Page 78 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
Three men enter the room behind them, dressed in finer clothes than the guards and workers we’ve seen so far. Not the silks and leathers typical of the High Fae, but the newer fabrics developed in the new world. The dark woven material is designed to dry quickly and wash easily, with accents of metal and leather buckles. I gather they must be the cousins Seth mentioned.
The Fae in the center wears a golden lightning-shaped medallion on a chain around his neck and a matching signet ring, both marking him as the warden of the province. His bite of power crackles through the air, strong but strangely contained—like thunder on a stick.
The other two are taller by a few inches. One is built like a thug, with broad shoulders, a thick middle, and a heavy beard. The other is muscular, too, but more refined. His hair is just as black, matching scruff lines his jaw, and his piercing mismatched eyes make my stomach twist with unease.
So far, none of these men have spared me more than a passing glance, which is bizarre, but probably for the best.
“Sethanias Devine… I didn’t think you’d have the gall to show your face here again,” the warden hisses.
A dark cloak billows behind him as he slouches into the throne, legs spread, his energy a cross betweenfuck-boyandgothic martyr. Dark circles drag his gray eyes down, while his thick, unkept black hair and pale skin emphasize the brooding edge of his presence.
“Alaric Rayne. What happened to your father?” Seth asks, clearly disappointed and a little freaked out to find his cousin wearing his uncle’s mantle.
Alaric grins from ear to ear. “Dead. We’re all sons without fathers now, cousin.”
“Which means you’re no longer the Warden of Lightning Point. Not until the new king legitimizes your role,” Seth says calmly. His voice holds no taunt, no snark—just quiet resolve, like it belongs to someone else.
Alaric flexes and cracks his knuckles. “Haven’t you heard? The chalice is gone, so the strongest wolf gets to lead the pack.” His cold, baring gaze flicks over to me. “Who’s your friend?”
“I’m his woman,” I grumble, and true enough, it’s not a lie.
I expect Seth to beam at that, but he grimaces instead, like I just said the wrong thing.
“Is that so?” Alaric jumps from the ledge of his raised platform, landing right in front of me. He braces his knuckles under my chin, forcing my head to turn. “She’s not much to look at, cousin. Strange. You’re not usually one to settle for ugly ducklings.”
His brow furrows as he wraps a hand around my throat.
“Get off me!” I head-butt his face.
The wolves leap to their feet, barking along with a crash of thunder as their boss stumbles away, holding his nose. His fingers are covered with a mix of blood and dark ink.
The guards raise their weapons, but Alaric grabs his subordinate’s double-headed axe and gestures for them to stay next to Seth.
His brothers flank me instead, grabbing an arm each.
“Who are you, little duck?” the brother with the mismatched eyes whispers nefariously in my ear. He’s oddly cold to the touch, his grip firm enough to incapacitate me without causing lasting harm—holding me right at the edge of pain.
The thug clamps a hand around my upper arm and presses his rough palm flat on my shoulder, pinning me in place, both my hands now held behind my back.
“What do we have here?” Alaric inches closer, more careful this time. “Looks like Seth’s girlfriend is hiding her true appearance with a glamor rune. Let’s see.”
He grabs a dirty rag from his pocket and scrapes the coarse, unrefined piece of wool from my chin to my cleavage, then rubs behind my ears, all the usual spots where glamor runes are typically hidden. The magic starts to fade, and the two men holding me swallow hard, not giving me an inch to spare.
Mismatched eyes sinks his nails into the flesh of my arm, marking it with half crescent grooves, but it’s the way he dips his head to sniff me that turns my blood to ice.
Alaric whistles. “Brothers…we have a legend in our midst.”
“You’re—” the big one stammers.
I hold Alaric’s stare, unflinching. “I’m Devi Eros.”
He flattens the blade of the axe against my cheek. “And how are you supposed to shoot me with a love arrow with your hands held behind your back, luv?”
I give him an impish smile. “If I wanted you to fall in love with me, I wouldn’t need any arrows.”
Alaric tucks his chin, laughing, and scapes the hair from my face with his blade. “Take Seth to a cell. I need to speak with his woman alone.”
Seth shoves the guards off—something he could have done easily before—and marches closer, his sword taking shape inside his palm.
