung wide and then shut quickly, revealing one of the strangest fae that Reyna had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Nollaig, a shadow fae female who insisted on hiding her face beneath a thick, black hood at all times. Her cloak stretched down to her feet, the ragged edges brushing against the stone floor. On her shoulder, a crow perched. Nollaig’s familiar, Holas. Reyna had never actually seen Nollaig’s face, but she’d been informed she had matching raven hair and eyes.
“Morning, Nollaig,” Reyna said. “I don’t suppose you’ve come here for your daily gossip, have you?”
Indeed, Reyna did not expect a response to her question. She only knew Nollaig’s name from the first day they’d met. Tarrah, the High King’s champion, had introduced them, but Nollaig had not uttered a single word in all the days she had visited Reyna.
All she did was hold up a dead mouse, toss it onto the floor, and then leave. At first, Wingallock had turned up his nose at the offering, but he had quickly caved. His hunger overrode his stubbornness.
Nollaig kept her hands tucked into her cloak. “The High King wishes to speak with you this morning.”
Startled, Reyna jumped to her feet. Her mind raced as she stared at the shadow fae whose hidden face reflected everything about this strange realm. Shadows and darkness, cloaks and daggers, bitterness sharp and heavy like an axe.
The High King had only met once with Reyna during the long stretch of time that she had spent at the castle. On the day she had awoken from her poisonous slumber, he’d come to ‘welcome’ her to his court. A horrible stab of pain slammed into her gut at the thought of the poison that had spread through her veins, thick and full of nettles.
Lorcan had delivered that poison.
The flare of his name in her mind was like the unexpected slice of a broad sword that was then twisted sharply to the side. A kill with added certainty. A double blow. An attack meant to bring her to her knees, one that ensured she never got back up.
Reyna Darragh did not trust easily. And yet she had trusted him.
Lorcan, the son of High King Bolg Rothach. Lorcan, the prince of shadows.
A hammer of harsh bitterness pummelled her heart, threatening to knock her down.
Instead, she found her voice. “I suppose you want me to don some sort of ridiculous silken gown for his visit. Hours of preparation for a moment’s conversation. Well then, did you bring it along? Where is it?”
Nollaig stood quietly. Her face was obscured by the thick hood, but Reyna could feel the shadow fae’s eyes on her, regarding her with an intensity that would have made almost anyone’s skin crawl. Reyna, impatient, just wanted her to get on with it.
Reyna let out a huff of irritation. “You know I didn’t pack any courtly gowns seeing as I didn’t have a chance to pack before Lorcan dragged me here. If you want me to meet with your king, then either give me a gown or let me meet with him as I am.”
She gestured down at her silver tunic, her soft, loose hoarfrost silk trousers, and the simple slippers hugging her feet—the only item of clothing that the Shadow Court had provided since her arrival. It was not the attire of a princess.
“That will do,” Nollaig merely said.
Surprise flickered through Reyna, but she did her best to hide it. Was Nollaig playing some sort of game? Was the Shadow Court trying to unsteady her? She’d spent so long cooped up inside this bedchamber, with no one to keep her company other than her familiar and her own damn self, that she no longer even knew what month it was. But kings expected certain things, particularly from princesses. Gowns and brushed hair, at the very least.
And then Reyna understood. “I see. As your prisoner, courtly manners do not apply to me.”
“Do not play coy,” Nollaig said. “You may be a princess, but there is far more to you than that. You’re a Shieldmaiden. So, there’s no need for you to dress yourself up like a simpering lady in search of a lord husband.”
“An unsworn Shieldmaiden,” Reyna said quietly. “And that status was removed when my father returned my courtly title to me.”
Nollaig waved a gloved hand dismissively. “You’re a warrior. The technicalities of your titles don’t matter. Besides, you will find we are not so formal as most courts. Now, enough of this. The king is waiting for you. Come with me.”
Nollaig moved toward the door and pounded her fist against the wood. Reyna watched, narrowing her eyes. Thiswassome sort of trick, after all. She had not been allowed to leave her room since she’d awoken that first day, her head throbbing, her heart raw. Why in the name of the Dagda would they allow her to wander through their castle corridors now?
With a sigh, Nollaig paused and cast a a glance over her shoulder, face still hidden beneath the folds of her cloak’s dark hood. “You will be surrounded by armed guards as soon as we step out into the corridor. I do not advise attempting an escape. Remember what the king said. So long as you behave accordingly, you will continue to enjoy your privileges. And if you do not...then he will not hesitate to throw you into the dungeons.”
The dungeons did not frighten Reyna. She had seen and experienced far worse than a grungy cell deep in the ground. In the Battle for the Shard, the fields of blood and ice and snow were images burned into her head. Bodies piled on top of each other, faces mottled and black with rot. It had lasted hours. During the battle, she had even forgotten what peace felt like.
No, she did not fear the dungeons. But even though her chances of an escape were next to nothing, therewasa chance, so long as they housed her inside that room. Inside the dungeons...she would never again see daylight, even the strange, misty red glow of the shadow lands. She was certain of it.
So, when she followed Nollaig into the corridor, Reyna did not attempt to bolt through the half a dozen guards that quickly surrounded her. She could not help but eye them though, and imagine various scenarios where she fought—and won. If she suddenly threw her weight into the smaller guard to her right, she could knock the sword from his grip and take it for herself. She would still have to fight six, not including Nollaig, but she had faced worse odds than this.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Nollaig said, falling into step beside Reyna. “I don’t blame you. I would be thinking it myself.”
