Page 112 of Destined for the Fae King

“Right away,” he responses, grabbing Adeline and moving her toward the door. The other women follow, guards ushering them away. A pair help the dowager to her feet, and for once, she doesn’t rebuke their assistance.

“Tharin.” I pull the ring from around my neck and hold it up. “Take me to Lysandir.”

He gathers the ring into my palm and clasps it between our hands. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.” I can help. I can do something more than hide. And I will not lose him now.

Chapter 43

There’s no time toworry or second-guess before we’re shifting. My feet land on lush ground. A forest cloaked in night appears around us, bits of flame burning on grass and shrubbery. A few dark masses lie unmoving. Cries ring out in the distance. I blink, trying to adjust my sight to the dimness when a groan of pure agony emanates from a few feet away.

A figure in golden armor kneels on the ground, body hunched over in the grass, hands grasping their head as they rock and writhe in pain.

My heart skips a beat then stops altogether before jolting into a gallop.

“Lysandir!” I lunge toward him and drop to my knees at his side, letting the spear fall between us. Then my hands are on him, trying in vain to discover where he’s injured as he rocks and holds his head like it might split in two.

“Where are you hurt? What’s happened?” I ask, but he doesn’t respond.

“It’s the magic settling on him,” Tharin says, coming to crouch beside us.

“The magic?”

“The king’s magic.” Tharin places his hand on Lysandir’s back. “Lysandir is the King of Fire now.”

Lysandir is…A tear wells up from nowhere and slides down my cheek. The king is truly dead then.

“Mira.” Lysandir reaches out and grabs a fistful of my dress.

“I’m here.” I caress his armor, not that he can likely feel it.

“No,” he groans. “You must go.” Lysandir plants his hands on the ground but struggles to push himself up, almost like the weight of a beast sits upon his back.

“I’m not leaving you here.” I grab his arm and try to help him sit.

He stiffens under my grip. “The spear.” He twists his head to stare at me in horror. “My mother?”

“Is fine.”

His whole body sags in relief.

“She sent me here to help you.” I grab the spear, and with Tharin’s help, we get Lysandir to his feet.

“The battle nears,” Tharin says urgently. “I can shift you both away.”

“That would—” Lysandir’s attention shifts past his friend toward the something in the distance. Before I can glimpse it, he shoves me behind him and pulls his sword free. Tharin whirls and does the same.

“We must go.” Tharin snaps. “Now!”

“No.” Lysandir growls. Waves of magic pour from him, creating a corona of fiery light.

I lean around Lysandir and stare at the wavering shadows beneath a thick grove of trees. A gasp lodges in my throat as I spy figures stalking our way. Several stop, but one advances, stepping out into the small clearing we occupy.

The light from a smoldering bush shines on the figure’s black armor. Spikes protrude from the shoulders and upper arms. Long,pale hair shimmers like a banner from under their dark, fearsome helm and falls in a cascade down their back. They carry two objects, one a long sword dripping red with blood, the other, a golden helm decorated with a crown of flame.

The sight strips the heat from my body. I clutch the spear tight to my chest.

I know who stands before us.

---