Page 2 of Beyond the Mountain (Fae's Captive 4)

“Captain?” One approaches, a bloody slash on his face.

I tap on my sword, the pain immediately showing in Tavaran’s gasp. “All soldiers must leave my lands immediately.”

“Go! Retreat, I said!” Tavaran leans his forehead against his ice prison.

“But, Captain—”

I turn to him. “You only live because I allow it. Would you like me to change my mind?”

His face pales. “I—No. We will await your orders beyond the barrier, Captain.” He turns tail, leaving Tavaran to his fate.

“Look upon your death!” Grayhail rides up on his mount, his warhammer held high. Valen follows close behind.

Ravella rolls her eyes and stows her blades before seeing to the nearest wounded.

Gray jumps down and rushes toward the last of the summer realm soldiers.

“Gray, they’ve retreated.” I send a harsh wind that pushes the stragglers through the shimmering barrier.

He turns to me, disappointment in every corner of his deep frown. “I didn’t get to slay anyone.” Glancing past me, his glower lightens. “But you’ve got one left. One for me.” He strides up, and Tavaran’s brows rise high as he takes in Gray’s hulking body and thick warhammer.

“Valen, help the wounded.” I gesture toward the fallen winter realm guards.

“On it.” He kneels and begins to pull healing magic from inside him that casts a green glow on the muddied snow.

“Now, Tavaran.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re going to tell me what this is about in very specific terms.”

He spits blood onto the ice. “You killed our noble and stole the changeling. I’ve come to retrieve her.”

“Queen Aurentia sent you for Taylor?”

“Yes.”

“You spoke with her?”

“No.”

“Who told you to attack us?”

He cuts his gaze to Gray who is doing some practice swings behind me. One hit with his warhammer, and the ice and Tavaran would be nothing more than pulp.

“We received a message from Byrn Varyndr. It was from the queen.”

“Tell me what it said.”

He pauses for a moment, but another test swing by Gray loosens his lips. “It said the changeling stole a stone from the royal treasury. A soulstone she wears around her neck. And …”

“And what?” I twist my sword. “I tire of your withholding. Spit it out, Tavaran.”

“And the queen had a vision that if I allowed the changeling to reach the winter realm, the summer and winter realms would fall.”

I don’t like the sound of any of this. What does Taylor have to do with the realms falling? “What else?”

“Nothing else. That was it. When I learned she’d already crossed, I came to try and retrieve her. Not to start a war.”

I shake my head. “Invading my lands—for whatever reason—was going to start a war. You’re a military captain. You know that.”

“It was that or let both our realms fall.” He grunts in pain.

Unease settles in my gut, the same odd sensation I had only moments before, but stronger this time. I send out a feeler to Taylor, running a piece of my consciousness down the bond between us. But instead of sensing her on the other end, I feel nothing, as if the link has been cut. My heart goes dark, a howl echoing in my mind. My mate.

“Gray, keep Tavaran prisoner. Valen, heal him. Thorn, guard the crossing.” I pull my sword free of Tavaran and lift off the ground on the winter wind. “Ravella, I need you back at the camp.”

Gray laughs at Tavaran’s agonized groan, then asks, “Where are you going?”

“My mate. Something’s wrong.” I don’t have time to explain. Every second is precious where Taylor is concerned. The wind rushes me over the dark trees and snowy landscape as I try to reach her, to feel her beating heart and clever mind. But I can’t. Please, Ancestors, don’t take her away from me. Not now.

The camp appears just ahead, the fire down to embers and foreboding on the air. The scent of fresh blood hits me, and I howl, the feral strong within me.

“Where is she?” I yell before my feet hit the snow. Para’s head lies on the ground, her body nearby, and Beth sits with Gareth cradled in her lap, his blood seeping out and staining his tunic. Worry turns into terror, filling my heart with fear for both my mate and my best friend.

Beth sobs. “He took her. Cenet. And Para stabbed Gareth in the back. He won’t wake up.”

Ravella appears beside me. “What the—”

“Get Valen. Now.” I kneel next to Gareth and inspect his waxen face, then the wound that cuts through his gut. Ravella sends Gareth a worried look before disappearing again.

I press my hand over the bloody rip in his skin.

“Save him.” Beth turns her teary eyes on me. “Use your magic. Please, save him.”

“I can’t.” I keep pressure on the wound, using a little chill to try and slow the blood. “I don’t have the gift of healing. Never have.” My eyes sting as I stare down at the greatest friend I’ve ever had. We’ve been through so much. I can’t let him pass to the Ancestors, not like this, not from a traitorous blade through the back.

“Someone has to save him.” She strokes his white cheeks, her tears dropping like rain onto his dark hair. “Please.”

“Where did Cenet go?”

She shakes her head. “He put Taylor to sleep, then carried her off.” She juts her chin to the side. “That way. But he said something when he took her. He said that her father wants to see her.”

“Her father? That’s impossible. Her father is dead. She said he died when she was a small child.”

“I don’t know.” Her voice crackles as more tears well. “That’s what he said. Her father. I don’t know any more than that. Except.” She blinks the tears free so they roll down her cheeks. “Except I saw him. Without the Vundi scarf. And he had a symbol on his neck. It was a—”

“Twisted tree?” I grit my teeth.

“Yes.” She sniffles. “How did you know?”

I lean my head back and roar to the rising sun, my despair and anger mingling into one vicious sound that shakes the trees and promises swift vengeance on the king beyond the mountain.

3

Taylor

The scary fae doesn’t release his grip on my arm as I stumble into the pitch blackness at the back of the cave. Leading me through an arch, he turns to the right and winds deeper into the rock.

“You’re the king beyond the mountain.” My words barely make it into sound, and my hands and feet are like ice.

“I’m the king. Yes.” His tone is even, his voice deep but silky.

“I’m not your daughter,” I blurt.

He laughs. My skin crawls.

“Come now, Taylor. Are you trying to hurt my feelings?” Taunting and ugly, the words wrap around my throat, constricting it. “Of course I’m your father. That mating mark on your shoulder doesn’t change anything. The pretender on the winter throne doesn’t have a claim on you. Not like I do. We’re blood, after all. Besides, don’t you like being a princess?”

“My father died.” I cringe when his wing brushes against my back. “And I’m not a princess.”

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