Page 4 of The Crowned Queen

Kai let out a long breath, suddenly very aware of the sounds filtering through the closed door. Thuds and muffled voices, makeshift weapons clashing together. Every fae here was risking execution or worse by training with these weapons. If they were willing to fight the Arcanum without their magic—armed with only kitchen knives and clubs—surely he could be brave enough to stand up beside them.

Kai swallowed hard, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. “Well obviously,” he said with a bravado he didn’t feel, “I’m in.”

Chapter

One

Araya sat on the edge of the bed, tracing the runes that kept her prisoner here with her eyes for the thousandth time. From loris and thyn hidden in the carvings around the doorframe to the runes etched into the glass of the window—every surface had been carefully spelled to keep her trapped in her pretty cell.

Even if she could have bypassed those, the iron bands that hung heavy around her wrists and throat wouldn’t let her get far. They were emblazoned with runes too. Loris again, to bind her. Na’vorel to sap her strength, leaving her teetering on the edge of exhaustion no matter how long she slept.

And of course, even if she escaped the iron, there was always the ly’ithra rune tattooed at the base of her thumb. Its constant pull dragged at her magic, leaving her wrung out and spent, with barely a flicker of aether in her blood. Helpless.

Exactly how the Shaws wanted her.

They had taken everything from her. Her freedom, her magic—even the bond that tethered her to Loren was a dull echo of what it should have been, smothered by distance and the tea they forced down her throat every day.

She couldn’t feel him. And he couldn’t feel her.

Jaxon came every day. Watching her eat with a sharp, assessing stare that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. Lurking in the doorway while Belanis scrubbed her down, his silence louder than any threat. Thumbing through a book while she sat as far from him as she could get, her knees pulled tight to her chest.

He hadn’t touched her. He couldn’t—not when she might be carrying Loren’s child. She still wore the ta’nara rune to suppress her fertility, but runes worked differently on the other side of the Shadowed Veil and the cold-eyed healer Jaxon had brought to tend her injuries hadn’t been able to confirm or rule out a pregnancy. So Jaxon had been forced to wait.

But he wouldn’t have to anymore.

Araya shivered, wrapping her arms around her midsection as another dull cramp radiated through her abdomen. Part of her was relieved. She wouldn’t be giving them Loren’s child. But what that meant for her—the thought set her heart racing, cold terror filling her veins. Garrick had made her situation very clear. He had orchestrated the overthrow of the fae monarchy, created a world that ran on stolen fae magic. And now, he wanted the ultimate prize—a little fae prince or princess, born to his blood.

One she would bear for them, willing or not.

Unless she escaped.

Araya drew a deep breath, forcing her heartbeat to slow. Loren was coming for her. She knew it with the same certainty that she knew the sun would rise in the morning. But he wouldn’t be able to find her with the bond as muted as it was, so she had to find a way to help him.

Right on schedule, the lock clicked. Araya lifted her head, watching the dark-haired fae servant wheel the tea service in just like she did every morning. She wore a spotless gray dress, the crisp livery marking her as a member of the household staff. No one who worked for the Shaws could ever really be trusted—but the clipped tips of her ears gave Araya hope. They were both prisoners here.

“Hello, Belanis,” Araya said. “How are you this morning?”

The younger female stiffened, her blue-gray gaze darting up to meet Araya’s silver stare. She poured the tea without answering, the curl of steam carrying the bitter scent of the herbs to Araya’s nose. They brewed it stronger than she ever had, determined to stamp out any chance she might reach Loren through their bond.

“Is it warm out?” Araya took the cup, cradling it in her hands without lifting it to her lips. “It looks like the garden is starting to bloom⁠—”

“You have to drink it, Miss.” Belanis cast a furtive glance back at the door, her eyebrows drawing together. “You’ll get us both in trouble.”

“The room is warded against sound,” Araya said. “They can’t hear us. I need your help⁠—”

“No.” All the blood drained from Belanis’s already pale face. “Are you mad?”

“Desperate.” Araya set the cup aside, lowering her voice despite the wards. “I started bleeding this morning.”

“Gods,” Belanis whispered.

Every fae female in Aetheris knew what that meant. The Arcanum’s breeding program was as efficient as it was ruthless, designed to ensure the best chance of conception.

“I’m sorry.” Belanis cleared her throat, her voice strained. “There isn’t anything I can do.”

“There is.” Araya reached out, her fingertips brushing the other female’s sleeve. “If you can just pass a message⁠—”

“You are mad.” Belanis jerked away from her, taking a large step back. “What do you think they’ll do to me if I help you?”