Page 91 of A War of Three Kings

It is difficult to resist the urge to push all of them out of my way with a blast of air magic. I physically lift the next inattentive person who almost slams into me, grabbing him around the shoulders and placing him down hard next to me.

In the gap left behind him, Keira stares up at me in shock, with those hazel eyes and that beautiful face crowned by a mane of red-and-gold curls. She keeps her distance, and it kills me. Even now, moments before a battle, we have to keep the love between us hidden.

Someone pushes into Keira from behind and she stumbles into my arms, looking up at me with a pale face.

By the darkest realm, I am so sick of worrying about politics.

I lean down and kiss her hard on those soft, rosebud lips. Keira melts into me, her lips sliding against mine. I want to feel the curves of her body. My fingers roam for them, but I can’t get access through her armor. I have to settle for her mouth and tongue instead.

All too soon, she pulls away from me.

“I’ll see you on the other side of the battle, dear heart,” I murmur.

She nods, but I have to pry her fingers off my chest plate.

Behind her, the Countess Lynna and Lord Bradford gawk at us, both in armor and chain mail. I wink unapologetically at them.

Keira seems to shake herself and squeezes my hand. “On the other side of the battle, my heart.” Then she disappears into the crowd with the lesser nobles, pulled swiftly away by all the other bodies.

It is the hardest thing I have ever done, leaving Keira to her fate in the coming battle. Every part of my being wants to hide her safely away. To command my people to grab her and run hard for Appleshield, despite what she wants. To force her to fight at my side, where I can personally protect her.

But those aren’t my choices to make.

She is her own person and has a right to fight for her kingdom. Keira should be placed whereherstrengths lie, not where I want her.

I make my way to my team’s station, on the lowest battlements that hug the foot of the western mountain. Below us is a steep drop of craggy rock, with spindly trees and vegetation growing in every nook and cranny. They connect a path from where I stand down to the great ash trees we grew to line the battlefield, their roots crisscrossing beneath the entire land.

Drake, Silvan and Klara are already in position with others, giving me an assortment of grunts as acknowledgement as I reach them.

Drake slaps me on the back. “It’s about time you joined us.”

“Who’s ready to show these humans what a real battle looks like?” Silvan shocks us all by smiling, and the sight is truly terrifying, all sharp teeth and viciousness.

“Silvan, please remember who the enemy is here, and don’t take out the Lord Protector or High Priestess instead,” Klara says, as though the thought of managing Silvan’s bloodlust gives her a tension headache.

“Damn, now I’m tempted,” Drake says, earning a dark look from Klara.

“No one is taking out any of Keira’s family members.” I point at Silvan, then Drake. “Because it will make her sad, and I’m not letting any of you assholes ruin her day.”

“What? Like this impending battle and war isn’t already ruining it?” Drake spreads his arms wide. “I can make it look like this King Finan did it, then our hands are clean.”

I give him a simmering stare, but can’t help the amusement that flows through me. “I mean it. Now get to your fucking station.”

More of our people funnel in until there is a force of thirty fae at my disposal. I direct half of them to the great bolt launchers stationed along this entire wall, built of metal and capable of swiveling on the spot. Piles of bolts tipped with pointed heads lie beside them, each as long as my leg, and my people sort through them.

They channel their magic into the metal shafts. A power that is the opposite of healing, something hungry that sucks the life from a body. These bolts will shatter upon initial impact, and the shrapnel will be guided into as many bodies as possible.

On the far side of the fortress, where its battlements and towers colonize the foot of the eastern mountain, Cyprien is visible, barking orders at his force of fae.

We wait and wait. The sun moves out from behind the mountain as the enemy army organizes themselves. Their shield wall has dissolved, and long columns of soldiers face us, stretching back toward the horizon like three black smears across the earth.

It is what prowls between those columns that turns my blood cold. Huge beasts that are barely restrained by leashes held by multiple soldiers. They are pitch black and the size of horses, snarling and rearing on two legs.

“What in all the unholy realms are those?” Drake curses beside me. “They look like the monstrous hounds that ride with the Wild Hunt of the Shadow Court.”

A shiver runs down my spine at its mention. “Some sort of war dog,” I mutter back, regretting not having a single human on this wing to question.

A distant horn blows a long, low note, and that enemy mass marches. The pound of near ten thousand boots striking the ground and as many sets of armor clanging with each step reverberates across the mountains. It echoes and intensifies until it is almost deafening. Then they bang their swords against their shields and chant.

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