Page 96 of Ravenrose

Two large males I don’t recognize stalk into the little clearing; my eyes immediately check their ears.

Relief fleeting for a moment until it dies a quick death the second their eyes land on me and their weapons lift. I find myself staring straight down the end of a pointed arrow.

One of them shouts, and more appear. Five in total. All of whom look far too delighted to see me.

Unease flickers through me, and I rise—slowly—to my feet, my hands raised in front of me. I had quickly sheathed my dagger before they noticed. It’s hidden once again by my skirts.

“Please,” I start, my voice soft—pleading, hoping to appeal to their better nature. I clear my throat to increase my volume. “I need help. I was a prisoner of the Kovarian army, but I escaped. They’re—they’re probably tracking me.” My eyes scan the group, not finding an ounce of compassion or pity in any of their eyes. A dark feeling sinks into my chest. “I need to find the Iron Fae—Skye.” I make sure to let my voice shake, and to stumble my speech over the last word, keeping my eyes wide with fear.

Not a threat.

Harmless.

In need of help.

One of them—a broad, thickly built male—laughs.

Any remaining hope inside me slips away. Especially when the male in front, the blonde—their leader, from the looks of it—smiles.

It’s not a reassuring smile. No, it’s a smile a snake might make if it were looking at a trapped mouse.

I swallow hard, glancing to either side of them now, searching for an escape route, but the group closes rank. The two at the rear have slowly circled around until I find myself in the middle of a small circle.

The blonde male considers me. “Kovaria rarely keeps fae prisoners.” I try not to squirm when his eyes trail the length of me. The bronze armour they wear catches my eye.

They are from the ambush.

“Where are you from?” the male continues, and I’m thankful for the first time to still be covered in dirt and grime from days of rough travel on the road. I don’t think being recognized as the Princess of Sitara will do me any favors with this crew.

“Sitara,” is all I say, trying to keep my eyes on all five of them at once as they slowly edge closer.

“Kovaria is known to execute their fae prisoners upon capture. You must be very important, or very lucky.” His gaze drags over me again, and his lips curve up. “She is a pretty one, isn’t she, boys?”

They laugh, and my stomach drops into a pool of dread.

One of them licks their lips.

My own lip curls in disgust.

“If they kept her alive, and they hunt her now, still,” the fae male with dark hair next to the blonde speaks up, looking between me and his leader, “I’d bet Kovaria would pay a small fortune to have her back.”

“No—” I choke out, the words giving me a start. I study their armour again: no visible sigils or colors, just that ruddy brown and dull bronze. “But you’re—fae?” I trail off, looking up at the blonde again.

“We’re entrepreneurs,” he corrects, smirking down at me. “And right now, you’re looking like a mighty fine investment.”

Cold understanding settles through me.

“You’re raiders,” I say, narrowing my eyes and dropping all pretense, my voice flat. I’ve never encountered raiders myself, but I’ve heard all the stories. Raiders kept Fel and Riven busy at the border. Particularly Daekhar’s.

Bands of raiders like this group roam the land, scattered across all kingdoms, and are a threat to both humans and fae alike. Known for stealing crops, goods, coin, and even taking slaves to sell for profit—particularly young females.

The blonde draws a knife from his belt, holding my gaze while he lets his fingers trail along the sharp steel edge. “We heard a rumor that Kovaria captured the Sitari princess in the fall of Rosecliff.” His smile shows too many teeth. “Feared dead.” He looks me up and down. “They say she’s real pretty too.”

My back presses harder into the tree as he takes a step closer. His eyes gleam in the moonlight when he tilts his head back toward his friends, though his eyes never leave mine.

“Alive,” he tells them. “She’s worth far more to Miselys breathing.”

Miselys? King Mavros? My eyes narrow, and he laughs.