Page 67 of Atop the Faerie Throne
Fuck. “You want another mead?”
I’m not the male for talking about feelings, but if he wants to drink them away… I owe him that much.
“Did someone say more mead?” A familiar hulking redhead bursts into our bubble with far too much exuberance. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Prince Madoc,” Jaro greets him. “I’m not sure if you’ve met Prince Caedmon.”
“Briefly,” the huge male says. “Has he met the rest of the clan?”
I hesitate, realising that allfiveof Rose’s brothers have appeared while Jaro and I were talking, and all of them are now glaring at me. Fuck. When a female’s kin starts surrounding you, you know things are going downhill fast.
Uther folds his arms over the blood-stained temple robes he’s wearing, and the other four follow suit.
“If you’re going to beat my ass into a pulp,” I grumble. “Can it wait until after my hangover tomorrow?”
Florian is the first to crack, his grin breaking free and stunning me into silence. “Why would we do that… brother?”
That’s not as reassuring as I think he meant it to be.
“However,” Roark says, thrusting a huge tankard of something that smells far stronger than mead into my hand. “There are a few… injustices that we need to get straightened out before we accept you as part of the family.”
Oh great. “I’ve been tortured more times than I can count since I met your sister,” I say dryly. “Surely the injustices are all accounted for by now?”
“Those ones, yes.” Dare drags me into his hold before I can step away.
I grimace, knowing I’m about to be stuck to something horrible and praying it isn’t Drystan. “But we were referring to the injustices of a half-fae having missed out on his heritage for nearly forty years.”
Every muscle in my body freezes in shock, then tenses some more. They’re… being nice? Fuck. HaveIdrunk too much mead? Is this a trap?
Uther takes my other side, ducking his head down to my ear. “Consider this Bram’s last gift.”
Bram.
My throat locks up, and I take a reflexive gulp of whatever is in my tankard as I meet the priest’s blue gaze. He’s a medium—a fae with magic that allows him to hear spirits. I don’t think he’d mislead me, which means Bram really did ask them to do this.
“We’re starting with the time-honoured fae tradition of trying to arm wrestle an ogre,” Dare announces. “It’s practically a rite of adulthood for most high fae.”
“I managed to win, unlike the rest of you.” Roark’s grin is too wide, telling me without words that he cheated.
“That’s because you slipped something into his drink, and the poor ogre ended up so off his face he couldn’t tell which way was up,” Florian points out. “Caed’s going to do it properly.”
Fuck. Goddess—Ancestors—Anyone. Save me.
Twenty-Two
Rhoswyn
There’s a distinctly hungover feeling in the air as we ride through the sunny meadows of Elfhame the next morning. Despite all of us drinking the astringent pink potion Kitarni said would help, my head is still a little foggy, and I yawn for the tenth time in an hour. Caed, in particular, is red-eyed and gaunt as he slumps over the neck of his horse, cradling his right arm like it’s broken.
I offered to heal him, but he waved me off, muttering something about it being a waste of my magic. Now he’s riding alongside Lore, enduring the redcap’s increasingly outlandish suggestions for hangover cures. Even Jaro groans when he suggests drinking kelpie piss, and Bree mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘we’ve all tried that one.’
Wraith is the most energetic of us all, and I pet his soft fur affectionately as he follows obediently behind Blizzard as Drystan leads us north.
The first camp is the one on the bank at the source of the Torvyn. Lore blinked us all closer in an attempt to get ahead ofElatha, and I almost don’t recognise the place for a moment, but when I do, I shiver.
“This is where…” I begin, trailing off.
Caed brought me here after he first captured me, all those months ago. The warriors here threw stones at me and forced me aboard that awful ship.
