Page 14 of Brutal Birthright

“And to correct your earlier assumption, no, I didn’t allow the students to leave their mess for me to tidy up after them. It’s just the armourer habits in me that I can’t shake. Call me picky or pedantic, but I needed to inspect all the weapons individually before packing it in for the day.” He crossed over to Rowan, holding out one of the heavy long swords in two calloused palms to show him. “Checked each of them for flaws or evidence of tampering during class. Any runes carved into the metal or sneaky enchantments placed when I wasn’t looking. See?”

As the fae held the sword and tilted it in the light, Rowan could see the faint glimmer of a runic engraving just above the hilt of the blade.

Sneaky little pricks, indeed.

“I caught a few other examples like this on some of the other blades, all done by the same witch, judging from the magical signature embedded in the metal. But easy enough to get rid of.” With one hand, Finnic passed over the location of the runic symbol, using his fae magic to manipulate the metal. Erase all evidence and removing the enchantment in one fluid swipe of his hand.

As he turned away, he carried on talking out loud about how to nip that kind of behaviour in the bud with the students. Plans for the next day with their training assessments. Ways they could structure the group to ensure skill levels were most accurately grouped together.

Maybe he had more going on behind that stupid, lopsided smirk than Rowan had given him credit for.

Fae magic connected to material things, giving them a unique affinity for precious metals and gemstones and opulence. Unlike witches, who had the ability to harness elements and power directly from Source. Rowan could portal anywhere in the blink of an eye and cross between realms if desired, but his magic could never create tools of such immaculate quality as this armourer.

Finnic had been born to forge precious metals into weapons with his bare hands.

Rowan had been born to wield them in battle.

What a fucking pair indeed.

Chapter 5

Sleep evaded him, as always.

Some nights were more violent than others. But the constant memories of war, death, and the sheen of blood forever coated his dreams. Leaving him a tangled, sweaty mess in his bed, tossing and turning without respite.

Which led him here. To the dawn perimeter check that Rowan had assured Niall he would handle personally. Other guards from the fae court were busy investigating the shit going on outside the academy. But at least he could keep himself occupied while remaining inside the blood wards.

Jogging through the thick, swirling mist was likely the closest he’d hope to come to a glimpse of peace before this day began. Before enduring classes and training and all the duties he wished he didn’t have to shoulder.

The forest was heavy with morning dew, and a grey shroud clung low to the bed of pine needles and moss beneath his boots. Fog billowed softly and blanketed the ground in a thick tomb of silence. Reaching out with his magic as he traversed the boundary, he made note of where there seemed to be a lingering presence from the day before. Nothing more than a whisper, but the remains of magic were still detectable. Undoubtedly left over in the places where students had gone off exploring around the grounds yesterday.

But this morning, there was nothing but eerie, dense wisps of mist to accompany him. And that suited Rowan just fine.

Tall pines and firs extended around this southern border to the academy grounds, while a deep lake lay hidden in the heart of this forested area. Since he’d first begun training the fae guards—long before Ruby had come up with her grand plans for Astracadia—he’d made a habit of venturing here each morning.

No one came here.

And that was exactly why he liked it.

The perfect opportunity for a morning plunge to clear his head and shake off the assault of images left lingering. Nightmares that followed him like a foul stench.

As he turned down the lightly worn track he’d formed over the months and months of returning to this very spot, he slowed from a run to a jog and then a walk. Reaching behind his head, he tugged his shirt off in one motion. Eager to feel the cool water against his overheated skin.

But as the cotton slipped over his head, Rowan froze.

His magic sensed a presence immediately.

Someone else was here.

The hackles on the back of his neck pricked up. Fuck this. Coming here was his private sanctuary. His only opportunity to get a godsdamned sense of calm. Whoever was here could fuck right off…

His eyes dropped to the neatly folded stack of clothes on the smooth rock—training attire and a set of blades he recognised immediately.

Shit.

Goddess-fucking-damnit.

As he stood there, with his shirt crumpled in his fist, sweat slicked across his chest, and muscles heaving, there she was.

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