Would dark magic consume her if she went back to sleep? Marai laid down next to Ruenen, who continued to breathe evenly, face peaceful. She burrowed into the crook of his neck, every part of her alert. Her eyelids never shut. Her hand never left her dagger.
Ruenen stirred before the horn sounded. Marai watched his eyes flutter open, blinking away the sleep. She counted the gold flecks–a dozen or so in each brown eye. He stared back, perhaps doing the same with her own eyes. Memorizing them. Losing herself in them.
But at the horn, she and Ruenen sat up. Any second, Mayestral and soldiers would burst into the tent. They couldn’t see Marai and the Prince of Nevandia lying together. She climbed off the cot and strode towards the tent flap.
A hand grabbed hers. In an instant, Ruenen’s arms encompassed her, clinging to her body like a lifeline. Marai raised up on her toes, hooking her hand behind his neck, and pulled his face to hers. Their lips met, sweet and gentle. She felt no hunger, no desire. Her fingers laced through the strands of his hair, savoring the final silken touch against her skin.
Marai counted down from five. Four more seconds of this safety. Three more seconds of his soft lips. Two more seconds of his hands gripping her to his solid chest. One more second of him.
She pulled away, unable to meet his eyes again. She rushed from the tent before she could change her mind. If Marai didn’t leave then, she never would.
Out into the misty, gray morning, the air was static with tension and unease. The guards on duty outside Ruenen’s tent peered at her through their visors. They knew she’d been there all night.
“Protecting the prince,” she grunted, indicating the sword and dagger at her hip.
The guards said nothing as a group of commanders stomping towards them caught their attention. Marai ducked behind another tent, not wanting to explain herself to anyone else. The commanders had two other figures in tow: a woman in a brown cape, and a girl in a deep blue one.
“What’s this?” asked Avilyard, appearing from the opposite side of camp.
“Tacorn defectors,” Commander Gasparian said. “Found them crossing the moor a bit ago in the pitch dark.”
“Please, we seek refuge, sir. We walked all night,” said the woman with breathless desperation. “I’m Queen Rhia’s servant from the fortress at Dul Tanen. I come with Princess Eriu of Varana.”
Marai peeked around the edge of the tent. The girl dropped the hood of her cloak, revealing her round face and long black hair, her nose red from the early morning chill.
“Why exactly is the princess here?” Avilyard asked.
“My sister sent me,” Eriu said in youthful boldness. “It wasn’t safe for me in Tacorn. King Rayghast was forcing me to marry a bad man.”
Marai’s stomach curdled. She’s just a child.
“Please, sir, we’re hoping you’ll allow us to remain. We women in Tacorn have heard of your prince’s merciful nature,” the woman said, practically groveling, she was bent so low before the commanders. “We risked our lives to cross the border, and our queen uncovered a heinous secret about our king. He has magic, sir!”
None of the commanders or soldiers flinched at the news. They were already aware of Rayghast’s power, thanks to Marai.
Avilyard studied the girl. “Your sister is the Queen of Tacorn. Your father is the Jade Emperor of Varana. Their forces stand opposite ours on the field. Don’t you think you’re safer with them?”
“Don’t send me back,” Princess Eriu yelped. “King Rayghast will hurt me if he finds me! He’ll hurt Rhia, too. He already locked her in her room.”
“If he discovers you missing, he’ll hurt your sister, regardless,” Avilyard said in a gentle voice, as if he were a father speaking with his own daughter. “I’ll not send you back, but you cannot stay here. A battlefield is no place for a child. I’ll find someone to escort you to Kellesar. Once the battle is over, we’ll figure out what to do.”
If Nevandia fell, the girl would be returned to Rayghast and her betrothed. They’d punish her in some brutish way, and the servant woman would be executed for treason.
The princess’ face brightened through her tears. “Thank you!” She wrapped her arms around Avilyard’s middle, startling the commander.
He hesitantly patted her on the back, then Avilyard called Nyle over. “Take two horses. Come back as soon as they’re safe behind Kellesar walls. We may already be engaged in battle by then.”
Nyle nodded and shoved his helm onto his head.
“Tell Prince Ruenen . . . I hope he wins,” Eriu said. Her young face grew resolute.
Once Nyle ushered Princess Eriu and her servant away, Avilyard turned to his other commanders.
“We can use the princess as leverage over Varana,” Gasparian said.
“No harm will come to that child,” Avilyard ordered severely, “but we should send a messenger with a white flag over to Varana’s lines, let them know we have her, and tell them about the magic. I doubt they’re aware.”
“Brave of them all, don’t you think?” asked Fillito. “Queen Rhia, the little princess, and the servant? To defy Rayghast on the eve of battle . . . takes balls.”
Marai smirked to herself, then wove through the city of tents to the outskirts of the encampment, far from the others. There, she parted the canvas flap to enter the ratty tent that housed the fae.
Inside, they were already awake and dressed, faces etched with fear. Thora clung to Raife’s hand, squeezing so hard his fingers turned purple.
All Marai could do was stare at them. Stare and stare, and wonder why in the Unholy Underworld she’d brought them to this place; ushered them to their likely deaths. How could she ever forgive herself if one of them perished?
Unworthy. Ruined. Tainted, that nasty voice echoed in her ears. The voice she’d managed to turn off for days.
Marai combatted the voice with her own. Don’t let them see your fear. You’re the Lady Butcher. You’re Meallán’s heir. You’re their leader, and you do what you must.
It took all of her inner fortitude she had to speak.
“We’re here to fight for all magical folk.“ Her throat burned. A quiver began in her left leg. “Our future. Nevandia can be our home. We can find peace here, shape a future for so many others.”
“Home will wait for every one of us,” said Kadiatu softly, taking Marai’s hand. “It will wait.”
Marai let out a shuddering breath as Kadiatu’s fingers tightened around hers. “Let’s win this battle. Let’s claim victory for ourselves and for our parents. For those we lost, who sacrificed themselves so we could live. Let’s bring honor to the fae.”
The bloodstone ring thrummed, sending a shiver of magic through her. Meallán’s magic, beckoning, beseeching, a shade darker than Marai’s own.
