Page 92 of The Witch Queen

Only two dozen fae remain, though I can’t be sure. Magic continues to batter my shields from all angles, and Lunaria can’t keep herself from the fight, her protective instincts making her absolutely feral. She swipes fae across the chest with her claws. The deep gouges slow them down but don’t stop them entirely. Thorne stands anxiously next to the throne, desire to intervene written clearly across his expression. Several times he steps toward the fight with light gathered in his hands, only to step back. I need to focus, keep my attention away from him, but he’s like a beacon to my magic with all that aether gathered around him.

A blonde female uses her speed to slice Lunaria’s side. It doesn’t bother the cat at all, likely a shallow cut, but I scream in fury, the room shaking with my ire. My eyes lock on Thorne’s, communicating my desire to him instantly with no words. He nods. I see a subtle ray of light appear at Lunaria’s side, lapping against the wound gently until it’s healed.

My brief focus on Lunaria and Thorne costs me, and Krantz has moved in closer, a dagger in each hand. I will them to crumble, but they don’t. Surprise crosses my features, and Krantz smirks. “Some of us have our own secrets,witch,” he hisses before swiping the blade toward my stomach. I block the blow, but just barely. Krantz whips around me, slicing my arm. It’s the first time anyone other than Thorne has spilled my blood in a very long time, and I erupt in fury.

“Get on your knees,” I bellow with the aether-voice, this time with no guilt at using the magic. Krantz hesitates for a moment, like he’s somehow immune to the voice, before dropping to his knees. Something about the movement looks voluntarily, unlike the stilted movements of those around him. About a dozen pairs of hate-filled eyes stare up at me from the ground as I walk slowly toward the group.

“This isn’t the last time you will see us,” Krantz hisses.

I’m about to command them to turn on one another, compel them to slit each other’s throats, my loathing of using the aether-voice in that way be damned. I hesitate for barely a breath, calculating the benefit of keeping them alive for questioning or killing them now. Before I can act, those left alive disappear. They’ve aerstepped out of the palace.

I roar with rage. Thorne appears at my side, magic burned away.

“I hesitated,” I scream, hating myself. “I could have killed them in aninstant, could have ordered them to turn on one another, ordered them to stop breathing. But I hesitated toplan, to determine the perfect course of action, and they got away.” I sink to my knees in anguish, my failure closing in on me. A too familiar weight settles on my chest, restricting my breathing. Thorne sinks to his knees beside me as I try to catch my breath through the panic-induced shortness of breath.

“You can’t blame yourself,” he says gently, rubbing my back. “They brought enough air channelers today that their plan was clearly to leave if they lost.” Lunaria nuzzles her nose into my thigh, and I frantically check the spot where she was cut, but she’s fully healed. Relief makes me breathe out deeply.

“Thank you for helping Lunaria.” I rest my head against her side, letting her intense purring soothe my nerves. “And thank you—thank you for staying out of the fight. I can’t imagine that was easy for you.”

His hands clench, and his eyes harden. “No, it wasn’t.”

The room is littered with dozens of bodies, blood spewed across the floor and dripping from all the water left behind from the fight. “We should get help to clean this up,” I say with a sigh, standing.

“Can’t you just do your poofing trick?” he asks, and I can’t help the small laugh that I let out.

“No. It’s a long story, but once a fae has died, the aether leaves their body. My magic only works when aether is present.” It’s too much information, practically a confession about my magic. But Thorne doesn’t pry, and I’m not panicked about the slip.

“Maybe you should get cleaned up first?” he suggests. “You’re covered in blood, like literally every inch of your body. And you ripped off your skirt, which makes you look a bit unhinged. The smeared red lipstick and smudged kohl doesn’t help with that either. It’ssexy as fuck, but a little scary.” He smirks, and I howl with laughter, clutching my side from the stitches.

“I don’t think anyone has ever told me I looked unhinged,” I say between gulps of air.

“That’s what mates are for, witchling.” He shoves my shoulder with his in a gesture that feels so natural, like we’ve been doing it for centuries.

Rolling my eyes, my magic gathers to aerstep us to my rooms, when I realize the rebels may have gone to the manor, where Carex and his team are sitting targets. “Oakton,” I whisper. “We need to help them.” Thorne’s eyes widen in realization, and I aerstep us to the manor in Oakton, not worried about blowing Thorne’s cover this time. My focus is singular—catch the rebels who got away.

Confused expressions line the faces of Carex and his dozen guards as they stare at the manor when we arrive, though they jump when they notice me.

“What’s going on?” I demand, walking up to Carex. His gray eyes scan up and down my body in shock, and he takes a step back when I reach him. Beside me, Thorne makes a low noise in his throat. Carex bows, but keeps his narrowed eyes locked on Thorne.

“Your Majesty,” Carex says tightly. “You should step away from the Prince.” Now Thorne’s low noise turns into a full out hiss.

“Tell me what’s going on. Now,” I command. Carex swallows and adjusts his grip on his sword.

“The manor is abandoned, Your Majesty. There is no one inside. There are also no signs thatanyonehas been here recently. No furniture, no paperwork, no signs of life at all. The information that this was a rebellion headquarters appears incorrect.” Carex settles his hardened gaze onto Thorne, and I can see the mistrust bubbling in Carex again. The two males stare one another down, tension buzzing between them so thick I can almost see it. I step in before they come to blows.

“Did you check every room?”

“We did, Your Majesty. They either knew we were coming and cleared outvery quickly…” He says the words mockingly, implying it’s an impossibility. “Or—were never here in the first place.”

“Say what you mean,Captain,” Thorne growls with princely haughtiness, eyes narrowed. I turn on him.

“You’re not helping,” I hiss. “Go take a walk.” He does, finding a group of three guards to converse with. The moment he’s gone, Carex relaxes his tense shoulders and steps closer to me.

“Laurel, there wereno signsofanyactivity in that manor. You must know what this means,” Carex murmurs. I ignore his implication.

“Burn it down,” is all I say before walking away from Carex. I won’t entertain his prejudice toward the Velmarans. He tries to protest, but I hold up my hand to silence him and don’t say a word. Blanching, Carex gathers several guards, and together they throw flaming torches into the windows of the manor. Air channelers provide encouragement for the flames, and soon the entire estate is blazing.

“What’s going on here?” a human woman asks behind me. She’s come from the village, and four others stand grouped behind her, likely sent to investigate the glowing flames that appeared in the sky. Her face lights up in fear when I turn toward her, and she takes several steps back. I realize I look like a nightmare, covered in blood and clothing ripped. Thorne returns to my side, placing a hand on my lower back in silent support. “Your… Your Majesty,” she says, bowing quickly. The others around her drop into deep bows.

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