Page 33 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

I do not like that grin, but I do not ask him to elaborate. He has faced high fae before. As long as he hides his true nature, I do not think I need to worry too much.

“What about me?” Dante asks. “My magic?”

“They will not mind it,” I say. “I promise I will keep you safe.”

Dante’s eyes narrow. Does he believe me? Perhaps not, but I will do what I can to prove it.

The trees now are few and far between, and all at once, the path ends and we are in a field of wildflowers. Bluebells, dog rose, foxglove… A gentle, cool breeze blows through their petals and leaves, and much like the plants near the witch’s cottage, the flowers reach for me, turning their faces in our direction as we walk on by.

Grant tips his face up and looks at the sky. “Two suns?”

I grunt in agreement, and he grins. I can only hope that his initial reaction to our world yesterday was enough to make him immune to the worst of it.

“The flowers are different here,” Dante murmurs. He gives me a sidelong glance. “They like you.”

“They recognise royal fae magic,” I say and hope he does not ask any more questions. “We are in tune with our world.”

He swallows, gaze going distant for a moment. “I saw something last night.”

“Last night?”

“When the witch was outside with me. We—I saw—A star went out.”

My heart thuds in my ears, air squeezing out of my lungs. “You saw it?” I ask in a strangled voice.

Dante looks at me sharply. “Yeah. Just the one.”

Things are far worse than I thought, and I cannot understand how. Of course it was difficult for Mother to wear the crown alone, but she has only been gone a few months. Our realm was torn into being with a frightful amount of magic, which stabilises through the crowns. Even if the crowns were not in balance, our realm should not have started falling apart so quickly.

“I-I did not…” I trail off.

Dante leans a little closer as we walk. Our hands bump together. I do not know if he is intentionally touching me or not, but the tightness in my chest eases much faster than it would otherwise.

“Someone’s coming,” Grant says, and we all look around. I see nothing but the flowers, but then I feel what he felt—the pulse of another fae’s magic. Not nearly as powerful as mine, and that makes it even more impressive that Grant noticed them first.

“Remember what I said,” I murmur.

They both nod and as we take a few more paces forward, a small, white hare comes into view. It is sitting on its haunches in a circle of snowdrops, and its dark eyes fix on Grant and then Dante and then me.

I reach for the fae’s magic and bite back a sigh when I realise—I know her. One of the fae from the court. If she has not been here waiting for us, I will be genuinely surprised.

“Zomo,” I say, “how nice of you to welcome me home.”

The hare’s nose twitches, and from one moment to the next, a beautiful fae stands where it was sitting. She is as tall as I am, dark skin offset by the light, airy dress she is wearing. She has not crushed the snowdrops underfoot; she steps gracefully away from them on bare feet.

“Your Highness,” she says, with the faintest inclination of her head. “We expected you sooner.”

“We?” I already know there is no one else here. I might not have sensed her before Grant did, but there is no one else in this field but us.

“The court. We had word of your return. We did not expect you to bring… companions.”

Grant’s magic is still and silent, and I can only hope Zomo will not delve too deep. She might not have as much power as I do, but she is still high fae.

“The note did not say I was to come alone.”

“The note?” Zomo wriggles her nose, then apparently discards the thought. She shows pointed teeth when she smiles, then turns her flat, dark gaze on Grant. “You. What are you?”

Grant smiles at her. It is utterly disarming and even makes her hesitate. “A selkie, of course.”