Page 16 of Forgiving a Fae Warrior

“I hope so.” The alternative, that they might be preparing an assault on the Court of the Forest or some other ill ploy, made him queasy. One thing was clear, they weren’t just there to talk, not with a force of that size and dressed in armor.

More members of the Court of Air arrived, the magical impact of their arrival charging the air around them.

“I need to warn the King.” Sylvie met his gaze, her features solemn.

“Let one of the others go.” She wouldn’t be the only one watching this spot. Whoever else was assigned nearby would have felt such a large group arrive, too.

“Galen…”

“We don’t know what they plan. Don’t rush away just yet.”Stay with me.He wanted to beg. If she left now, that might be it. The Court of the Forest could order her to stay there or post her somewhere far from his reach.

Her lips pursed, but she nodded. “You’re right.”

Hopefully.

Galen and Sylvie peeked from their hiding spot toward the group from the Court of Air. The fae filed into ranks, much of their attention poised toward the hill with the strange symbols. So, they’d gotten his message and chose to listen. Though such a force seemed like an overreaction unless they knew something more that the Court of the Forest—or at least Sylvie and Galen—did.

They didn’t have to wait long before another wave of magic washed across them, this one awkward and dissonant, raising the hairs at the back of Galen’s neck. He didn’t need to glance at the hilltop to know Unseelie had appeared. But when he did, he gasped. At their front stood a fae he recognized, Katiya, and in her grip… “Wren.”

His stomach bottomed out. There could be no mistaking it. Though Wren stood, he couldn’t tell if she was hurt.

“Now I have to go,” Sylvie said, never tearing her wide eyes from the group of Unseelie. Though a smaller force than the host from the Court of Air, it was the most Galen had ever seen together. He’d wager the same was true of Sylvie.

Galen gave a jerking nod before grabbing her hand and clenching it tight. “Be safe.”

The Court of Air wouldn’t trifle with the feel of one member of the Forest shifting away. In the wake of this sudden appearance, they might not feel her at all.

Sylvie squeezed his hand in return before dropping it. “You too.”

And then she was gone.

Galen didn’t have the chance to mourn her absence before Sigurd’s pained roar cut through the quiet morning. “Wren!”

Galen lurched back to stare through the opening.

An Unseelie with long white hair stepped forward from Katiya and Wren. “King of Air.” His deep voice boomed across the plane. “I believe I have someone you’ll want returned. Let us discuss terms.”

Galen nearly snorted. As if the Sigurd or the Court of Air would be willing to have some calm discussion while they still held Wren. He watched as Sigurd and his Captain of the Guard, Moria, advanced alone on the Unseelie. Katiya, Wren, and the white-haired male moved to meet them.

One of Galen’s brows arched up. Perhaps someone had knocked some sense into the King of Air. It was unlike him not to fly into a fury. Galen had expected him to charge in, sword raised, a display of magic at hand, and an army at his back. He certainly dressed for it with his winged helm—the figure he cut in his armor was one of terror from the skies. But eerie calm seemed to shroud him instead.

Perhaps love really could change someone.

The two groups met, a few sword lengths of distance still separating them. Some discussion took place, but through Galen strained his ears, he couldn’t make it out.

Please come to some agreement. Let Wren go free.It was a fool’s hope, but all he had to offer as he watched in silence, waiting for something to happen.

Every muscle in his body stiffened as Katiya pulled Wren back toward the Unseelie. “No. Damnit!” He slammed his hand on a rock. Moria, too, retreated to the host of Air, leaving Sigurd facing the lone Unseelie warrior.

The two men drew swords, and Galen scowled at the scene.A duel? Seriously?What could one Unseelie hope to do against the King of Air? That had to be good news for Wren, though. For once, he was grateful for all of Sigurd’s arrogance and power. Win the fight quickly. Get Wren back. Be done with it. Then she would be safe from the mess Galen dragged her into.

Galen found Wren again where she stood next to Katiya, likely locked in her grip. But from what he could make out at a distance, she didn’t seem relieved—the opposite. His brows pinched. Surely she knew Sigurd’s power.

The distant clang of metal rang out, Sigurd and the Unseelie meeting in a show of swordplay. The two appeared evenly matched, meeting one another blow for blow, but that shouldn’t be possible. “Why drag it out?” Galen mumbled. There was no need to put on a show. If given the chance to fight, Galen wouldn’t hesitate to finish the farce as quickly as possible and free Wren, and she wasn’t even his mate.

Tiny fingers of cold dread crawled around his chest and wormed their way inside as he watched.

With one fierce blow from his sword, the pale-haired stranger knocked Sigurd back, earning cheers from the group of Unseelie gathered on the hilltop. Galen’s stomach bottomed out, and he swayed on his feet. It wasn’t a farce. That single Unseelie was as strong as the King of Air.

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