Page 170 of A Fate so Cruel

Rion didn’t smile. “You tell them to keep their magic and blades to themselves and there won’t be a problem.”

Rion grabbed the folder from the desk and pivoted on his heel before marching from the throne room.

Shit.

Shit.

Of all the Fae he didn’t want to encounter. She’d been trying to uncover his identity for years. Less so now that she had younglings of her own, but still, she’d never relented. If he got anywhere near her, she’d catch his scent and know exactly who’d been dropping slaves at their gates.

She was a High Lady. Rion wondered if his brother had forgotten exactly what that meant. What it had meant for their mother. To fight her would likely shake the very foundations of Levea. And alert everyone in the city.

He’d need another way to get close to her. Rion just wasn’t sure he liked the idea.

Chapter Eight

Stupid. That one word had been echoing in his head since he’d left the borders of Nàdair. Now he stood with his cloak pulled over his face, leaning against a tree just outside the main city of Levea. A place he’d often dropped off slaves.

Maybe he’d get lucky and she wouldn’t show up at all. Maybe she was too busy with her younglings, reading them stories, baking them sweets, whispering the same fairy tales his mother had so often whispered to him.

Alec was a fool. The only thing kidnapping the High Lady of Móirín was going to accomplish was inciting a war. The prospect didn’t sound . . . terrible under any other circumstances. But with her—he sighed and shook his head again.

Stupid.

Things had been complacent too long. The warriors were restless, seeking conflict where there wasn’t any. Sure, they had their occasional skirmishes along the borders, but it wasn’t enough. They needed a reason to fight. Desired it, even. Perhaps they were similar to humans in that regard.

Peace. It was always within their reach, yet never attainable. Maybe it had nothing to do with the myth about a queen for which they’d been searching for millennia. Maybe she and the gods had abandoned them because they couldn’t solve their own internal problems.

Rion stared through the trees toward the city and waters that had always seemed to call for him, as if beckoning him home. And watched a lone figure emerge from the gates.

***

Rion cursed himself for the hundredth time as he stared at the iron bracelets around the High Lady’s wrists. He’d lit a fire in the safe house and had draped a blanket over her torso and legs.

Now he leaned against the mantle, waiting for her to wake.

It had been too easy. He’d caught her warriors off guard with his magic and before any of them had realized who was attacking, he’d knocked them all out cold.

Rion grimaced at the bluish bruise on the back of Lillian’s neck. He hadn’t meant to strike her so hard. She’d turned on him and he’d just reacted, afraid to let anyone from Móirín put their hands on him.

Now, the High Lady sat in a wooden chair, her hands secured to the arms with ropes. Her head lolled to the side at an awkward angle.

He ran his hand through his hair and hissed through his teeth. He should have refused. He should have run to Saoirse and told her about Alec’s idiotic plan. Now it was too late.

Rion eyed the iron bracelets again. He couldn’t stomach the shackles. It was a risk, especially when they could be easily removed, but . . . this was Lillian. She’d likely never hurt a thing in her life. Putting the heavy metal around her wrists had just seemed . . . cruel.

Rion stared back into the flames, still debating whether he should just release her and disappear when her breathing changed.

He froze, waiting. Her eyelids fluttered open and she blinked a few times, groaning as she lifted her head and tilted it from side to side. Regret and guilt flared through him.

The High Lady of Móirín absorbed her surroundings. Her heart sped as realization of her predicament spread through her, but panic didn’t settle in. Not yet, at least.

She pulled at the ropes holding her in place, then her eyes landed on the blanket. The bracelets. Then finally him.

The pair stared at one another across the dark room, neither moving. She took him in slowly, from the blades strapped across his waist to the sand shifting at his feet.

Her nostrils flared as she scented the air.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said quickly. Not that he expected her to believe him. “As soon as Alec gets what he wants, I’ll release you and we can forget this ever happened.”

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