Page 100 of The Dead Queen

The ruins twist into a maze of obstacles. We weave around collapsed walls and leap over gnarled roots, our movements driven by instinct. My lungs burn, but I don’t slow down.

Tristan’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Don’t stop, Red!”

I risk a glance back. Half a dozen soldiers are gaining on us, Commander Malen at the front, his eyes burning with fury. The knights move in unison, their heavy footfalls pounding the earth behind us.

We vault over the crumbling remains of Ellyll’s ancient wall and burst back into the open valley, exposed and vulnerable. Overhead, the sky is darkening into twilight, the sky aflame with orange and pink. Dozens of soldiers clamor behind us, but I don’t look back again.

I stumble. Gravel bites into my knees and scrapes my palms bloody. The Wolf turns back and reaches for my hand. The moment his skin touches mine, our eyes lock. Where I expected to see fear, I find a storm instead. His eyes are the fierce, roiling gray of a tempest.

My heart leaps into my throat as an undeniable heat rises within me. Here, on the edge of death, time seems to hold its breath. I was a fool for not seeing this sooner. The Wolf isn’t fighting for me because I saved him in Caerwen. His protection has nothing to do with some Wolf code of honor. And he isn’t risking his life for mine because his queen expects him to.

He’s protecting me because he cares about me.

Suddenly, Tristan pulls me to my feet and shoves me ahead of him. “Keep going, Red. Find the queen.”

With his eyes still locked on mine, a thick, black mist engulfs him. Like a surging shadow, it surrounds the soldiers. They cry out in alarm and confusion.

Before I can turn to run, rough hands grab me from behind.

Then, the world goes black.

Chapter 30

I come back to consciousness slowly. My arms are pinned behind my back, tied with rough rope that bites into my wrists. A flickering light hurts my eyes and I squint until they adjust.

Night has fallen. An enormous bonfire blazes a few yards away, its sparks rising like fireflies. Scattered throughout the field, orbs of light glow around the knights with noble blood, those who inherited light power.

We’re in the shadow of the Spires, less than half a mile from the Annwyn border. The sight makes my chest ache. So close. We’re so close, I want to scream at the injustice of it all. All around me, soldiers stand at attention, listening intently to Commander Malen.

I do a quick assessment, moving my body slowly, limb by limb. No broken bones or severe lacerations. I can breathe without pain in my ribs and I’m fully clothed. But one thing is horribly wrong.

My moth necklace is gone.

I scan my surroundings, searching for Tristan, but he’s nowhere to be found. Some small part of me is relieved, but it’s short-lived. Hunter sits, tied up a few feet away. His face is a mass of bruises, pulverized by his father’s men. His copper gauntlets are missing, and there’s a look of despair in his eyes when they meet mine.

“Sienna ...” he whispers through bloody lips. A soldier silences him with a rough shove.

The rope scrapes my wrists as I struggle to sit up.

“Ah,” Hunter’s father turns toward us, his orb of light illuminating his face. “The false heir awakens.”

“Where’s Tristan?” I demand, as if I still have any power here whatsoever.

“Who?” Commander Malen scrunches his face in disgust. “Oh, you mean the Wolf. He probably ran off to his den in the wilderness by now. It hardly matters.” He stands before me. “You are who we came here for.” He flicks his head toward his son. “Hunter was just a bonus.”

“What a doting father,” I say, trying to unnerve him.

“You know, I don’t think I am.” He pauses. “I was once. Before he turned out to be such a disgrace. Always holed up in that musty old library, filling his head with fantasies instead of playing with swords like real men do. I practically begged the king to make him one of his Guards.” He winces in disgust, like the memory still hurts him.

Hunter’s shoulders slump.

My blood roars in my ears. It infuriates me to see him like this. “Any man would be proud to have a son like him.”

“He’s no longer my son.” Malen snaps. “And you,” he lowers his eyes at me. “Are no longer the heir to the Fox Throne. Your father sent us to fetch you, to make sure you face proper punishment.”

“I think you mean ‘execution’,” I say. “He doesn’t want two potential heirs floating around, muddying the succession.”

Malen shrugs. “Call it what you wish.” He walks to one of his men and holds out his hand expectantly. The soldier passes Hunter’s copper gauntlets and sword.