Page 64 of The Maleficent Faerie
Good boy.
That little phrase, and the tiny smile that accompanies it, lets me know she is all right. Or she will be. Relief trickles into the blended swirl of grief, anxiety, and anger in my soul. It gives me just enough strength to settle my usual calm expression into place.
I let my mask slip for a moment, and not in my usual way—casual jokes by the fireside, friendly sparring, merry songs. I allowed my men to see my cold fury, the darkness I keep locked away.
I was shaken. Out of control.
I killed Reehan without even thinking about it. Without asking questions, or considering laws and the fair order of justice. Excusable, since I witnessed the crime myself—but what if I had misread the situation? What if I’d murdered him, and then discovered their activities were consensual?
The impulsive nature of my actions disturbs me. I thought I had learned to consider more carefully before reacting. Despite Reehan’s lack of respect, for me and for the Princess, he was right about one thing. Aura has affected me more deeply than I realized—shaken me to my core. When it comes to her, my self-control is questionable at best.
I must be more careful.
“We will ride on, and send someone back for Reehan’s body later,” I hear myself saying. “Take an hour of rest, and then we move. I don’t like this place. There are no birds.”
No birds, in a field of grass, with plentiful seeds on stalks. It isn’t right. Yet I can’t feel anything amiss—can’t sense any magical influence. Nor did I see anything suspicious when I flew over the area and chose this spot. Of course there are cloaking spells and charms for the concealment of magic, but those take time to activate, and there’s no sign of any Caennith arriving here before us. We should be safe enough for a short rest, as long as we set a watch.
My knights continue with preparations for the meal and the care of the horses, but they do so in heavy silence. Do they believe me, that Reehan was going to rape Aura, or do they think I killed him out of jealousy? Either way I am still King, still their leader. But I’d like to know they believe me, and trust me.
How can I expect them to trust me when I don’t trust myself?
And why, why am I thinking so much aboutme, when Aura is the one who suffered indignity and fear in the field?
She’s standing beside the horse she rode, absently stroking its neck and shoulder. I should approach her and offer comfort—but I don’t know what to say. Apologize for my knight’s actions? Tell her I never imagined he would attempt such violence? He was a merry companion, a trickster, a teller of tales. Irreverent, gleeful, sometimes vulgar and offensive, but like a fool, I overlooked those instances.
“Sire.”
I inhale sharply, tearing my gaze from Aura. “What is it, Kyan?”
His silver feathers glitter darkly in the fading light. “May I bring you some food? Some drink?”
There’s understanding and concern in his eyes. No condemnation.
“I had to do it,” I say under my breath.
He nods grimly. “I overheard him speaking to Vandel last night, after you carried the Princess away. I did not think he would act on his words, so I said nothing. I should have told you.”
“I should have seen it in him. I used to be better at reading people.” I sweep a hand over my face. “Fuck, Kyan. This is such a mess.”
“I know, Sire.” He lifts one hand tentatively, then places it on my shoulder, a brotherly grip. “I will bring you some wine, and something to—”
His body jerks, eyes blown wide, a faint grunt of surprise breaking from his lips.
A feathered shaft, gleaming with magic, protrudes from beneath his armpit.
His hand drops from my shoulder.
He’s falling, crashing into the glitter of his wings. Blue lightning forks out from the arrow, caging his chest in virulent chains of flame.
With a roar, I grip the arrow and yank it out. Kyan’s body arches, his face a rictus of pain. Calling on my magic, I spin to face the direction from which the arrow came. I can see nothing, so with a burst of power I flatten an immense swath of grass.
Two figures tumble and roll for fresh cover as I blow apart their hiding place. I send thorns racing along the ground after them, but my thorns are turned aside and crumbled to ash by some opposing force.
My knights leap to their feet, weapons ready, the meal forgotten. More arrows arch through the dusky sky, over the towering grass, curving down into our hollow. They don’t behave like normal arrows—they swerve, seeking targets.
“Seeker arrows!” Vandel calls out.
These missiles are a Caennith specialty—arrows that are charmed when they’re crafted, then animated by a specific spell. They don’t just fly from a bow; they pursue their target. Glamours do not fool them.
