Page 120 of Bound to the Fae King

“It’s your living ones you should worry about.”

Kallan twists as much as he’s able, trying to see behind him. He grunts and groans, pulling against the vines to little avail, but he’s able to shift enough to see the group of Unseelie we’d parted from. Members of the Court of the Forest ring them in, holding them at sword point in a tight cluster. Katiya is nearby, physically held by Sylvie, probably to keep her from shifting away. Galen stands next to her, leaning heavily on the hilt of his sword for support, the tip wedged deep into the ground.

“This doesn’t need to end in bloodshed,” I say, garnering attention from the group.

“Doesn’t it?” Riven asks, though I sense he’s not looking for a direct answer.

I swallow, summoning my willpower. “The Unseelie didn’t come here for a fight.” I know that to be true, even if they refuse to say it. “The Court of Air didn’t either. They didn’t attack the Unseelie. Nor did they attack your court, despite Katiya stealing me from there and planting a trail for Sigurd to follow.”

Somehow, I know that to be true—I’m betting on it. If Sigurd had stormed into the Court of the Forest, an army at his back, there’d be an entirely different battle underway.

“Two of my greatest enemies weakened and in my vines. You think this ends any way but in blood?” As if to emphasize Riven’s position, the vines twist. All I can think about are the thorns digging deeper into Sigurd’s body, bleeding him out.

“Stop!” I beg. “You already have your blood.” Sigurd can’t possibly lose much more. “They were both trying to save people they loved. How dare you barge in and take advantage of that?”

The vines stop abruptly.

“Wren.” Sigurd groans. A warning. I don’t listen.

“It seems you’ve fought dirty with the Unseelie already,” I prod. “You love a human woman, don’t you? What would she say about this?”Please, dear God, don’t let her be bloodthirsty.

The jab hits home. Riven snarls, baring a hint of fanged teeth, but doesn’t retaliate. His look softens, and he whispers something I can’t make out. He glances at the Unseelie king. “If I free you, you will take your people and leave this place immediately. Vow it.”

Kallan snarls, baring his own fangs. Wicked, black claws on one bound hand rake against the vines, digging grooves that appear to heal over the moment they’re made. Blood runs down several of the vines, and for some reason, it strikes me as odd that it’s red. Apparently, even dark fae bleed the same as humans and Seelie.

Seeming to realize his struggle is useless, Kallan stills. He gives one glance back to his people, his sister, before turning back to Riven. “I agree.”

Some kind of magic tingles through the air, and then the vines around the Unseelie king vanish. He falls unceremoniously to the ground.

“My offense against your people is repaid. Do not let us meet again,” Riven says. “If we do, there will be no mercy.”

Blood mars Kallan’s pale hair and streaks down his ruined armor. Without a word, he lifts his blade, sheaths it, looks between the other two kings, and vanishes.

A gasp at my back alerts me to his reappearance. I turn to see him in front of Katiya. Words pass between them, but I’m too far away to hear. A moment later and the Forest fae part to allow them to rejoin their comrades. The whisper of more conversation and hint of a barked command are all I make out before the Unseelie slowly fade as one. It’s not the clean and instant shift I’m used to seeing. Maybe that’s why it felt so nauseating on the way here.

When they’re gone, I turn back to Riven. “Free him.” I gesture to Sigurd. “Please.”

I refuse to look too closely at the vines anymore. It was one thing to see Kallan bleed. If I have to see more of Sigurd’s blood marring the greenery, I’ll lose my resolve.

“You asked what my human woman would say about this,” he says to me. “Let’s find out.”

Chapter 43

Riven,theForestking,makes some kind of hand gesture, and moments later, another fae appears at his side. A new face to me but one who carries authority in his stance and cuts an intimidating façade with the scar down one side of his face. He’s dressed similarly to his king—a commander of some sort?

“Ambrose, bring Lia to me,” Riven orders.

“Here?” His gaze pans across Sigurd and the members of his court looming in the distance. He must be of authority to question his king.

“Yes, here. As soon as possible.”

Ambrose grumbles but vanishes a moment later.

Silence lingers uncomfortably in the wake of his absence, particularly when he does not quickly reappear.

I chance a look at Sigurd. His head lolls slightly to the side, but he’s awake, a terrible grimace etched on his face though I sense he tries to hide it. I bite my lip, barely holding in the whimper aching to break free.

“Let him out of this mess,” I say, turning to Riven. “He’s badly injured.”

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