“Reyna. Reyna no.” He cradled her head in his arms and blasted fury at the sky with a roar. Blood poured from her wound, painting his armor crimson. This couldn’t be happening. Reyna was one of the strongest fae he’d ever met. A tiny little arrow couldn’t kill her like this. She couldn’t die.
Reyna can’t die.
“I won’t let you die!” he roared, gently curling around her fallen body. Her beautiful, sparkling, full-of-life eyes had slipped shut, and all the color had drained from her face. Panic and fear punched into him like dozens of blunt knives.
His utter anguish must have frightened the wood fae because they were now darting through the forest, vanishing into the thick tangle of trees, thorns, and death. The dappled sunlight glanced off their green-dyed armor just as they slid out of sight.
“Nollaig!” he roared. His hands shook as he pressed them against Reyna’s slick wound to staunch the bleeding as best he could. He couldn’t go after the enemy himself. He wouldn’t leave Reyna sprawled out on the forest floor alone, dying.
“I’m already here, Your Highness,” Nollaig said quietly from behind him. “What would you have me do?”
“Stop those wood fae. They’re no doubt rushing ahead to warn the king. I caught a glimpse of them. They look like scouts, not villagers.” He ground his teeth together as he pressed firmly against the wound. His hands were now wet with her blood, his fingers stained the color of death. “They’re fleeing, which means they’re likely low on arrows. The three of you should be enough to stop them. Kill every last one of them. Make them pay for what they’ve done.”
“And what are you going to do, Your Highness?” Nollaig asked, already taking off at a run, her billowing cloak flaring behind her like dark wings.
“It’s too far back to Findius. I’m taking her to Oxgrove,” he said hoarsely. “I have to save her. And they’re the only hope I’ve got.”
Lorcan raced through the forest with Reyna’s limp body in his arms. He’d left the arrow where it was, but it burned him up to see the cruel piece of wood sticking out of her, as if the enemy had left its mark on her. He would make them pay for this. He would. His feral scream ripped through the forest, threatening to tear a hole in the entire sky. As he ran, Reyna’s familiar flew by his side, darting through the trees. He gave the owl a grim nod. As long as the bird was alive, that meant Reyna would be, too.
He ran half the day, not once stopping to rest his feet or drink from a stream. He didn’t want to lose even a single moment, for that moment could be the very last one that Reyna ever saw. She would not die because of his mortal weaknesses. It did not matter that he could scarcely breathe, that his heart pounded so hard that it threatened to stop at any moment. It didn’t matter that his mouth was parched or that stars had begun to dance in his eyes. And it didn’t matter that his feet throbbed with blinding pain. Lorcan knew blinding pain, and he could block it out better than anyone else.
He laughed bitterly to himself as he ducked beneath limb after limb of the dense forest. Perhaps his bloody mark had done some good, after all.
At long last, Lorcan reached the tree line. He came to a sudden stop and gazed out at the green, rolling hills that led to the sea. Reyna’s blood drenched him completely, and the crimson had seeped through his tunic. It was as hot as fire on his skin.
“Don’t die on me, Reyna,” he said softly, cupping her pale cheek before pushing off into a run once again. “One more hour, and we’ll be there. Don’t let your bloody stubbornness fail you now.”
Lorcan could no longer feel his feet in his boots. He knew they would be bloody and raw when he finally stopped, but he didn’t care. They were so close. He could even see smoke curling from distant chimneys, and small specks on the horizon where the land met the sea. He could not fail her now.
The moments passed in a blur. Lorcan could no longer think about anything but the simple movement of putting one foot in front of the other.
The village was before him now, a small cluster of mud-encased buildings squatting on top of a lush green hill overlooking the sea. The thatched roofs rustled in the soft breeze, reminding Lorcan at once of his childhood. The familiar din of village life rose up around him. Laughter drifting from the open tavern doors. The sound of wood splintering from the heavy blow of an axe. The clang of metal from the local blacksmith. And the soft hum of a mother hanging linen out to dry.
Lorcan’s heart ached for home. The village from his childhood. The people who he had known and loved and lost.
The ones his own father had killed.
Gritting his teeth, he shook the memories away and raced into the village, shouting for help.
There were several cottages clustered together at the edge of the village, squatting beside a tavern that buzzed with the steady hum of conversation and laughter. A few fae were wandering along the road that wound through the village, chatting together in groups or lugging barrels of water from a nearby stream.
Several of the fae slowed to a stop, eyeing Lorcan warily.
There were three of them. One was an older male with white strands peppering his mossy green hair, and deep lines around his eyes carved into his face like an ancient tattoo of wisdom. He had a flat nose and large verdant eyes, and the two younger females with him had matching features. All wore the simple garb of villagers: linen tunics and trousers, worn and faded.
“What’s this?” the wood fae asked, glancing at Reyna, at all the blood. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“We were attacked. She’s been hurt.” Lorcan inched forward, showing the fae the blood that had soaked through Reyna’s tunic. “Please. She’s dying. Is one of you a healer? Can you help her? Please.” His voice cracked on the last word.
He would have given them anything in that moment to save her. He would let his mark finally burn him up and tear his limbs apart. The world had taken so much from him already. This was all he had left, and he would die if it meant she could live.
One of the females stepped forward. Her eyes were kind and her voice soft. “Who attacked you?”
Lorcan did not know how to answer that. Nollaig believed this village to be safe and free from the wood king’s influence, but what if she was wrong? What if these wood fae were loyal to their court? His mind spun with lies, but he knew they would not believe a one of them. It was clear why he was here, a shadow fae with a dying ice princess in his arms. All he could offer them was the truth. “Some archers in the woods. Scouts for the king.”
“All right then,” she said, waving Lorcan forward. “You’re not the first bloodied fae to come rushing in here with an arrow poking out of a belly. She’s lucky she has you. She looks half dead.”
Lorcan’s heart twisted.
