Page 40 of The Crowned Fae Queen
He is right. It isn’t that easy, and it wouldn’t be that easy. Because even if we can turn the fountain off, all that poisoned water will be sitting in the plumbing in everyone's houses.Staling.
My hands grip my hood, holding it close to my face to keep the rough brush of wind from burning my cheeks. Though they are likely red anyway.
The careless, caressing breeze rushes over the carriage, crying out with a howl as we step in. Velvet seats cushion us. Our hands intertwine, Iri’s thumb stroking over my own. My head bumps the back wall as I lean back with a sigh.
“We’re gonna fix this, Syren. We are finally going to fix this.” Iri beams, triumph clear on his face.
I laugh, because he is right. Aisha is behind bars, we know what she’s using, and we know where she's distributing it. We solved the mystery. Damn, does that make me a detective now?
Water witch, queen, and detective. What a hard-earned little title.
Horses neigh before the carriage lurches forward. Despite the closed door and windows, the bite of winter still seeps into the car. Heat radiates off of Iri like he’s a hot skillet. I’ll pretend to be butter and slather myself all over him. With a whimsical smirk at my own thoughts, I lean into him, resting my head gently against his shoulder. The trembles from the cold settle as Iri’s heat travels through me. He presses his lips against my hairline, a happy hum vibrating there on my forehead.
The carriage slows. Rocks and dips in the road bounce us in exaggerated movements before we come to a stop. A window slides open, revealing the drivers strained face.
“My King, there is still a large group of citizens waiting outside the gates. Do you wish to proceed?”
“Do they look happy?”
The drive scrunches his nose. “They do not look happy, no.”
“Are they holding pitchforks and torches?”
I don’t pass a look toward Bear, but I can feel in my mind's eyes the playful lift of a brow and a sarcastic twist in his lips.
“No, they are just camping.”
“Okay, carry on then.”
The driver closes the window, his voice carrying as he shouts for the gates to be opened. Voices rise in a chorus, guards shout to guards, murmurs from the outside crowd rise, and our carriage lurches forward once more.
Fae stand, raising their hands in balled up fists, anger twisting their faces. This is a much different view than the waving crowd during the Cursebreaker festival. They don’t look at me like a savior anymore.
A guilty part of me misses that feeling. I’m no stranger to being rejected. My dad didn’t want me. My now husband banished me. But the people, they’ve always adored me. Adoration is far from their thoughts, if I had to guess. They look more like they want to string us both up by our toes. Which would explain the attempt on the castle. Maybe a public appearance isn’t such a good idea...
“We should have taken an alternative route,” I whisper like the waiting crowd can hear me through the carriage walls.
“I...” his lips part, closing then opening once more. “I was so focused on just getting out there to see what we can do. I thought the crowds would be fewer and calmer by now.” The muscles in his forearm cord as he grips my hand tighter.
Horses carrying armor-clad guards gallop around the carriage, attempting to push the crowd back. Their shining metal backs providing a minor relief from the view of upset citizens.
Thunder rumbles in the sky, the growling shouts of people growing near a replication of the noise. The horses shuffle closer. I hear the singing of a sword, the cry of someone cut down. Is it a guard, or is it one of the rioters?
My eyes search in what becomes chaos outside the windows. Iri’s arms reach over my body, pinning me behind him. Red embers singe the back of his shirt. People dart back and forth, a swaying storm of movement just out of our reach. Bear’s free hand lights with a brilliant orange flame just as the carriage door cracks open.
“King Iri, Princess Syren, you must flee now. More fae have appeared, joining the rioters, and we fear they can’t be held much longer. I will make a way for you, then you must return to the castle.” Rigs growls, his eyes passing over our faces then down to Bear’s burning hand. He breaks the gaze and turns his body to kick a heavy boot into the gut of a man who broke through the lines with a loud grunt. “It isn’t looking good. So, time is of the essence.”
We leave now. Stay close.
He doesn’t have to say it. He doesn’t even need to think about it. I know what we have to do.
Rigs pulls his sword free from his belt. Guards became a wall around us, around the buggy. I feel small in comparison to the wild around us. I want to be even smaller so they can’t see us flee, can’t follow us or charge at us.
Iri wants to be smaller, too. His shoulders slump, his knees slightly bent like he could hide behind his men. To them, it probably looks like hiding or what they might think is cowering. To him, it is another way of protecting his people.
Should the crowd pinpoint us and rally against our nearest guards, should they break through, Iri won’t hesitate to unleash the wrath of his powers against them. I will not be harmed. But if that can be avoided, then we will try.
Bear wraps my hand in his, holding it gently enough not to hurt but hard enough for me to know better than to let go. Together, we slip through the cracked door following Rigs. Men weave in a line that waves against the beating the crowd presses into their shields.
