Page 53 of The Crowned Queen

“Why are you showing me this?” Araya whispered.

“Because.” He pressed a soft kiss to the scarred tip of her ear. “You need to see what you’re signing up for when you scream that you never want me to touch you again. How long do you think you would last in a place like this?”

Araya closed her eyes. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t stop the way her body shook in his grip. Every breath sawed in and out of her lungs, fast and hard. But Jaxon didn’t seem to actually want an answer.

“They want to torture you, Starling,” he murmured against her skin. “You embarrassed my father tonight, so he’s going to let Caylin carve you to ribbons. Then he’ll breed you until you’re all used up and he can leave you somewhere like this to die.” He shifted, drawing her close until her back pressed against his front. His arms tightened, holding her there. “Is a life with me really so bad compared to that?”

He wanted her to choose. To pick him. A year ago, she would have. But she wasn’t that person anymore. She was Loren’s mate. His queen. And queens put their people first.

“I guess we’ll find out,” she whispered.

Chapter

Nineteen

It took five maddening days to collect the documents they needed to travel.

Finn had no issue. He already had counterfeit papers marking him as a common merchant, and Serafina was human enough to pass as his wife without difficulty. And Raelle’s people had no trouble forging paperwork turning Caela into their fae servant. A wealthy merchant traveling with his wife and their servant wouldn’t raise too many questions if they were stopped by the Arcanum.

Loren, on the other hand…

“Even if you hide your shadows you’ll never pass as anything other than a full-blooded fae male,” Raelle said bluntly. “The only reason for you to be on that road is as a prisoner.”

“I spent twenty-five years in iron,” Loren snapped. “I’m not letting you lock me in an iron cage.”

“Naeva and Brynn will be in irons too,” Finn pointed out. “It’s about plausibility. We have to craft a narrative that will hold up if we’re stopped by Arcanum soldiers.”

“I’ll travel alongside,” Loren argued. “I’m sure I can stay out of sight⁠—”

“It’s different now, Loren,” Thorne said gently. “They’ve cut down the trees. Humans are everywhere. It’s not just soldiers you need to worry about—anyone we pass could report you.”

Loren clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth. “I wish you were coming.”

“Farhallow needs at least one healer.” Thorne smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I wish there was another way Loren, I really do. But a merchant transporting three fae prisoners in iron is the best cover story we can give you.”

The shadows shifted and writhed at Loren’s feet, as disquieted by the idea as he was.

“The manacles and collars will be lined,” Raelle said. “They won’t burn your skin. And they won’t be locked. You’ll be able to take them off if you need to.”

Like that was any comfort.

But Loren hadn’t come up with an alternative by the time Raelle’s people finally came back with identification papers bearing the Arcanum’s Eye, so he grit his teeth and held out his arms for Finn to close the iron manacles around his wrists. There was no time for petty arguments when they should have been on the road to Elvanfal days ago.

Finn couldn’t meet his eyes as he did it, stepping back hastily as soon as the manacles clicked shut. Loren rotated his wrists, testing his range of motion. True to Raelle’s word, they weren’t locked. And the length of chain between them was long enough that he had plenty of room to remove them if he needed to. But the sickeningly familiar feeling of being cut off from his magic made Loren’s stomach lurch, every fiber of his being rebelling against the idea of setting a single foot inside the iron banded wagon they’d commandeered.

“It feels awful, doesn’t it?” The copper-haired female already in the wagon shuddered, tugging the end of her braid. “I never get used to it.”

“It’s not something you get used to.” Loren climbed into the wagon, clenching his teeth as he settled onto the bench opposite the two volunteers Raelle had selected. The shadows curled under the bench, pressed flat against the floor like they too wished they could be anywhere else. Too bad they had tied themselves to him.

“Oh—” the female’s moss-green eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about all the time you spent in iron. I didn’t mean⁠—”

“It’s fine.” Loren leaned gingerly back against the side of the wagon, relieved to find the ragged cloak they’d given him was enough of a shield against the iron. “I wasn’t offended.”

“There you go again, Brynn.” The other female in the wagon scoffed, jabbing an elbow into her friend’s side. “Letting your mouth run away with you.”

“You’re Raelle’s volunteers,” Loren said.

It wasn’t really a question—why else would any fae submit themselves to be bound in iron and climb into a cage? But the silver-haired female nodded.