Page 54 of The Cursed Crown

Shapes darkened the shadows of the forest, approaching fast, and the idiot was planning to fight them.

"You run!" she yelled back.

Staying low, she crawled along the ivy, closing her eyes to avoid looking down, or back at the forest. "You'd better be on this bridge, Khalven!"

Reaching the other side, she hopped to her feet and turned back.

Khal had waited for her to get to safety, the fool, but he was getting on the bridge now, just as the half-naked warriors came into view, one armed with an arrow, the others holding their lances at eye level. Another problem came to her attention: the ivy was untangling, retreating from their side of the bridge.

"Khal!" she urged.

He lowered his sword and focused on darting to them, as the bridge withdrew right beneath his feet.

No, no, no.Fear gripped her spine, icy, shortening her breath. He couldn't die. He couldn't be hurt. Rydekar would never forgive her if his cousin was harmed during the quest he already saw as pointless. Khal was charming, caring, and he didn't deserve this. He had to make it.

Teoran threw his knife with precision, almost hitting the archer. The next arrow flew toward them. He was attempting to get the attention of the warrior on them, rather than Khal, Rissa guessed. He only half succeeded; lances were still flying right past Khal, hitting the dismembering bridge.

He reached the end of the ivy path and prepared to jump across. He could make it—it was two yards.

Khal was in midair, and she opened her hand over the rift, ready to catch him if he ended up jumping a few feet short, when a sharp cry filled the air. Hers, his, she couldn't tell.

The tip of a lance pierced his shin, breaking his stride.

The last thing she saw was his face. Confusion. Fear.

Then he fell.

Beyond the Wall

Fear. Horror. Something else underneath. Something cold.

Rydekar dismissed the feelings that assaulted his mind, recognizing them for what they were: hers.

Strange that he could sense her so clearly when they'd never done anything to bond, but that was one problem he would concentrate on later.

He stood at the front, facing four seelie warriors, all of whom seemed to relish the thought of planting their blades in his back. They may be on the same side today, but he had to keep his wits about him in such company.

"So, you're the boy," said the Bone Queen.

Her size, youth and beauty were weapons she wielded expertly. So were her words.

He lifted his chin. "So, you're the murderous bitch who kills her children before they come of age," he retorted smoothly.

They had to learn to share the battlefield, but if she wasn't playing nice, there was no reason why he should.

Queen Sura huffed a laugh. "At least you have some balls on you. And you're pretty enough to look at, I suppose. I told my queen I'd come to help. Here I am, but I'll do things my way. If you try to order me, I'll eat out of your skull. Understood?"

"You've seen Titus's child?" the other fae lord asked.

As tall as Sura was short, the king of the Iron Court, Siobhe's father, boasted long silver hair and metallic eyes with barely any white. The members of Iron Court purposely poisoned themselves with silver to access darker magic—and to ensure their very blood could be used as a weapon against other folk. As their ruler, Folker drank twice as much as anyone else.

"Aye, the high queen came to us," Sura said, grinning victoriously.

There didn't seem to be any love lost between these two.

"Where is she, then?" Folker snarled. "I wish to discourse with her directly. It's unheard of—moving the armies out of their respective courts, letting the unseelie come through our borders…"

"She's where she needs to be," said a child-like voice, sweet as morning dew.

---