Page 76 of A War of Three Kings

I pull my sword off my back and place it on the table, then unstrap multiple throwing knives from my thighs and along my ribs, ten in total.

The guard raises his eyebrows at me. “Do you have enough weapons?”

“It’s never enough when surrounded by humans that want you dead.”

The guard’s eyes fly up to my peaked ears and he cowers back a step.

Keira places a single knife on the table, with two large rubies on the hilt and flowers adorning the handle in gold wire. The dagger that belonged to my mother. The one she won in a bargain from me. It warms my heart to see that she carries it. The sentiment doesn’t last long as we are all but pushed into the pavilion by the lords behind us, waiting to get in.

The interior of the pavilion is immense and stupidly opulent. Every inch of the ground is covered by intricately patterned rugs so this king doesn’t have to suffer the inconvenience of stepping on dirt. There are cushioned chairs arranged in a circle for the meeting, with small tables between them, holding golden cups and jugs of wine.

In the corner is a desk with curled-up maps piled on it. Through the gap in a set of curtains, there is a proper bed with furs and pillows tossed across it. No wonder it has taken them so long to travel here. The king isn’t willing to give up any of his luxuries.

In the center of the pavilion, a slight man paces back and forth with agitation. Tight blue-black ringlets bounce around his face, and the mental image of this ridiculous man sleeping with rollers in his hair each night flashes in my mind.

Keira’s breath hitches. I want to put out an arm and hold her behind me, to protect her from all of this, but a guard would not touch her. It is the hardest thing to not stop her as she steps out from behind me.

The mad king’s ice-blue eyes fall on Keira and focus. He stops pacing.

“My king, on behalf of the Mothers of Magic, I thank you for agreeing to these talks regarding one of my priestesses.” The High Priestess bows lightly to him. Edmund, Caitlin and the lords who have entered do the same.

The king completely ignores them and stalks straight to Keira. She freezes on the spot and jolts as Finan places his handson her arms and looks her up and down, then stares into her face. Keira stands so still I wonder if she even dares to breathe. I grind my teeth as every instinct screams at me to break his filthy hands for daring to touch her again. He has lost that privilege.

“They have not hurt you, have they?” Finan’s voice is raw, and his eyebrows meet in the middle.

“Who do you think was hurting me?” she mutters.

“The fae. The ones that took you.” His voice breaks.

“Finan, can we all sit and talk about this?” she pleads. “Can you promise me you will listen?”

The mad king looks like he will refuse to let her go, but finally removes his hands from her in an exaggerated motion. I find myself able to breathe again.

“For you, I can do anything.” He smiles and dimples form in his cheeks. I am already thinking up a hundred different creative ways to kill him. My fingers twitch with the need to end him.

“Can you?” Keira murmurs.

“Priestess Keira, allow me to escort you to a seat.” I can’t help the hint of roughness in my voice as I take her elbow and lead her away.

“And who areyou?” The king’s lips twist in a snarl as his eyes fall to me, then to my fingers that touch her, like he has any right to be protective.

By the gods, I want to tell him that Keira is mine. That I am the man she loves, the one she left him for and fucks with passion. It takes everything in me to school my features into a neutral mask.

“Aldrin is my bodyguard,” Keira says levelly. My false identity, straight out of her mouth, hurts like an arrow through the chest, despite the necessity of the lie.

Finan’s eyes narrow on me, jealousy still sparking within them, but then he notices my pointed ears. His face turns slack with fear, and he backs away, staring at me like I am a monster.Within heartbeats, he is paces away from us, abandoning Keira to the perceived threat. He doesn’t try to protect her or fight for her, only to save himself.

This pathetic king is a big enough man to march an army across the kingdom for Keira, to risk other people’s lives and homes, but he won’t lift a finger himself.

“He is fae! It is true!” Finan practically squeals.

“It’s okay. Aldrin is here at my request,” Keira insists.

“Guards!” Finan’s voice is high-pitched as his eyes dart wildly. He whips around to the lord who sits in the circle of chairs next to Prince Niall. “Lord Desmond! Why aren’t you doing something about this fae?”

Lord Desmond folds his arms. “Calm yourself, Finan. We know they are working with the fae. This was inevitable. Why don’t you sit down, and we’ll ask them about it,” he says through clenched teeth, as though explaining something to a wayward child.

Lord Desmond’s black eyes are cold as they fall upon the king. A long scar cuts across the left side of his forehead and down his cheek, just missing the eye. He is a distinguished-looking man, with shoulder-length gray hair half pulled back and a short-cropped beard.

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