Page 106 of Wrath of the Fae Queen
I shiver as a chill runs down my spine.
Jasper carries me in his arms as his Royal Guards flock around him and make their way to the dungeons. My consciousness blacks in and out. Sometimes, I am in my own body, passing through corridors and down staircases. At others, I am seeing a world tinted in red through Aldrin’s eyes. An overwhelming, impotent rage consumes him as he and the other dragon riders land on the ground at the base of the palace, behind the line of Truth Templars that fight our army, slaughtering them from another angle.
While my king fights, he speaks to the entire city through the plinths. His voice rings in my head. “This is how your High Chancellor reacts when questioned. With violence and brutality. She immediately turns her people against each other and creates a bloodbath in the city to avoid those questions. Only a guilty person would do this. One who has so much to hide, she refuses a trial. See how she throws a man to his death for no good reason, and tries to kill your queen. The lives of other fae mean very little to her. And where is she now, while her people bleed and die for her? Hiding.”
I follow him for as long as I can in those small, intense snippets, until I am lowered into my cage and the bars are closed around me.
For every enemy Aldrin dispatches, two more arrive.
Panic fills me at the gruesome scenes around him: the blood-soaked boardwalks, the frenzied civilians hacking at soldiers like mad beasts, the thick press of bodies. I stay with him as he takes out his fury, his absolute devastation at losing me, on Truth Templars and Wildrose Guards, until the last of my magic fizzles out and the poison takes over completely.
I am left with nothing but the bitter taste of Aldrin’s emotions. He blames himself for my capture, but we could not have anticipatedthis.That Titania could use the bargain to call me back to her at will.
I black out and fall into oblivion, waiting for Torin to arrive to torture me.
Iwake up to the sound of guttural voices arguing in hushed whispers. The moment I peel open my eyes, dragging in a sharp breath and abruptly sitting up, they fall into silence. My head is so groggy I can hardly think straight.
For a heartbeat, I have no idea where I am.Then it all comes rushing back to me.
The parade. The battle.
The fact that we underestimated Titania’s influence over the people. There must have been a quarter of the city that rose to her call.
How we lost the confrontation.
The mustiness of the air, the scratching of vermin on the hay-covered floor and the dimness of the space tells me exactly where I am before my vision has a chance to focus on the walls of bars. I would have expected the dungeons to be left in darkness, but Titania is terrified of shadows now. There is just enough light to cast the space in an even glow, with no inky tendrils in the corners that Valentine or Belladonna could teleport into.
Unfortunately, it means I can see the occupants in the neighboring cell with enough clarity to be terrified.
Three huge men, if that is what they can be called, taller and broader than even Aldrin. Their arms are almost as thick as my waist, and I am not skinny by any definition.Their skin is green, their eyes yellow, and tusks poke out from their bottom lips. Scars crisscross much of their exposed chests, covered only by necklaces of bone. An assortment of leather straps, beads and fur trimmings make up their arm braces, and thick belts wrap around heavy kilt-like skirts that drape almost to the ground.
Orcs.
By the Soul Ripper, why are there orcs from the Winter Court in these dungeons?
My grandmother spoke of the redcap goblins she fought. How they fell into bloodlust and slaughtered mindlessly, uncontrollably, just to smear the blood of their victims across their bodies.
Orcs are so much worse.
Intelligent. Crafty. Immensely brutal.
It is said that they eat humans as a delicacy. That they devour the raw flesh of high fae on the battlefield. That they lead armies of redcap goblins to pillage innocent villages and towns.
I stare and stare at them with wide eyes and a racing heart that I am sure they can hear, and they glare right back at me. One walks up to the bars separating them from me, wrapping meaty fingers around them as he considers me.
“Are you the rightful Queen of Spring?” he asks with a thick, guttural accent. “The one who has been protecting the Winter Princess?”
I jolt. Those words are nothing like the threats and vicious promises I expected to pour out of his mouth. The question is so commonplace that it jars me out of my fear for a single moment.
I raise my chin, because despite how much physically stronger than me they might be, I will cower before no one. “I am,” I reply.
“Then you have our thanks,” he says simply.
“That battle up there.” Another sitting on a cushion tips his head toward a window high on the wall. “Was Sasha involved in it?”
“Not that I saw. It was a confrontation between the High Chancellor and the true crown.” I try to stand, but immediately regret it as the world spins around me and I slump back onto my hard pallet.
“And you ended up in here. Means you lost. Not a good fucking sign for us,” the lounging orc replies, then returns to the chunk of wood he is whittling with a sharpened claw.
