Page 1 of Hunted By the Fae Warden

CHAPTER 1

MIRA

It’s a somber affair,paying tribute to the monsters who captured our kingdom. I step forward when the line moves. My stomach twists as I await my turn. The beautiful but terrifying fae soldiers who conquered my people stand on a dais, observing the proceedings with an air of cold malice. I try not to look at them, these creatures who are now our overlords.

Unfortunately, each household in the Kingdom of Trevos must offer a minimum of ten silver pieces to the fae, and those who lack the funds must provide comparable alternatives, such as livestock, jewels, fine textiles, or rare spices. The poorest families, however, are being forced to hand over a daughter or son. It’s tragic and cruel and so very wrong, and my heart breaks as I witness the tearful goodbyes at the front of the line.

The bag of silver in my pocket feels heavy. Too heavy. I’ll be lucky to keep my house and survive winter after making the contribution. The creditors who are breathing down my neck won’t be happy to learn I can’t pay them as soon as I’d promised, but at least I managed to scrounge together the requiredamount for the tribute. Pissing off human creditors likely isn’t as dangerous as pissing off the fae.

Agonized screams sound from outside, and I glance toward the open doors. The fae are rounding up runners, those who’ve tried to flee in the wake of King John’s surrender, which occurred just two days ago only hours after the start of the ill-fated battle. Some of the runners are being slaughtered, while others are being kept as slaves.

A shiver courses through me as the screams intensify, a crescendo of pain and terror. Earlier, as I waited to enter the castle, I’d kept my gaze straight ahead, not wishing to see the carnage. Hearing it is bad enough. So is smelling the blood. I feel on the verge of sickness.

The atmosphere inexplicably changes, and I look up to see a massive, dark-haired fae male striding into the castle. Not only does he possess thick, curving horns, but he also has massive, white feathered wings that disappear in an abrupt flash of light. I suppress a gasp, and the line shifts to the right as people attempt to give him a wide berth.

Gods. Why can’t I look away?

He’s perhaps the tallest fae I’ve ever seen, and his boots click ominously in the receiving hall, somehow drowning out the screams of the runners. As he approaches, I count over a dozen knives in varying sizes strapped to his belt and thighs.

Like most of the fae soldiers, he’s clad in form-fitting, black leather pants and a matching jacket. The jacket, however, is halfway open, revealing a glimpse of his muscular chest. His dark silver skin shimmers in the light, reminding me of the rare glittering moonflowers that grow deep in the forest.

But there’s nothing delicate about him.

He appears carved out of stone, his features sharp and chiseled and hard, a brutal soldier who emanates authority and darkness.

He pauses and scans the receiving hall with cold black eyes.

The eyes of a merciless predator.

My mouth goes dry when that unforgiving gaze lands on me.

Hestares.

He stares and I’m still unable to look away.

Suddenly, I experience the sensation of falling. Time stops, and the whole realm fades until there’s only the two of us. As the moment stretches on, I forget how to breathe, and pressure builds in my chest.

His nostrils flare and his muscles tense. Though I don’t hear it, I swear a low growl rumbles from his chest. For one awful moment, I think he’s about to attack me.

Then he blinks, spins on his heel, and heads for the dais.

I suck in a much-needed breath as my body breaks into a tremble.

How many human soldiers did he kill during the battle? I can’t help but wonder. It’s said that only the most powerful fae possess wings, wings they can summon or make vanish at will. During the short but deadly battle, I occasionally peeked out my window to see massive fae soaring through the skies, some with white feathered wings, others with black batlike wings. I’d even glimpsed a few with golden, almost translucent wings.

Someone behind me clears their throat, and I notice the line has moved again. As I step forward, I touch the bag of silver in my pocket to reassure myself of its presence. I don’t want to reach the front of the line without the required tribute.

Oh gods. It’s almost my turn.

I watch as an elderly man tries to offer himself to the fae, only for the young woman standing next to him to be dragged away. His granddaughter, I presume, and probably the only family he has left. Entire households are required to show up together to pay tribute to our new fae overlords, even infants and the infirm.

As the last remaining member of my household, I’m here alone. My parents and brothers perished from an illness last winter, and though I’ve received plenty of offers, I’ve yet to marry. After watching my little brothers die, I can’t fathom getting married and starting a family of my own.

What if the same thing happened to my children? I’m not sure I could bear it.

I’d rather be alone. It’s safer. Less fraught with sorrow. That’s what I tell myself during the long quiet nights when my heart aches under the solitude.

There’s also the issue of my tiny but fertile homestead and my fear that prospective husbands are more interested in my property than me. It hasn’t escaped my notice that all the marriage proposals I’ve received thus far have come from second and third born sons, men who aren’t likely to inherit any land or money from their fathers.

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