Page 8 of Chosen By the Fae King

“Are you sure?” I asked just as the rough wooden wheels of the carriage creaked to a stop.

“Yes,” she chuffed.

I nearly smiled. I'd forgotten how well she anticipated things; and how poorly she handled being hungry and tired.

The door closest to me swung open and the late afternoon light spilled into the compartment. I shielded my eyes, adjusting.

“Welcome to Thornewood Castle,” the strange male greeted, extending a hand to help us down. He was dressed more like a butler, with a fitted black jacket over a pressed white shirt, not a soldier.

No one moved.

As much as I could manage, I did a quick check of each face. We'd been ordered not to speak to one another, but it was nearly impossible with a group of eight crammed into a space meant for six or seven.

Thankfully, the occupants hadn't been complete nightmares. There'd been a lot of “I'm sorry” and “excuse me” thrown around each time one of us shifted to get more comfortable.

“Astrid?” I checked on the female across from me.

“I'm fine,” the sunset-haired fae waved me off. She'd had a rough go of things on the journey. Sofiya and I had done our best to make her comfortable.

The waiting attendant cleared his throat, his arm jutting further inside. “Please exit the carriage. It's best not to keep the king waiting.”

I hopped out without taking his hand, my boots sinking into the soft earth. We were in a silt-covered courtyard with dozens of carriage tracks on the ground. Before I could take in the rest of my surroundings, Sofiya stepped out and gave me a quick squeeze with her hand.

The other females followed, stumbling from the carriage in various states of dishevelment after a full day of rough travel.

A sharp cry rent the air. I whipped around to find Astrid collapsed on the ground, clutching her head. Her skin had taken on a sickly green pallor.

In two strides I was at her side, dropping to my knees. Golden red strands clung to her brow, darkened by the dampness on her forehead.

“Someone find a healer!” I shouted at the armored riders doing nothing more than staring down at us.

“What's happening?” A gruff voice called out from behind his helmet as he and his horse trotted over.

Wonderful. It was him.

“Ah, I should have known it was you. Should we expect constant outbursts for the duration of your time here?”

“Can't you see she's ill?” I snapped. “You fools locked a light fae in that cramped carriage for hours with no access to light. What were you thinking?!”

“Watch yourself, little hellion,” he warned. “Light fae survive the dark of every night without issue.”

“Because they aren’t usually already low on life-source when soldiers come to throw them inside a black box, you idiot! Did no one notice she’d just returned from a skirmish with traders headed to Andara? The wounds she’d sustained? Of course you didn’t! Now get a healer before I report your incompetence to the king himself!”

Heated energy blasted me in waves and I froze. My throat ran dry. This male could kill me as easily as look at me with that level of power. Perhaps I'd pushed the bastard a little too far.

“Please,” I softened my tone, trying not to choke on the word. “I only mean to help. It is my nature.”

He snorted. “Your nature is to constantly test my patience.”

With a grunt, he wheeled his horse around and rode off, barking orders for a healer to be dispatched immediately.

I closed my gaping mouth. The brute had actually listened to me.

Sofiya knelt, clutching Astrid's hand. “It will be alright,” she soothed. “Help is coming.”

I reached out and pulled Astrid's wayward hair away from her face, willing the healer to hurry. No one deserved such mistreatment, especially not for some ridiculous contest to vie for a male's affections.

The healer arrived almost immediately with guards to help move Astrid inside. Once she was in safe hands, I turned, ready to face whatever came next–which, apparently, was the cutting stares of the contestants who'd come out of other coaches.

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