Page 15 of Forgiving a Fae Warrior

Only once had he met a fae with that ability, and very recently at that. Galen’s thoughts drifted to Lysandir, the prince of the Court of Fire, as he lifted his gaze to Sylvie once more. He’d seen something the day they met, though if it had anything to do with Galen, Lysander had never said. Could he have foreseen this outcome? But no, Lysandir liked Wren as well. If he’d seen her in danger, surely he would have warned her if no one else.

“You’re lost in thought.” Sylvie withdrew her hand, and Galen nearly groaned at the sudden ache of loss that filled him.

“Kings are easier to love and forgive than simple guards like me,” he replied.

“I don’t know about that.” Sylvie unfurled the blanket and pulled it around her shoulders. The night had grown chill, though it was hard to feel cold when her nearness had him burning up from within.

“Kings come with a lot of expectations,” Sylvie said, tugging the blanket tighter. “They’re held to a higher standard, and everything they do is seen and judged by those around them. That goes for anyone who wants to love them too. To love a monarch is to take on all of their burdens as well, and as we both know, those can be many. I…” She trailed off, looking away. “I’ve never had aspirations for that. I always wanted something…” She paused, her lips twisting to the side before she gave one short nod. “Honest and true.”

Galen bit his lip so as not to smirk at the response.Honest and true, huh?That ruled out a traitor like him immediately. “And have you found someone like that?”

Ancients help him if she had. Asking the question alone invited more pain, but he couldn’t help it.

“You’d like to know?” She glanced at him meaningfully, but damn if he could make out whatever she tried to convey.

“I would.”

Breath caught in his throat as Sylvie slid closer, her body brushing up against his. Every hair on his body stood on end. She stared at him, and for a brief and beautiful moment, Galen thought she might lean in to kiss him. Instead, she snuggled up against his side and laid her head on his shoulder. “Then I’ll tell you someday.”

“Someday?” he gaped, still trying to reconcile the fact that she rested against him. It wasn’t the first time. They’d shared warmth and companionship on many a night during their years together in the elite guard, often leaning on one for support or comfort, but somehow this felt different. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the letdown of a hopeful kiss vanishing into the night, or just the past days catching up with him. Any way around it, it still took a full minute before he could make his body relax against hers.

“Why not now?” Galen asked once he regained his composure.

She made a non-committal sound as he felt her shoulder brush against his. “I don’t think it’s the right moment yet.”

Not the right moment? How could it not be when it might be one of their last? Galen sighed heavily and tucked his arms closer to his body.

“Are you cold?” Sylvie lifted her head. “Here, let’s share the blanket.”

Before he could protest, she flung part of the material around him, cocooning them in together before she laid her head on his shoulder once more. “Wake me if anything happens, and don’t you dare fall asleep on watch.”

A huff of laughter caught in his throat. As if he could possibly sleep with her resting against him.

Chapter 8

Dawnlightenedtheskybeyond the clouds, harkening another dreary day in the Shadowlands. Not long after Sylvie had fallen asleep, Galen eased her down until her head rested on his thigh. It relieved the numbness in his arm and was certainly more comfortable for her but infinitely more distracting for him. Sylvie’s head in his lap?Idiot.He berated himself for the hundredth time, slowly shaking his head as he gazed at her sleeping form. With how easily she slept, one might think him the most comfortable pillow imaginable, but he was far from that.

Galen sighed and glanced back through the opening in the rocks and confirmed that there was still no activity on the rise. The night had been eerily quiet and devoid of action, as if the whole land held its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Perhaps he’d been wrong in his suspicions. There were any number of reasons the Unseelie might try to create a honing point, if that’s even what it was. It had to be his guilt making him think it had something to do with Wren.

Galen turned his attention back to Sylvie. For hours, he’d resisted the urge to run his fingers along her hair or maybe dare to touch her slightly parted lips. Her presence was a constant call beckoning to him, one he’d barely been able to resist thus far.

When he’d envisioned his ideal outcome upon his return to the Forest, Galen had planned to waste no time before confessing his love to her—assuming her reception of him was anything above icy. He’d lost her once, and the thought of wasting any more time pining in silence, as he had for years, rather than pursuing what he wanted, was ridiculous to him. Now that she was here, though, now that his plans had gone awry, everything was so much harder.

He dared to touch a tangle of blond hair that had escaped her braid and floated just above her cheek. The strands were silky against his skin—lovely.

Magic rippled across his skin, one wave then another, over and over. Galen jerked his hand back and snapped his attention toward the hill. It was empty, as it had been, but the feel of the magic was undeniable. Many fae had shifted into the area nearby—strong ones.

Sylvie jolted, shoving herself off him and blinking rapidly as she woke. “I felt—”

“Me too,” Galen replied in a harsh whisper.

Quietly, he took to his feet, ignoring the ache and tingling of sitting still in the same position for too long. Galen went entirely still as he spotted the source of the magic over a boulder to his right. A mass of fae baring the colors of the Court of Air gathered in a field not too far away. One among the rest was unmistakable from his imposing presence alone—Sigurd, King of Air.

Galen swallowed the knot in his throat and shrunk out of their view. It was a war party, their purpose unclear.

“Shit,” Sylvie muttered at his side as she caught sight of what drew him still and silent. “Do you think they expect the Unseelie?”

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