Page 17 of To Wake a Kingdom

The two Fae jumped down from the platform, their movements lithe and effortless, like waves gliding over shifting sand. They left the ten massacred bodies behind. A reminder to the people of Tenby of the cost of rebellion. For remaining loyal to Ravalyn. I watched as the Fae disappeared between the rows of buildings, the silver-haired demon flashing one final fleeting glance in my direction.

Chapter Eight

Thedayhadpassedin a blur, and now the sun was setting. I considered turning back to the castle, but riding at night didn’t seem prudent. Instead, I steered Slumber down a wide, cheerful street lit with lamps and bustling with people.

It was such a direct contrast to the horrific sight I’d just witnessed that it took me a moment to orient myself to the abrupt shift in tension. A tidy inn sat at the end of the block, and I directed Slumber toward it. Though I knew a woman traveling alone would raise suspicion, one roaming the roads at night would only invite trouble. I had more than enough of that to contend with at the moment.

Pulling up on Slumber’s reins, I dismounted and entered the Whitefeather’s spacious common room. A stout woman wiped the shiny bar counter lined with stools.

“A room for the night,” I said. She regarded me with a raised eyebrow, wringing the cloth in her hands. “Please,” I added. Here, I was not a princess. Here, it was imperative I remain no one.

“Just you?” She wiped her hands on the rag, watching the door as if expecting a companion. A husband or perhaps a brother.

“Just me. I’m traveling to my aunt’s in Kenthon. She is very ill.” I plucked the name from my memory. A city a day’s ride from here. The woman nodded, apparently satisfied with my explanation.

“Very well.” She reached under the bar and pulled out a large iron key. “Third floor, last door on the left. It should suit you well.”

“And my horse?”

“I’ll have it seen to.”

I took the key, nodding gratefully, and made my way upstairs.

As I descended from my room a short while later, the inn’s common room buzzed with low conversation. I’d cleaned myself up and found a quiet booth in the corner that offered a wide view of the room without exposing me to prying eyes. What I’d heard in the square earlier left me feeling exposed. If King Goldraven had claimed Ravalyn, he wouldn’t welcome my family’s return.

Verna, the inn’s landlady, had taken it upon herself to see I was cared for, fussing over me and bringing me a hearty stew, a loaf of soft white bread, and a large tankard of ale. I suspected she hadn’t believed my lie about visiting a sick aunt, but she said nothing as she left my table.

I took a hesitant sip of the foaming cup; I’d never had ale before. It was bitter and made my tongue curl, but it also tasted like a tentative kind of freedom. I’d never been on my own like this, responsible solely for myself. I took a bigger gulp, wiping the froth from my upper lip. A small belch hiccupped from my mouth, and I snickered. If only Kianna could see me now. Maybe I’d bring some of this back with me.

A constant hum of noise was subdued by the memory of the slain prisoners. Who was this tyrant who had claimed my kingdom? What kind of man would allow such a demonstration to keep control? The prisoner had called the Fae liars, and I wondered whose truth the people of Tenby believed.

The tavern door opened, letting in swirls of frigid air. A light snow was falling, and I wrapped my shawl tighter as I wriggled into my seat.

The same armored soldiers I had noted at the execution entered. Two men and one woman, all armed and brimming with authority. My attention slid to the tall and muscular man standing in front, who must have been only a few years older than me. His black hair fell past his shoulders, the sides lined with two thick braids running along each side of his head. A pair of intense green eyes were set between a straight nose and high cheekbones that mirrored the lethal cut of his jaw.

My reaction straddled the line between flustered and captivated as I stared at his full mouth and the way he filled out the lines of his armor with the power and grace of a lion. He stood separate from his surroundings, more vivid and his edges crisper, as if someone had glued him to a blank sheet of paper. As he surveyed the room with the focus of a hunter, several other patrons stole secret glances his way.

This was stupid. I didn’t have time for distractions, no matter how beautiful and chiseled they might be. Still, I couldn’t take my eyes off him and enjoyed the view from a distance as he signaled to Verna and the three soldiers slid into the booth next to mine.

Hidden in the corner, I didn’t think they’d noticed me. A moment later, a fourth person—an older man with graying brown hair and dressed in light brown leather—joined their table. Verna ambled over with tankards of ale for each, slamming them down on the surface. She chatted for a few minutes, clearly familiar with their presence.

“Enjoy,” she said with a wink directed at the handsome one. Though she was old enough to be his mother, she was definitely flirting, and I smiled into my cup.

The four companions sat silently for a few minutes after Verna left, taking sips of their ale. Then the handsome one—in a low voice, clearly meant to be concealed from eavesdroppers—said, “This is where the trail goes cold.”

Though I felt guilty for listening, I also scooted in closer so I could hear better. This man intrigued me. There was no harm in learning something about him.

“His guards claim he took a room and were stationed all around it, but in the morning, it was empty. His sword, his boots, his horse—all gone. No signs of struggle or foul play.”

“He wouldn’t have wandered off on his own, Ronan,” said the pale woman sitting to his left. It was surprising to see her in armor—my father’s soldiers had never included women. She was beautiful in a ferocious way, like a panther coiled to strike. Her long red hair was shaved along one side of her head, the rest plaited in an array of braids of varying thickness. Her light gray eyes wandered the room, assessing everything.

“It seems like that’s exactly what he did,” Ronan replied as he looked thoughtfully into his cup.“No one has come forward to claim a ransom or declare war. None of his guards saw anything. It’s like he did indeed decide to walk away, but that makes no sense. That, or he disappeared into thin air.”

Frustration in his voice, whoever he was talking about mattered a great deal to him.

“Let’s knock on some doors,” said the man sitting across from Ronan who I couldn’t see, his voice guarded.

“And then what, Noah? Alert everyone that my father is missing? That the King of Estria hasdisappeared?”

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