Page 11 of Dark Fate

Suddenly, Faderyn's hand on my shoulder halts my headlong rush into danger. "We can't just walk in," he cautions gravely. "We will be considered enemies—magic will fail us here—drain you."

I look back, defiance sparking in my eyes. "Watch me." With a huff, I start toward the dark silhouette. Faderyn stays silent, but his step behind me is a steadfast echo of my determination.

"Stay sharp; guards patrol every inch," Faderyn whispers as we inch toward the fortress, each step a careful calculation avoiding confrontation. The tension in the air is a silent scream, an entity on its own, swallowing our every move.

I feel it: the ominous hush, a prelude to impending chaos.

Suddenly, the stillness shatters—there's a crack, a thunderclap of sound, and we freeze, predator instincts dialed to the maximum. Breaths held, hearts skipped—the world in slow motion as nature itself goes mute.

Then something—or someone—approaches, a stumbling herald of discord. Each crunch through the underbrush sets my pulse racing, adrenaline popping like fireworks.

Closer and closer they come. I crouch low to the ground.

The looming shape is just shadows and whispers until hints of silver catch the light, painting a grim picture that tightens my chest in fear.

Faderyn's presence at my side is a silken promise of protection—his body coiling like a spring, ready to unleash his power or rip us away.

The rustling grows bolder, each step drumming a rhythm of dread until, with a suddenness that stings like ice, he's there—the unmistakable silver hair and eyes like molten moonlight. Relief shatters the fear like glass.

"Erik!" My voice is a lifeline thrown in the midst of a storm, a mix of joy and disbelief. In an instant, I'm moving without thought; caution cast aside as I close the distance.

Faderyn hisses a warning, but it’s like trying to tell a tornado to chill out—I'm having none of it.

Erik's fatigue-lined face breaks into a fierce grin when he sees me rushing over. I collide with him in a desperately tight embrace, needing the solid reality of his presence to banish my spiraling dread. For a blessed moment, hope's rays pierce the oppressive darkness shrouding us.

Faderyn's instincts are still on high alert. His jaw is set, and his piercing green eyes assess Erik's disheveled, battle-ready appearance.

Understanding the necessity of trust at this juncture, I step into the role of mediator. "Faderyn, this is Erik, one of Rhyland's brothers—the guy we're busting our asses to find," I say, trying to paint Erik as the ally that he is. Turning to Erik, "And Erik, this is Faderyn. He's the reason I've made it this far."

Faderyn's hand clasps Erik's like he's touching the past, but Erik’s grip is all present tense, a stoic promise.

I'm mentally pushing Faderyn's distrust aside for now; we've got bigger fish to fry. "Talk to me, Erik. What happened?"

Erik's face tightens, old pain resurfacing. "We were ambushed by Fae guards led by a demoness of a woman. They cuffed and chained us with magic under the queen's order. We were easy prey." He swallows hard. "Rhyland fought to help me escape and told me to find you as they took him away." Anguish twists Erik's proud features. "Lucian surrendered himself to share his fate."

A wildfire ignites within me. No one treats my men like chess pieces—I’m gunning for checkmate.

Erik's stoic exterior hides the pain in his eyes. "I sense their presence here. It led me to investigate," he sighs. "I apologize for not finding you sooner. I didn't know where to start."

Trying to rein in my temper and the magic sizzling through my veins, I say, "It's fine—"

Like a match struck in pure rage, my hands blaze with an inner inferno—Faderyn and Erik recoil, witnessing my out-of-nowhere, utterly unsolicited, fiery fit. But as with all spontaneous combustion, the flames fizzle out, leaving me drenched in sweat.

"What in the vales was that?" Faderyn asks.

Taking a deep breath, I prep for battle against the queasy fear squirming in my gut. I fix Erik with a stare, taking in his battle-hardened visage still raw from the fray. "Alright, Her Royal Wickedness made her move," I say, smooth as ice but twice as cold. "She's about to get schooled in the art of repercussions—mess with my boys, prepare for a backlash."

But Faderyn interjects, a note of foreboding shading his words. "If your enemy is indeed Queen Amara, we tread narrow paths."

I fight down the shiver at the nightmarish idea of Rhyland and Lucian playing puppets to Cruella de Mean. Steadying myself, I give Faderyn a look that screams 'business time.' "So, what's the game plan? What’s the 411 on Wicked Witch of the Worst?"

Faderyn hangs his head, defeat weighing down his shoulders. "Against the Queen in her domain... I fear there may be nothing we can do."

I cross my arms defiantly. "The hell there isn't. No magical queen gets to take my man without a fight."

Beneath this cool exterior, there's a tempest brewing. My magic’s throwing an absolute hissy fit, pounding on the door, screaming, "Let me out!"

Faderyn studies me for a long moment before replying carefully. "Dani, I know your spirit burns hot as any warrior's, but we cannot let fury blind us. The Queen wields immense power here. A bold attack would only doom us all. Most powers are muted here—snuffed out."

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