“But thisishis court. I don’t understand why he would feel the way I do about any of this.”
“This is not Lorcan Rothach’s court.” Nollaig sighed, stepping over a bramble of thorns. “He was a bastard, born in the air fae lands. He lived most of his life there until his father forced him to join the Shadow Court. I’m afraid his story is a sad one, and it is not mine to tell.”
Reyna’s eyes went wide. So, he had been telling her the truth about his life in the grasslands. When she had awoken inside an enemy court, stolen away by a male she’d grown to trust, she’d merely assumed he’d been lying about everything. But he had told her this part of it true, at least. His mother, the air fae lands, the father he had never met. Reyna shifted her gaze to Lorcan. He strode tall in front of them all, taking the lead as if he’d done it a hundred times before. His raven hair curled around his neck, just above the edges of his tightly-fitting leather armor. Silver bands cinched his biceps, highlighting the strength in his arms. Everything about him was sure and strong and steady, and yet she could sense some darkness there. She always had.
What had happened to him? How had he gotten to this place?
Why should she even care?
Suddenly, Lorcan stopped and motioned for them to fall behind him. Breath catching, Reyna lifted her sword and scanned the trees. Had he seen something?
An arrow suddenly whistled over the top of her head. She swallowed hard and ducked down behind a tree, her heart hammering out a drumbeat in her chest. Glancing up, she saw Nollaig just standing there like a golden ship gleaming in the middle of the sea. Frowning, she tugged on the shadow fae’s cloak. Nollaig sighed and squatted down beside her.
“I do not like crouching,” she muttered. “It feels like letting the enemy win.”
“Well, the enemy is going to win if you don’t duck,” Reyna whispered fiercely. “They’re shooting arrows at us. Stay low.”
As if to punctuate her point, another arrow stormed toward them and thunked into the tree only a millimetre to the left of where they’d just stood. Reyna pointed and gave Nollaig a frank look, as if to say,See? You’re not the only one who can dispense useful advice.
Just in front of them, Tarrah was trembling and fumbling around with her own arrows. She finally got one nocked, stood shakily on her feet, and loosed it in the direction of their attackers. She immediately dropped back behind the line of trees, chest heaving.
“Are you all right?” Reyna hissed.
Tarrah shook her head. Her entire face was a brutal white. “Unseelie did not warn me of this. I don’t like battle and bloodshed.”
“And that doesn’t make you question this whole vision thing of yours?” Reyna asked incredulously.
“Of course not. There must be a reason why he didn’t want me to know.” Trembling, Tarrah curled her fingers around another arrow, but she dropped it into the brush before she could nock it.
“Here, give me the bow,” Nollaig demanded, holding out her gloved right hand.
Tarrah hesitated, but then passed the bow and arrows to Nollaig. The cloaked fae nocked it easily, lifting the feathered end to what must have been her eyes, as if she had done this very thing a thousand times or more.
Reyna frowned. “Shouldn’t you remove your hood? You won’t be able to see a damn thing.”
Nollaig stood, aimed, loosed the arrow, and then ducked down in one fluid motion. A strangled scream echoed throughout the forest. Reyna raised her brows.
“All right, that was impressive,” she admitted.
Nollaig sent a few more arrows flying in the direction of the wood fae. Some hit the mark. Others failed, at least that they could hear. But soon, there were no more arrows to sail.
“Lorcan!” Nollaig hissed as a storm of enemy arrows punched the ground all around the trees where they hid. “We need to move.”
“Aye,” he said gravely, twisting to face them. “They’re growing closer, and their arrows will soon find their marks, even if we stay behind these trees. There’s nothing to protect our heads. We need to rush forward and force them into close combat. It’s our only choice.”
Reyna’s stomach tumbled. Close combat was all well and good—preferable in her eyes—butgetting therewould pose a problem. The wood fae seemed to have an endless supply of arrows, and they’d launch another dozen of them as soon as their party stood from the brush.
Of course, Reyna had experience with this. She’d dodged her fair share of arrows at the Battle for the Shard.
“Lorcan,” she hissed. “Let me up front.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her and scowled. “Absolutely not.”
“Just trust me. Let me up front.”
Lorcan narrowed his eyes but motioned for Reyna to scuttle forward. She left Wingallock with Nollaig and a terrified Tarrah, and then edged to the prince’s side in a crouch.
“What is it?” he demanded in a tone of voice that suggested he had zero patience for nonsense. Despite the many tight spots they’d gotten into together, she’d never actually seen him transform into pure warrior mode. She kind of liked this side of him.
