Page 33 of A Kiss of Embers
“Friends laugh together.” He paused and glanced down at their intertwined fingers. “And they hold hands sometimes, too.”
Immediately, her thoughts jumped to the Forest Fae woman he called Ashryn, and an unexpected surge of envy heated beneath her skin. “Call friends what they are,” she hissed in an accusatory tone. “They are your beaus.” She pulled her hand from his and hid them beneath her arms. “Or are you telling me all you’re doing with your faefriendis holding hands?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Oh, I think it is. Are you in love with that woman?”
Bastien threw his hands up and stood, the fire creating dancing shadows across his face in the darkness. “You want to talk about Ashryn? Fine! Let’s talk about Ashryn. She’s the only one brave enough to stand by my side. Despite the scorn. Despite how her own reputation might suffer. She’s my friend, but sometimes she was something more. That part of my life is over. It never had a chance to blossom into anything, and it never will.”
“But if you weren’t half-Forest Fae, you would have married her already.”
“No,” he argued back, “I wouldn’t have. Because neither of us wanted that.”
She opened her mouth to continue the quarrel but didn’t get the chance when he hissed suddenly.
“Ow!” he cried, hand flying to his neck before pulling out a small dart. He glared at her accusingly, all while the blood drained from her face upon noticing the black and white striped paint on the dart. “Why would you do that? I thought we were getting along splendidly.”
“That wasn’t me.” And then a dart shot into her own neck despite her attempt to dodge the attack. Bastien slumped to the ground in a heap. Her hand flew to her dagger, but she barely managed to unsheath it before she lost control of her limbs, and the weapon fell limp from her fingers.
She struggled with all her might against the poison seeping into her bloodstream, but her attempts led nowhere when even her fingers couldn’t move the slightest bit. She tried to kick, thrash, scream, but all that escaped was a garble of curses.
This would not go unpunished. These blasted Ember Fae were about to get a knife in the back—
A black boot stomped into the ground in front of her face, and she glared at the offending item and the man it belonged to. Black boots. Red trousers. And then the person stooped to reveal the red and white paint on his face. “Good evening, Your Highness.”
Dread tightened in her gut, and she attempted to swallow the lump in her throat as she gazed back at eyes lined with black paint.
Blazes.
Bastien scowled at the offending sky that stared back, seeming to laugh at him as his body swayed with each step his captors took around him. He hung upside down beneath a large wooden pole, his wrists and ankles tied to the thick wood. His skin burned from where the scratchy rope cut into him, but he tried to maintain a brave front.
Especially when Seraphina hung upside down from her own pole, only an arm’s reach away. Her glower was directed at the men carrying the poles like sacrifices to the slaughter.
When his body swayed close enough for her to hear him, he said quietly, “Doesn’t feel so good when you’re the one getting dragged around, does it?”
“Shut it, Bastien!” she hissed while giving him a warning glare. “These people will kill you.”
Although she said nothing more, her swift glance toward his ears told him everything he needed to know. They would kill him simply because he was a Forest Fae.
Shite.
He was in really big trouble.
Especially as they neared the border of the woods, his gut telling him it was only a few paces to his right. If they crossed the line, he would drop over dead.
Mother-blasted blood oath!
He willed his ears to straighten rather than for them to droop near the pointed tips, but no matter how hard he wished for it, they remained the same. Fortunately, his ears were far less droopy than those of other Forest Fae. But they were still shapely enough to incriminate him.
Unwilling to reveal the uneasiness coursing through his blood, he feigned carelessness and grinned at her. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry. Which is a lot, I might add.”
The sway of their captors’ rocky steps moved her close enough for her to jab him in the ribs with her elbow as if she had gained control of her muscles for only a brief moment. He released a grunt and decided to hold his tongue when another retort wanted to escape.
Around them, their captors each wore face paint in varying designs of red, black, and white, and Bastien couldn’t tell if they were readying for war or if they always wore such paint. The Ember Fae, who usually fought with the Forest Fae, had wings and black hair and lips. None of these people carried wings on their backs.
From his vantage point, he couldn’t see much other than the sky, but his head somehow managed to roll to the side to view little huts made of black silt with straw-thatched roofs. Women and children stared at them as they passed, but mostly at Seraphina. Their eyes were wide, filled with horror and confusion. Bastien realized they were not too keen on their clan leader taking their queen hostage.
Their captors placed either end of the branches they were tied to between a pole that created a “Y” shape. Bastien’s back dangled over dirt, nearly touching the ground but not quite.
