Page 27 of Across an Endless Sea

“You’re not in charge here, Nicnevin. Now, bow before your king.”

Taking a deep breath through my nose, I shake my head and say the words which might just get me killed. “I have no king, and you have no right to punish one of my Guard.”

I might be pissed at Caed, but an unexpected flare of angry possessiveness flares brightly at the very idea of anyone hurting him.

Caed glowers a hole in my back, but I ignore him. Now that I’m away from the ship and can finally think, I’ve begun to form a rough plan. Danu said that the only way for us to win this was by swaying him to our side, so I plan to treat him like the others.

And that includes standing up for him like I would them. Claiming him—even if I’m not yet sure where we stand.

Surely any sane person would choose to be loyal to the person defending them over the one who wants them whipped?

Maeve’s grin is enormous, and she offers me another approving nod. Behind her, I think I see the outline of Titania flicker into being for a second, but she’s gone before I can check.

Around me, everyone else on the boat holds their breath. The anticipation is so thick that it presses in on me, making it hard to breathe.

Elatha takes another step forward, and his long fingers—longer than any I’ve ever seen—rise towards my face. I clench my jaw, expecting a slap. But he doesn’t strike me. Instead, he traces my cheekbone up to my ear, running his finger along to the pointed tip left exposed by my braid.

A shiver runs down my spine. The skin there is sensitive, and it feels wrong on so many levels for him to claim such an intimate touch. But I refuse to look away.

“It seems you fail to understand the precariousness of your position,” he murmurs. “I have captured the queen, and thus, Faerie now belongs to me. You can submit, and perhaps your life in my halls will be bearable. Or you can continue to defy me and see what happens.”

“Faerie belongs to Danu,” I retort. “Capturing me means nothing.”

This time when he raises his hand, I’m convinced he really does mean to strike me. Muscle memory, born of years of experience, takes over before I can process the incoming blow. I flinch automatically, but the hit never comes. When I look again, the back of his hand has stopped an inch from my cheek, but the damage is done.

The Fomorians around us are chuckling. I was doing so well at pretending to be strong, right up until the moment that I cowered.

Elatha hasn’t joined in on the laughter. Instead, the king is busy aiming a dark glare over my shoulder at Caed. It doesn’t last long, and his expression turns back to one of amused triumph a second later.

“Fortunately for you, I disagree,” he says. “Capturing you means everything.” He waves a callous hand in dismissal. “Someone chain her to an oar with the other fairies. She can learn for herself the consequences of her actions.”

“If I may, your majesty,” Prae interrupts, earning a narrow glower for her trouble. “The best punishment for the Nicnevin is watching her people suffer. Idle labour won’t have as much of an impact—and she’s barely strong enough to lift an oar, anyway. Perhaps merely watching the other fairies struggle to row us back to Fellgotha would be sufficient.”

Bitch. I glare at her, but her face remains impassive. Is this what she meant by trying to keep me alive? By making me watch as others are humiliated in my place?

I wish I’d never made that damned bargain.

But then again, from what I’ve seen, Prae is Caed’s closest ally. If my plan to win over Caed is going to work, I’m probably going to need to win over Prae as well.

Elatha grins like he’s won the lottery. “Thank you, my niece. Someone bring me a fairy.”

He snaps those long fingers again, and I blink in shock as a familiar face is dragged in front of him.

The oaf from before throws Bethani at Elatha’s feet.

Two different calloused hands—one large and the other slender—grab my arms, keeping me immobile. Prae and Caed hold me in place when I would’ve put myself between the faun and the Fomorian king.

The fae looks at Elatha, then turns her wide, watering eyes on me. In that single look is a wealth of unnamed emotion, but mostly… fear.

When she turns back to him, her whole body is shaking.

“Goddess bless the Nicnevin,” she whispers, her voice catching on every word.

Elatha draws a blade from his belt and wastes no time in severing her head from her body.

“No!” I gasp, staring in disbelief as he flicks the blood from his blade.

“How many of your people will I have to kill before you bow?” Elatha queries, amused. “I have hundreds of slaves. I could easily kill one a day for centuries and still not run out.”

---