Page 33 of The High Mountain Court

Fenrin turned to Hale. “Are you any good at the game?”

“Not particularly,” Hale replied with a grin.

“Wonderful,” Bri ground out.

“But I do not plan on obtaining the Shil-de ring through a betting game,” Hale said, poking at the fire with a stick.

“Then what’s the plan?” Bri asked, bringing the prince back to task. Remy grinned at Bri. Every word she spoke got right to the point.

“First, I want to authenticate that it is truly the Shil-de ring.” Hale’s gaze slid to Remy, shadows dancing across his face. “That’s where you come in. Do you need to touch the ring to know of its power or will getting close enough do?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been around many magical talismans.” Remy didn’t meet Hale’s gaze. She hadn’t looked him in the eyes since the night of the full moon.

“You are rubbing off on her,” Talhan mumbled to his twin.

Remy had spent her entire life being discouraged from using her magic, and now she was being asked the nuances of its power.

“I will know for certain if I touch it, but I can usually feel power from a distance . . . I don’t think I will be able to do it without revealing I am a witch, though.”

If Remy reached out with her power, others could feel it, sense it too. If she used enough of it, she would glow red and then the game would be up.

She swatted at another bug that landed on her skin. The night was unpleasantly hot with the addition of the fire, but they needed it to cook their meal.

“That is why we reveal who you are up front,” Hale said. Everyone’s eyes turned to him.

“Are you insane?” Fenrin sputtered. “You want to waltz in there and reveal she is a red witch?”

“Not just any red witch,” Hale said with a knowing smile. “My red witch.”

Remy’s heart skipped a beat as Hale reached into his pack and produced a thick leather cord. On it was a stone pendant engraved with the Eastern Court’s crest: a lion’s head over two waves.

“Absolutely not,” Fenrin hissed, staring at the object: a witch’s collar. It was a symbol of ownership that they forced upon witches in the Northern Court. Witches in service to rich and royal fae in other courts wore them too.

“It’s okay, Fen,” Remy murmured to her friend.

“It’s not okay,” Fenrin snapped at her, glaring at the prince. “Remy will never be your slave.”

“It is not real,” Hale said, grabbing two more collars out of his bag. “I had Tal carve these last night . . . they don’t look that good under close inspection, but they will be enough to prove to any naysayers that you are mine.”

“We belong to no one,” Fenrin spat.

“Gods, you are a simple-minded one, aren’t you?” Hale laughed.

“Watch it,” Remy hissed. She could tolerate the prince’s jibes, but no one insulted Fenrin except her.

Fenrin made to stand, but Heather put a hand on his shoulder and nudged him back down. Fighting with a fae prince was a bad idea. Remy wouldn’t have stopped him, though. If he wanted to take a shot at the prince, she would have backed him. She bet it would be very satisfying to punch the prince in that gorgeous face.

“You’d rather swagger into Ruttmore with a bunch of drunk, rich, entitled fae and not have the protection of any court?” Carys asked pointedly to Fenrin.

Narrowing his gaze, Fenrin said nothing more.

Remy stood then on her sore legs. The fight training each morning was taking its toll on her overworked body. Still, she was far better now than she was on the first day.

She moved to Hale, grabbing the witch’s collar out of the prince’s hand. It was a simple leather cord with a metal clasp, nothing notable about it apart from the stone tag. How many witches wore these collars? How many felt safer for it? She bet no one.

“So I’m just meant to openly be a red witch?” The lines on Remy’s brow creased as she looked at the collar in her hands. It was the exact opposite of what she’d been trying to do her whole life. Not having to hide her powers, to cast her magic with impunity . . . the idea was thrilling.

“King Vostemur, I am certain, has many more red witches alive in his dungeons than he will admit,” Hale said, his voice on edge.

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