Page 17 of The Realm That Falls to Her

I try to bundle up every sensation and detail, then push it across the bond, like shoving a boat out from the shore. It reaches the golden bridge of our true name bond, but I watch as it crumbles into nothing halfway across.

I try not to let the failure deter me, quickly seizing upon something else—when I first told him I loved him, and broke his curse while he lay dying in my arms. I push it out, but just as quickly, the memory fizzles and dies before it can even reach Ruskin’s side of the bond, like it’s being swallowed up by some unseen force.

I huff in frustration.

“What are you doing?” he asks, sounding suspicious.

I’m still blushing. This version of Ruskin makes me feel so self-conscious, like some lovestruck teenager trailing after a boy who doesn’t know she exists.

“I’m trying to help you. I thought maybe I could send some of my memories for you and?—”

“Save your efforts. It’s my memories I need back, not yours.”

My mouth gapes at his curt response. “But?—”

“You shouldn’t be wasting your energy or focus. Save it up in case we meet any more obstacles on the road. A human like you needs what little strength they have and can’t afford to be distracted.” He raises an eyebrow at me on the last word, his voice deepening in a way that makes my skin come alive, but it doesn’t quench my annoyance at his words.

“I might not have the power of a High King,” I say, bristling, “but I can assure you I’m not as weak as you seem to think.”

“Whatever you say. It’s just best you don’t go playing around with magic that is beyond you.”

“Now wait a minute,” I say, truly indignant at this point. “The whole reason I have this magic—and why I’m so good at wielding it—is because of you. You made a deal that put fae magic in my veins, and you were the one who insisted I train so I could fully realize the potential of what I could do. You didn’t seem to think it was so beyond me when I was busy saving your life and your court with it.”

Ruskin says nothing. I assume he’s digesting everything I’ve told him.

We pull off the road for a little while to eat and drink, climbing up into a shallow cave to shelter from the Unseelie wind. The view is a good one, putting us right in line with some tall pine trees, and I sit flanked by Ruskin and Destan, taking it in.

“Prove it,” Ruskin says out of nowhere.

“What?” I ask, feeling Destan turn towards him too, looking as confused as I am.

“Prove your proficiency with your magic. I want to see exactly what kind of tricks I taught you.”

“And I suppose taking her word for it would be out of the question?” Destan says. Ruskin just keeps looking at us, expression unchanged, full of expectation.

“All right, how?” I ask.

“Those trees over there. Take some of the pine cones down.”

“That’s it?”

“Specific pine cones. How about on that left branch, three from the top, the one by that bunch of needles. And use your blade to do it.”

It’s a tiny target at this distance, but Maidar had me practicing expanding my range, and I’m confident I can make it.

“Fine by me,” I say. I mean to meet his gaze with a kind of defiance, but instead as our eyes lock, a familiar heat passes between us. He smirks and the muscles in my thighs tighten. I’m forced to drag my gaze away, clearing my throat to try to compose myself. I ignore what I think might be a low chuckle of amusement beside me.

I slip the knife from my boot and balance it on my palm, concentrating until it’s risen from my hand and is hovering in the air. I focus hard, aware that I want to impress Ruskin. But it’s not just about showing off. If I can prove to him that I’m right about this, this aggravating, beautiful prince might start being less resistant to my other ideas.

The knife slowly inches upwards, moving into position, then I fling it.

It cuts through the air like an arrow, piercing the center of the cone he identified so fast it rips it from the branch. I let the knife’s momentum carry its handle over its blade, spinning it round, then bringing it home. I push more force into it as it travels, until it’s almost a blur.

“Um…Eleanor…” Destan says, as the blade flies towards us, tip glinting in the gray light.

I scrunch up my brows, holding my attention solely on the blade, until it’s feet from us. Then I hold up my hand, palm open, and slow its momentum, snatching it from the air inches from where we sit, with the pine cone still impaled securely on it.

I look over at Ruskin, not bothering to hide my smugness.

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