Page 61 of A Kingdom of Destruction

Nothing but pretenses.

Cillian probably pretended as well. If they all turned a blind eye to the truth, then they could profess everything was normal and right when it clearly was not.

Her mind raced to pluck a single thought from its tangled midst.

She balled her hand into a fist against a patch of pretty pink flowers. She’d gone from capable, confident, to utterly powerless.

An actual damsel in distress.

She’d never been helpless before. Even if it should have been her lot in life, to be a hapless princess who would only be of service to the kingdom through her marriage.

Was she anywhere vastly changed from where she’d started?

Different kingdom, very different suitors from what her father might have imagined, and yet there she crouched. It was only a matter of time before King Donal forced her into a decision, and his silence on the matter didn’t mean a reprieve.

Would she make it out of here before then?

Or would her men find a way in?

Her head ached from going around in circles. Rather than fight it, Aven sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Too much adrenaline and anxiety lived inside for her to keep still.

She’d never been good at drawing her own runes. Always had the healers do it for her, with their skill and precision. Always had people like the old hag magically tattoo them on her skin when she needed them to last longer.

Right now, she had no ink at her disposal. She only had her wand in her bedroom and hesitated to use it here, as if its pulse of magic would stand out. The last thing Aven wanted to do was alert someone to its presence.

Her fingers drew the familiar patterns in the dirt of the nearest garden bed.

She brought a handful of water into the dirt and mixed it until the consistency was right, then drew the runes on the tops of her hands. On her forearms. Runes for focus and calm which were more important than ever before.

She’d failed to see a way through this mess. Why hadn’t she thought about the runes before? The moment she completed the first set, the chaos in her brain evened out, and she let out a breath. The silence in her head felt foreign. Pausing a beat, she sat back fully, stretching her legs out in front of her. When her shoes felt too confining, she kicked off the slippers and wiggled her toes, warm against the cool night air.

The runes on one arm dried, the mud crackling on her skin, but their effects were immediate despite the medium. Her insides straightened out, and only now, marking the difference, did she realize how poorly she’d felt before.

“What the hell are you doing, mortal?”

Aven scrambled off her knees and whipped up to face the fae male, who wore the clothes she’d seen on the villagers during her visit rather than any of the palace garb. Not one of the soldiers, then, and no sign of the men who tracked her, her guards.

She swallowed, and her throat constricted at the violence in his eyes.

“You have no business using those runes. You bastardize them with your filth.” The male spat on the ground between them and took a giant step forward. “Howdareyou use them like it’s your right?”

“What do you want?”

Gods, no. Her voice shook. Undermining her entirely with those four words.

She met his gaze and held it as the man took her in. All that she was and all that she could be. Aven refused to give herselftime to hesitate. Not when the fae moved, faster than her eyes tracked, launching himself to the side before swinging his fist at her face.

“I’ll rip those runes from your skin myself.”

His speed should not have surprised her.

She’d faced his type too many times.

The runes for focus clarified her intent, and she ducked away from the punch, swinging up toward his face and jumping, wrapping her legs around his waist.

The fae hadn’t expected her to strike.

Instinct drove her to attack, and she slammed her face into his nose. Shock turned her veins to lightning when he sent them both to the ground and pinned her between his body and the dirt. The hit blasted the air from her lungs. Her hit hadn’t slowed him in the slightest. In fact, she’d missed her intended target. His nose hadn’t broken.

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