Other than the sculptured lines of Raff’s handsome face, being quick to smile and laugh, he’s so unlike his surly older brother that it’s difficult to believe they were raised in the same family. Although—I’m not sure if the word family is the correct way to describe a royal fae household.
Commands are shouted. The massive green gates shudder, then glide open, and we move forward.
Over the loud rush of waterfalls, the órga falcons cry in the sky above, and the horses’ hooves clip-clop against the ground. Other than those sounds, all is quiet, the clove-scented air thrumming with tension. The whole city stands still as we enter.
A rider appears in the distance, his horse trotting briskly toward us over a gleaming silver-colored road, the castle shining brightly at the end of it.
This is really happening. I’m walking into a Faery city, a captive of a cruel prince, with no idea what will become of me. My heart pounds in time with Jinn’s hoofbeats.
One two. One two. One two. One two.
The tall, white-haired fae dressed in flowing leaf-green robes dismounts and sketches a low bow to the brothers. Going by his haughty bearing, he’s probably an adviser or a diplomat. “Your Highnesses, welcome home. Prince Everend, we are very glad of your return.”
Ever inclines his head.
“What about me?” asks Raff. “Are you glad to see me also?”
The fae’s smile pinches tight. “Prince Rafael, you’ve been gone not half a day and we haven’t had time to miss you. We’ve been without Prince Everend’s company for almost a week.”
“Next time, I shall stay away longer, then.” Raff laughs.
Long robes swirl as the man turns back to Ever. “The queen wishes an immediate audience with your party in the Great Hall. She is in a disagreeable mood. I would not tarry.”
Ever rolls his eyes at Raff’s wide grin. “So, there is to be no rest for the terminally exhausted then, Lord Gavrin? I suppose I’d better make myself presentable.”
Spine straightening, his huntsman’s glamor wavers, morphing into the silver and gold armor he revealed briefly to me at the top of Mount Cúig. Transformation complete, he looks every bit the royal prince returning to his kingdom. Proud. Regal. Terrifying.
He turns and studies me, his mouth pulling into a grimace. “We don’t have time to do anything about the mortal. I suppose she’ll have to appear as she is, filthy and bedraggled.” His gaze follows the road that snakes gently up the hill, ending at the castle, then flicks back to me. “But she appears likely to pass out at any moment and will no doubt slow our progress. Lord Gavrin, go on ahead and advise my mother she must be patient. We will arrive as soon as we can.”
Lord Gavrin materializes in front of me. His violet eyes narrow as he inspects my buttonless coat, the torn purple uniform and ripped jeans with nearly all the dirt from Ithalah forest ground into them. “Your Highness, please allow me to carry the human on my horse. I’ll transport her directly to the Great Hall.”
“No,” says Ever. “I shall do it.”
“Brother, that wouldn’t be wise—” Raff begins.
Thunder shakes the sky and the órga falcons shriek.
“Raff, it is fine,” Ever snaps, the look he gives his brother icy enough to freeze him solid. “The human is unpredictable, believe me. You and Lord Gavrin have no idea how to manage her or have any authority in this regard. Remember, it was I who found her.”
Mouth a grim line, Raff says, “As you please, brother.”
With wide eyes, the stately Lord Gavrin bows once again, then backs away before climbing into the saddle.
“Come here, mortal.” Ever signals with his palm, frowning like a roadside worker commanding pesky ill-timed traffic.
My feet ache. My bones, too. Everything hurts. I shuffle wearily to Jinn’s side and meet his rider’s molten-steel gaze. Leaning down, Ever scoops me up, and then deposits me in front of him, side-saddle this time. Even so, his forearm presses as tightly as always against my waist, locking me in place. Trapping me against sharp metal.
Glancing side to side and up and down as we ride, I try to take in all the sights.
The city is a contradiction. Appearing both ancient and new, it teems with abundant growth and crumbling decay. It’s the oddest place. Jaw-dropping. Awe-inspiring. Stunningly beautiful. And real. That’s the part I’m having trouble believing—the place Mom painted is actually real.
To calm my nerves, I hum softly to myself, and the prince’s fingers suddenly dig into my stomach. The shock makes me moan. He inhales a sharp breath, squeezing me tighter. Then the sun bursts through the clouds, a fresh earthy scent filling the air as warm drops of rain fall on my hair and shoulders.
Ever has made a gloriously brilliant sun shower.
“Is that your doing?” I ask, trying not to sound too impressed.
He ignores me, and says, “What was that noise you made a moment ago?”
“It’s called humming.” Or moaning. “Surely, you’ve heard of such a thing before.”
“Don’t do it again,” he commands, and instantly the rain ceases, the sun ducking behind puffy clouds. “Listen carefully. Many of the Folk will stare, because they haven’t seen the likes of you before—seemingly part troll, part wasp, but a human nevertheless. You must pay them no heed.”
I say nothing.
“The Emerald Castle is ahead. We will enter directly into the foyer of the Great Hall. Prepare yourself to meet my mother. If you can help it, do not show fear. And more importantly, don’t even think of provoking her.”
I’m too busy gaping at the town and its people to answer. As our three horses trot briskly toward the castle, all manner of strange creatures and exquisitely regal fae line the path, peer down from high arched windows in the buildings, or peek from lush nooks set into the city wall.
One two. One two. One two. One two is the beat I’ve been forbidden to hum along with.
“Make no mistake, if you wish to survive your encounter with the queen, I suggest you do not speak to her the way you do to me.”
Again, I don’t answer.
“Do you hear me?” he asks.
“Yes, with your booming voice, how could I not? Learning that you’re a prince hasn’t changed my low opinion of you. I don’t have to speak to you if I don’t want to.”
He sighs. “And that is precisely the attitude that will get you killed. As they hold a blade to your throat, or perhaps worse, if you can speak, please do not waste your last breath to say I didn’t warn you.”
We dismount in a jangle and clang of bridles and swords then walk up marble steps toward enormous carved wooden doors, fortified with decorative metal strapping and set deep into a Gothic archway. Inlaid with green gemstones, a bronze, six-pointed star decorates the door’s center, perhaps an important symbol for the realm.
I look behind me as we reach the landing and watch two guards guide the horses down a side street.
The princes lead the way into the castle, Spark riding Raff’s shoulders and Balor walking sedately at Ever’s side. I totter behind them on shaking legs, and closing the formation behind me is Lord Gavrin, his long robes whispering secrets with every step. All else is silent, the vast space empty of courtiers.