Page 4 of Feral Guardian
Derek doesn’t open his eyes as he shrugs. “Dock assistant isn’t here yet. We don’t move until they get here.”
My hand snaps out and grabs him by the neck. Derek gasps, his eyes flying wide open as he gropes at my unyielding fingers. I pull him up from the pallet until his face is inches from mine. Intoxicating power thrums through my veins and red light from my eyes reflects off Derek’s pale, terrified face.
I speak through gritted teeth, barely holding back my demon. “Get. The fucking. Horses. Ready.”
“Sir,” Derek chokes out, giving a sloppy salute.
I drop him and move down to the hold. The horses whinny, ready to escape their two-week captivity. I’m happy to have my horse, Kor’Tar, named for the god of war, at my side. He’s the only steed big enough to carry me for any extended period of time, a gift from the king and queen of Illya for my service to the crown, and the world.
I stroke the beast’s nose and whisper to him in Illyan. “Soon we’ll see the sun for a day.”
Kor’Tar bobs his head and nickers, then pads the wood with his front hoof. There are several scrape marks on the floor where he’s padded before, ready to escape. Finally, he’ll have a moment outside the boat.
It was selfish of me to want Kor’Tar on this trip. I should’ve left him home, but the demon whispered that was a bad decision. I don’t dismiss the suggestions of the gods lightly. I know my curse has a closer connection to them than I…that my demon is more worthy of the gods’ gifts than me.
I am the demon. The demon is me.
Kor’Tar nudges my helm, loosing me from the hold of my thoughts. He whinnies in two questioning syllables.
Li-ly.
I smirk. “Yes, boy. We’ll see her soon.”
Chapter two
Lily
My trap is almost complete. It’s my most extensive work to date, with the longest string of rune carvings I’ve ever done. Well, almost done.
I etch into the wood of the doorframe with my rune-pen, my magic seeping out into the doorway. It flares with soft green, the jagged rune coming to life. The magic ripples along the entire frame of the door, highlighting every rune I’ve painstakingly carved since four this morning. All at once, the carvings meld into the wood and disappear from view.
I sit back on my heels and smirk. This will be aproperfarewell.
More like a proper “Fuck you,” but who’s here to judge me? No one.
Except Alastair. He’ll be here soon.
Nerves flutter through my stomach at the thought of my guard. Memories come to me unbidden, flooding my thoughts with his dark skin and warm smile. I used to help him massage the sweet-smelling, nutty oil into his twisted braids. He’d tell me the stories of each medallion linked in them, each trial he had to surpass to earn them.
Why a highly skilled, painstakingly trained guard of Illya had come to protectmewas a mystery, one he always refused to reveal. I’m nothing special. Nothing worth risking life and limb for. The second daughter to a queen who doesn’t want her. Unfortunate heir to the throne. What fun is there in ruling anyway? I’m much more excited to explore and forge bonds with new countries as a diplomat. Just as the headmistress’s judgement will recommend.
I wave my hand over my hidden hip pocket to transfigure it open and pull out the scroll. I glare at the broken wax seal as if that’ll mend it. I’d tried my damnedest but couldn’t get that seal to reform, even with my specialized transfiguration magic. The bastard thing refuses to be manipulated, and the headmistress carries the seal on her at all times. Hence the plan I’ve hatched.
“Lilianna!” The shrill voice of the headmistress reaches me from the second floor. I look up to see her descending the opulently carpeted stairs that lead from her rooms to the main hallway.
I jump to my feet and hide the scroll behind my back. “Yes, headmistress?”
Her shrewd eyes narrow on me and her shoes click-clack a furious beat as she marches across the polished wood floor. “You are up to no good, aren’t you?”
I try to contain my smirk, but fail. “Of course not, headmistress. When have I ever been anything but the picture of Zephrom’s order?”
Her painted lip curls back in a snarl and she whispers in Seterian, “This child…”
I take a step back, pulling myself out of the doorway and into the foyer. I can’t help but glance up at the ceiling where my lovely trap awaits.
“What are you doing now?” she demands, stomping toward me.
Just a little closer, bitch.
