Page 29 of Ulune's Daughter

“I’m not just saying this to suck up so I get to spend holidays with you, I can’t think of anyone better to lead the fae courts into the future than Dar and the twins with you beside them, Teddy.”

She knocks me with her elbow as we carry the twins through to their nursery. “Arse-licker.”

I waggle my tongue at her, which makes Gal giggle.

Chapter10

Through the Veil

LAW

Istumble out of the World Wood when my nose fills with the stink of the high fae.

The gray stone walls of Thistlemist rear high above me, clawing at a misty Scottish sky. Thistlemist, stronghold of the Regents of the Thistle Throne, one of the oldest seats of theTylwyth Teg, the high fae, the Seelie court.

My throat rattles with a hiss.

My hiss is answered by the clank of metal. A Darkswerd, one of the court’s guardians, clad head to toe in their white, enchanted armor, steps through the stone wall. Swishing an endless mane of perfectly straight, ruby-red hair that falls from helmet to heels, the Darkswerd brandishes his ringing, crystal sword at me.

Idiot.

I rise into my skin and cross my arms over my chest. “I am Lawson, son of Cathmoir, heir of the Cait.”

“I am Eoghan, son of Evegan, Darkswerd of Thistlemist, wielder of the crystal flame, anointed of the Thistle Regent. Begone from these lands, pest. You and your dark kin are not welcome here.”

Had he not decided to insult me, I would have left. My mate is friends with the Regent’s son and his wife. Although I’d understood the Dùbhghlas men were estranged, they visit, more since the Duchess gave birth to the next generation of Dùbhghlas nobility. They must be here and my mate has come to visit them. She’s as safe here as she would be in her own home—well, as safe as anyone can be in a nest of the high fae—and since I cannot enter Thistlemist without causing an international incident, having seen my mate safely to its walls, I would have returned to Bevington.

Now, I’ll camp out at Thistlemist’s gate until I’m good and ready to leave and a guard has learned his place.

Without warning, I leap at him, shedding my skin and shaking into my fur as I move. The swing of his gleaming sword goes high over my head. My claws, the sharpest and strongest in Faery, rake through his armor, leaving long, bleeding gashes across his belly.

He grunts in pain and whirls, trying to follow me as I dash behind him and leap onto his back.

Spitting, clawing, I tear my claws across his upper back again and again, barely scoring his armor.

Crimson hair flutters to the ground in swathes with every swipe of my claws.

The knight howls, dropping his sword and vainly scrabbling over his helmet, his gauntlets and armor unsuited to the task, making him as clumsy as a bear.

Faery knights: so vain, so predictable.

When there are nothing but a few ragged locks clinging to the back of his liberally clawed neck, I leap off, jumping into my skin and striding away from the knight, who continues to bat at the back of his head for a moment, looking like he’s trying to fight off a swarm of bees.

I pick up his sword, set the tip in the moss at my feet, and lean casually on the pommel.

The Darkswerd looks around his feet, at the piles of scarlet hair. “I’ll kill you, cat scum,” he growls.

“It’ll grow back,” I scoff at him. “You’re bested. I have your sword. Kneel and ask me to return it to you.”

“I’ll die before I kneel to you.”

Faery knights: endlessly amusing.

“What the fuck, Eoghan?” Another Darkswerd strides through the stone wall. She’s not wearing her helmet, nor does she have her sword out. Her pretty face is studded with crystals along her brows, at the corners of her eyes, tucked into the curve of her nostril, and in the bow of her lip. Her hot pink hair brings a spot of warmth to the cool Scottish landscape.

“He is bested but refuses to kneel,” I say, picking up the sword by its pommel and tossing it to her, careful not to damage such a fine weapon.

“Eoghan, fuck’s sake,” the pink-haired girl says.

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