Page 40 of The Forbidden Fae King

I am taken over by a sinking feeling, and even though my body is still upright it is like my mind is toppling head over heels, falling and falling down a rabbit hole. My steps falter, but strong hands catch me under the arms and I am lowered slowly to a thick moss carpet.

“Damn they are fragile.” Drake’s voice cuts across my sensors.

Breathe,I tell myself.Just breathe.

“She is wounded. And used more magic than any human should have a claim to. The girl is drained. AND you and Aldrin terrified her.” Klara says as she approaches me.

“Me?” Drake’s tone is high-pitched. “I was being friendly.”

“Well. Go be friendly somewhere else.” Klara rolls her eyes at me. They are the most vibrant shade of violet.

I blink, then really look at her. Lilac hair elaborately styled in many thin braids, pinned and pulled back from her face into a large knot, but the long tresses erupt from it and drape down her back. Small feathers and gold bands are woven into it. There is a scatter of the palest pink freckles over the tanned skin of her sharp cheekbones.

Her ears have that pointed tip that makes dread roll within my stomach.

Despite the prettiness of her features, there is no softness within them.

“I’m going to heal your cuts,” Klara murmurs. “It will sting as the flesh mends, especially the deeper gashes.”

I nod, completely lost for words, as she grabs hold of my shoulders.

I am not prepared for the searing pain that bites all over my body, like being attacked by a hundred gnats. A gasp flies from my lips and I try to pull away, but she holds me tight. The burning sensation intensifies to a crescendo, before quickly ebbing away.

Slick sweat covers me and panted breaths escape my chest. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was not this.

“See. Not so bad.” She pulls away from me.

I blink at her, gingerly sitting up.

“Hungry?” she asks.

“Yeah.” It is all I can manage. I hardly ate before the crossing and now only the silvery light of dust penetrates the canopy of the trees.

Klara helps me to my feet and leads me through the small clearing between huge ancient trees. She keeps those strange eyes focused on me, and I don’t know if she expects me to run or collapse or perhaps both.

The spongy moss carpet is dotted with flowers and completely undisturbed. There is no sign of a military camp here or other fae. Something is not right, but I cannot put my finger on it.

“How far away is the camp?” I ask.

Klara smiles at me and reaches a hand forward, touching an invisible barrier that ripples and distorts the air. The whole forest in front of us bucks unnaturally beneath her touch. I take a step back as a primal horror fills me, but she grabs my wrist and forces me forward with her.

We step through an illusion and out the other side of the barrier. The world transforms from a tranquil and undisturbed space to a loud and chaotic camp, filled with people and their voices. It is like swimming to the bottom of a still lake, then breaking the surface for air and suddenly being bombarded with sound again. Behind me, the same sight of the peaceful forest is laid out again.

A ward hides this camp and restricts who can pass through. These are the bars on my prison.

A fire pit roars in the middle of the space and multiple fae sit around it on stumps of wood. A couple of cauldrons hang over the flames with steam billowing off them and a couple of frypans sit inthe coals with flatbread baking within it. My mouth waters at the foreign aromas of spices.

My eyes are dragged to Aldrin, where he sits around a sprawled map with a handful of other warriors. He points a finger at a location on it, shoving flatbread into his mouth while deep in conversation. Behind him, a pair of female soldiers play a board game with colored stones, while one of them is being treated with a herb poultice by a healer.

It is such a normal scene. One I have been a part of many times when we have taken extended hunts. None of the high fae even take notice of me, where I stand awkwardly. They don’t taunt me or hurt me or even try to throw me in a cell.

I jump violently as the kelpies thunder past. They randomly gallop around the camp, wrestling when they catch each other, with hooves flying in the air and bodies that are half-humanoid and half horse rolling on the ground.

I take it all, scanning from one cozy scene to another, trying to find the threat I am not seeing.

At first I look for tents, then I notice the trees. I stare in awe, my arm falling out of Klara’s grasp.

Houses are built into those impossibly huge trees, where the trunk’s interior is hollowed out close to the ground. Narrow doorways are built between the grooves of ancient roots taller than any man and small leadlight windows dot the bark of the trunk. Chimneys breach the woody surface at odd angles and glowing orbs of lanterns hang from the lowest branches of the trees.

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