Page 108 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Rhoswyn

“They didn’t hurt one another?” I confirm, for the hundredth time, as Maeve forces me to dodge yet another strike of her sword.

It’s morning—barely. I slept the whole night through, which I suspect might’ve been down to pure exhaustion after the long day I had before. Maeve seems to have judged today as the day to return to her old habits. She woke me an hour ago and dragged my butt out of bed to do her ‘improved’ drills.

I knew she was holding back when I was human. I never realised how much.

Her newest training regime involves her trying to hit me with her sword and me doing my best to dodge.

Since I can’t feel the sword she’s aiming at me, Titania calls out every time I take a hit.

I almost preferred being drilled on how to escape an intangible abductor. At least the old sessions were mercifully short on account of my frailty.

“No,” Mab replies, from her perch on the bench. “Although, the posturing was… intense. Florian is definitely his fathers’ son. Fortunately, your Winter Court fae insisted he was not to be harmed in case you felt the effects.”

Drystan did that? That’s almost… sweet of him. I didn’t think he cared.

Or maybe he just didn’t want me causing any more scenes.

My distraction costs me. Maeve’s sword passes right through my gut, and Titania sighs, not even bothering to announce it.

“You’ve distracted her,” Maeve complains. “She was improving until then.”

“That she can dodge is good enough for me,” Titania murmurs. “You’ve not praised her at all this session.”

Maeve scoffs. “Over-inflated egos have killed more fae soldiers than any Fomorian.”

I swipe a hand across my forehead and shake my head. “Believe me, my ego is very much under control,” I pant. “I’m stopping for the day. It’s nearly dawn, and Florian’s supposed to be coming to teach me to use my wings.”

“We tried to teach you to use your wings,” Maeve grumbles, but I ignore her.

I smooth my hands down my tunic and over the leggings I’m wearing nervously. I’m still getting used to the idea of females wearing anything other than dresses, so this feels weird. I can’t decide if I like the lack of swishing fabric when I move, or not. Still, the maids insisted this would be best for flying, and I’ll admit it was helpful for Maeve’s morning brand of torture, so maybe they’re right this time.

I don’t care what my males say about the fae not minding nudity, I do not want to flash my underthings to all and sundry when I inevitably fail at flying and fall face-first into a bush.

Given my Guard’s actions in Siabetha, I’m not sure they’d be so fond of the idea of others seeing me in such a state of disarray either.

“And Caed’s in the dungeon?”

I’m still reeling over the fact that such a beautiful palace has a dungeon.

“Yup.”

Would the others let me visit? Probably not. Even if he is locked away, they certainly consider him dangerous. I get that… but I’m so curious about him that I’ve considered sneaking down to question him myself a dozen times already.

Why did he accept a position in my Guard if he wants me dead? Why are his people at war with mine? Why did he come here alone?

Wait… How are they stopping him from using his magic to just kill his way out of there?

I don’t get a chance to ask that question because the quiet chime hidden somewhere inside the garden tinkles, announcing a visitor.

There, at the archway which marks the end of my garden and the start of the staircase to the lower platforms, is Florian. My brother is balancing two plates in one hand, and two mugs in the other as he waits for permission to enter.

My three guides disappear, giving us some privacy as I head towards him and gently remove the cups from his precarious grip.

“I brought breakfast,” he grumbles. “Your maids said you hadn’t eaten.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, once again intimidated by his size. “You didn’t have to.”

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