Page 51 of The Savage Queen

“Neither is the one I run from.”

TheFaeraktilted her head to the side.

“The late prince died and so you have a duty to inherit what he could not. I’d be doing an injustice to all of Roktling to encourage you to become aFaerak.”

Dagfin flinched at the mention of his eldest brother.

Adair was born to rule, not Dagfin. Dagfin preferred fighting invisible beasts in the forest at Aisling’s side. Not learning politics nor enduring endless lectures. And when Adair had fallen ill and collapsed, had passed on to the Other, Dagfin was no more suited for the crown than before his brother left him.Abandoned him to inherit his ghost. Something that was never his to begin with.

“If you don’t take me with you, I’ll find another way to circumvent my legacy. I’ll run, I’ll disappear, I’ll?—”

“Enough, prince.”

“No!” Dagfin shouted. “I’ll not waste a life Adair couldn’t live, ruling from a throne. I do not wish: Iwillmake a difference with my own two hands. Fighting that which threatens humankind in the periphery whether I die trying or live to make my life worth anything.”

Silence was thick, scoffed at by the echoes of Dagfin’s voice still ricocheting off Roktling’s bronze walls.

At last, theFaerakshifted, crossing her arms.

“I’ll take you with me on one condition, prince.”

“Anything.”

“You vow that when the day comes, you’ll inherit your crown. Vow to me, to Feradach, to Roktling.”

Dagfin paled, unable to swallow the stone lodged in his throat. He opened his mouth to argue, to scream, to curse death and its greedy hands for taking what was never theirs to begin with.

Instead, he closed his eyes and nodded.

TheFaerakinhaled deeply before turning on her heel for the doors.

“Once I have approval from Feradach, we’ll begin your training. And you’ll have your first taste of Ocras.”

Dagfin shook his head, batting away the memories.

Unwanted thoughts heralded by the smell of the arena in which they stood. A colossal structure supported by statuescarved in the likeness of hands, cradling the stadium even as winter encased them in glass.

The roar of spectators thrummed through his core. Thousands of bipedal beasts and fair folk alike, shouting from the rafters with their fists in the air.

As honored guests, Dagfin, Starn, Iarbonel, Fergus, and Killian stood next to Fionn’s royal box. All save for Annind still recovering in his private chambers somewhere in the pits of Oighir.

Dagfin desperately tried to focus on the fae king at the center of the arena, twirling his axes between his hands. Yet Dagfin couldn’t help the way his eyes kept darting to Aisling, sitting beside Fionn. A space surrounded by Sidhe guards, plush with silver furs. That armored bear lingering at Aisling’s side.

She gripped the arms of her throne, eyes pinned to Lir. Her mouth pressed into a thin white line. Concern riddled across the tense arch of her shoulders. And at the sight of it, Dagfin’s chest tightened.

“Keep your focus, Fin,” Killian whispered beside him.

Starn nodded in agreement. “Any hint of disaster and our opportunity to flee is nigh.”

“I already told you: I’m not leaving without Aisling.”

“She made her loyalties clear the last time we spoke with her. She wishes to go forward alone.”

Starn cleared his throat. “Aye, you may not have a choice.”

“I never had a choice to begin with,” Dagfin replied. “There was never a possibility of me leaving without her.”

Starn opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, Dagfin moved through the fair folk and to Fionn’s royal box.

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