Ruenen, stunned into silence, bit his lower lip as he watched Marai think.

Ruen will be our Ruin . . .

Marai knew what must be done. It was obvious, clear as day, because Keshel had already seen it. He’d already given her the answer.

Rayghast had magic. The way to defeat him was with magic. 

Tacorn was tightly knitted to Varana. At Rayghast’s command, Varana would join the war, and their combined forces would easily decimate the Nevandian army. They needed more soldiers. They needed help. But Marai knew the close-minded humans at the Witan table wouldn’t be pleased to hear her idea.

“I have powers that will be immensely useful on the battlefield,” Marai said. “But I alone am not enough to match the power of Tacorn and Varana . . .”

“Marai—” said Ruenen, reaching for her hand.

She moved out of his reach and met Holfast’s gaze. “There are six other part-fae. Several of them are great warriors.”

Marai knew the words were a betrayal. She remembered Keshel’s warning: Ruenen would be the downfall of their way of life. But that way of life wasn’t sustainable, it wasn’t living. Maybe what Keshel had really seen was for the fae to abandon their solitary life hiding in that cave. Maybe they were meant to come to Nevandia, to begin anew somewhere else.

“Why would part-fae want to help us?” asked Holfast. “I cannot imagine they feel too friendly towards any humans, nonetheless Nevandians.” But Marai sensed the Steward was genuinely interested in the idea. His eyes were brighter, he sat up straighter. He saw its merits.

“What makes you think we would ever want your help? You’re all abominations,” said Fenir.

“One more nasty word from you, and my fist will meet your face,” snapped Ruenen.

Fenir shrunk down in his chair. There was no one in the room to protect him.

“Marai can kill you all before the guards make it to this table. Perhaps you’d best consider utilizing her skills against Tacorn, and not make us your enemies.” Ruenen’s face was severe, eyes flaring with fury.

“I think my people would be willing to help in exchange for something,” Marai said to Holfast after the room settled.

“What might that be?” The Lord Steward raised an eyebrow, lacing his fingers again.

“A home.” If her people were guaranteed a home, a place where they could live and feel safe, Marai knew they would risk coming to Nevandia. “And security. A guarantee that no Nevandians would ever harm them. That they could live on these lands and love them as their own.”

“That’s preposterous,” Fenir huffed.

“Impossible,” shouted Vorae. “How can we trust that you and your people won’t kill us all?”

“We don’t want to live in hiding anymore. We want a place to make a home. If you give us that, my people will fight loyally for Nevandia. If you require written assurances, fine, as long as you provide the same for our protection.”

Holfast pursed his lips as he thought. “Seven fae will not be enough to break against the tide of Tacorn and Varanese forces.”

Marai was aware of this. Magic would certainly help, be an added strength in the army, but the enemy’s numbers were too many. The fae would drain their magic before Marai had a chance to square off against Rayghast.

Ruenen sucked in a breath, capturing everyone’s attention. “What if we ask the North?”

“Do you have a relationship with King Maes of Grelta?” asked Holfast, face brightening.

“We don’t, not exactly,” Ruenen said with a sideways glance at Marai.

Then it hit her: Nosficio. Her mouth twisted cynically. That would be putting a fair amount of trust in a vampire.

“Everyone knows Queen Nieve truly rules the kingdom,” continued Ruenen. The color had returned to his face, along with his confidence. “We should arrange a meeting with her.”

“Grelta has no reason to ally with us. They’ve thus far remained neutral,” Holfast said.

“Rayghast won’t be satisfied once he takes Nevandia. He already has Varana in his pocket, and with Nevandia’s combined forces, he’ll have the strength to attack any kingdom he chooses. The North, with its proximity to Tacorn, expansive lands and resources, may well be Rayghast’s next target. He’s been sending troops there for months, scouting and pillaging.”

It was a valid point. If anyone was to ally itself with Nevandia, Queen Nieve of Grelta might be the best choice: an unconventional female ruler. And her relationship with Nosficio, no matter how bizarre, might help broker the meeting suggested by Ruenen.

“It’s worth trying, don’t you think?” he asked, leaning back in his chair with casual grace, crossing his arms. There he was again: the Prince of Nevandia. Holfast saw it too, the potential there, the weight of this discussion, because he regarded both Marai and Ruenen with equal intrigue.

“If you can garner the allegiance of the North and the remaining fae, then I believe we can come to an agreement.”

Vorae and Fenir began to protest.

Holfast held up a hand. “I don’t take pleasure in any of this, but I’m willing to do what must be done. Our people deserve better. Bring the fae here, let us meet with them all, hash out our concerns. Set up your meeting with King Maes and Queen Nieve. If they accept, we will consider putting Ruenen on the throne.”

Marai stood, the relief coursing through her. She placed her hands on the table for stability. “Give us three days and we’ll return.”

“We cannot welcome magical folk onto our lands, Holfast,” Vorae said. “Our people barely have confidence in us as it is. If we let fae live among us here in Kellesar, our people will all defect to Tacorn.”

“I’m not comfortable with this either, Vorae, but we’re desperate. I will do whatever it takes to save Nevandia.” Holfast walked to the side of dais and pulled on a long silk tassel.

A musical bell rang somewhere in the hallway. Avilyard and four guards barreled into the room, hands on their swords. Marai wondered if they heard anything at the door; she was certain they’d tried.

“Please escort our guests safely back outside the city gates,” the Steward said.

Avilyard bowed and waited for Ruenen and Marai to join him. For a moment, no one else moved, then Ruenen bowed grandly.

“I look forward to working with you, gentlemen,” he said and flashed them a wolfish, toothy grin.

Marai gave Holfast a final, stoic glance, then followed Avilyard from the chambers.

Ruenen’s body language was different now as they made their second trip through the city. He strolled confidently behind Avilyard, more so than before, putting on a performance again. People lined the streets; they knew he was someone of importance.

A woman whispered to her friend. “Is he our lost prince?”

“Do you really think he exists?”

“You’ve heard the rumors. Rayghast captured him and he escaped. Who else could that young man be?”

Their mouths fell open as Ruenen passed. He beamed and gave the ladies a friendly wave. One of them blushed and giggled. Marai stopped herself from rolling her eyes. She wanted Ruenen to have this moment.

Avilyard dropped them at the gate. Two guards handed them back their weapons, packs, and Ruenen’s lute.

“Thank you for your kindness, Commander Avilyard,” said Ruenen. “We shall see you again in three days.”​

The commander nodded and returned to the office. Marai followed Ruenen, who continued over the bridge, down the road towards the glen. He kept up his confident persona all the way across the valley, past cottages, shepherds, sheep and chickens, and travelers, until they reached the glen’s tree line.