Gwen
“I’M COMING, I’M coming,” I grumbled to the insistent knocker at the door of Soren’s burrow, where he and the others had abandoned me.
Swinging it open, I found one of the king’s goblins, Milrot, with a wagon outside.
“Do you think I stand glued to the door waiting for you?” I snapped.
I’d held my tongue the first two times he’d come by to pick up dozens of boxes filled with books, kitchen items, bedding, and every other random item Soren had collected over his years in this burrow. The third, fourth, and fifth times, I’d made him wait longer each time. Now, this final round, as he came back for the last bit of furniture, I’d had it.
“Feel free to lift it yourself,” I told him, gesturing to the wardrobe. “I have places to be.”
Milrot spluttered, but I squeezed past the wagon wheel into the tunnel, leaving him and his complaints behind.
King Mordeus didn’t like Soren, but he wasn’t going to let his servants misplace the Unseelie prince’s things and risk going to war over something so trivial.
The furniture would get where it needed to go.
My job here was done.
“You’re going the wrong way,” Milrot shouted after me.
I ignored him.
“They sent ambassadors to pick you up,” he tried again.
“I’m not putting my life in their hands,” I called back with a laugh. “I’ll get to the Shadow Court my own way.”
I’d never shied away from a good hike before.
Milrot quieted, making me glance back. A strange smile rested on his slimy lips. When I glared at him, the smile disappeared, and he hurried inside to work.
Odd. If his happiness came from the thought of me shivering and miserable in the cold, he’d be disappointed. I wore multiple layers, had packed some light food, and had even borrowed Brynn’s strange human coat and boots.
Inside the tunnels, the coat was too warm, so I’d packed it in my bag. But as I climbed the stairs to the surface, the cool winter air brushed my bare skin.
I stopped to pull it on with a smirk, wishing that nasty goblin could see me now. It wasn’t quite as satisfying if I couldn’t rub it in.
Setting out across the snow, I aimed for the distant mountains.
Distracted, I almost didn’t hear the soft crunch of snow to one side.
I stopped.
Instinct had a knife in my hand in under a second. It was the small one that I kept in a sheath by my ribs, but I had four others on my person.
I listened to the woods.
