Page 22 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

He gave her such an odd feeling. And she thought it was probably better not to tell him anything he didn’t need to know.

They rode on in silence for some time, until sunlight finally reached the path again as they thundered out of the woods and into the field, where the wall towered over them.

“Whoa, Echo,” the prince said.

The horse pulled up instantly, tossing his silky black mane, as if to say he would have liked to run forever. Truthfully, the majestic creature didn’t even seem tired. It was amazing. Farrow wondered how it could even be the same type of animal as the old mare they kept at home to pull the cart. It seemed unlikely.

Prince Blackthorn leapt off the horse and offered Farrow his hand.

But she slid down without his help, landing hard, but not stumbling.

Blackthorn took the horse’s reins and approached the wall.

The ivy began to shiver, as if it were waving at her.

She smiled back, remembering how the ivy had helped her over the wall.

If the prince had used the same method of travel she had, there was no way he was getting his horse over the wall.

“Echo, your horn,” the prince murmured, his hand outspread on the animal’s chest.

His horn?

Echo lowered his dark head and suddenly Farrow realized he did have a horn. It was as black as his coat, and so shiny it looked as if it were made of liquid. How had she not noticed it before?

“A unicorn,” she breathed.

Farrow thought they only existed in storybooks.

Echo traced his horn in an arc shape against the stones and ivy, leaving behind a trail of gold. But that wasn’t quite right. It was more like a trail of light.

Farrow watched in wonder as Blackthorn pressed the center of the arc and it swung open like a door.

“Neat trick, eh?” he asked, winking at her. “How did you cross?”

“You don’t want to know,” she said, shaking her head and walking past him to her own side of the wall.

Once again, she knew she was in the same meadow, separated only by a line of stones.

She’d always thought the place she’d come so many times to gather herbs was quite beautiful. But now the mortal side of Fairweather felt cold and gray compared to the Fae King’s realm.

The trees seemed a paler shade of green and almost listless. Here the ivy could barely whisper.

“It’s strange here,” the Prince said.

She nodded, feeling like a poor hostess for her side.

“Echo,” he said again.

The horse approached and Farrow hardly recognized him.

On the other side he was as big as a draft horse, his mane and tail flowing without breeze in the same way Blackthorn’s did.

But here, he looked like a commoner’s black gelding. His horn was gone, his mane and tail plain and unbrushed.

When she looked at him closely though, it was as if she could see the afterimage of what he had been, floating in the air between her eyes and the beast.

“A good disguise is tantamount here,” the Prince said.

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