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He held his hand up when he was done, jiggling the chain in midair, and gave me a roguish grin. “Humans can lie,” he stated with a one-shouldered shrug, as if it was any sort of excuse or explanation.

While delicately crafted, the gold bracelets and chain were unmistakably a replica of handcuffs, and fury simmered in my blood as the High Fae brute sauntered off towards the forest, towing me behind him like some sort of prized cow on a leash.

“This is not necessary,” I spat at his back.

Wren’s only reply was to shush me harshly.

My mortality—and mundaneness—weighed on me heavily as he tugged me along. It occurred to me that I was likely to die in Faerie, half-blood or not, because I could not match the effortless power he displayed. And if Wren’s power trivialised me so completely, what would the power of the High King of Faerie do to me?

Inching through a narrow passageway of wood barely wide enough for the broad-shouldered High Fae bastard to fit, the forest began to feel like a maze. The expanse of trees was so wide. I shuddered as I considered its potential depth, beating away the encroaching claustrophobia. I kept my breathing as even as I could while sucking in quiet gasps of air, too afraid that the wood might shift around us and pulverise me if I dared to speak or show my concern.

Wren vanished around a sharp corner, the shining gold chain grinding against the wood, and I followed him a moment later to find that where the maze ended, the true forest began.

In the midst of the thicket, the gaps between tree trunks left room for me to breathe. Dim sea-green light floated between the shadows of the brushwood and canopy, so thick and vibrantthat the air almost appeared to have substance. The pathway straight ahead was clear, though obstructed by small mounds and hills, like solid waves rising from an earthen ocean.

Wren didn’t give me much time to survey the foliage before he pressed on, the chain between our wrists going taut. My footsteps were silent on the mossy ground, the sound of my heartbeat quietening as we ventured deeper into the forest. He did not look back or slow his pace, nor did he offer any leniency for the handcuffs linking us, keeping his arm firmly at his side while mine was pulled ahead of the rest of my body.

As we approached the first slope, I felt a mixture of dread and relief wash over me.

Dread because it was not a hill but a massive, unearthed root as tall as Wren and almost as steep as a wall. And relief because I knew there was no way we could climb it while our wrists were still linked.

Wren seemed to realise this too and came to a stop at the base of the gnarled tree root. I waited for him to magic away the handcuffs, trying to conceal my smile. However, when he turned to face me, his eyes were smouldering a mischievous shade of gold, and he put the pointer finger of his free hand to his lips.

And then he snatched me and hauled me over his shoulder.

Pinning my arm to my side with the rigid chain, his elbows locked around my knees as he crouched down andjumped.

He was jumping.

Over the root that was at least twice his size.

My stomach somersaulted as the world tipped upside-down. Warm air kissed the nape of my neck, threading through my hair and pulling it across my open mouth, and the firm ground became a depthless shadow beneath us. I pressed my face into the curve of Wren’s shoulder blade to hide myexpression and hold in my scream, and I felt the muscles in his back ripple in response.

He landed gracefully on the other side, lowering me to my feet with equal ease. I swayed, and he clamped his fist around the chain, jerking me back into place without so much as a cautionary glance. I might have slapped him again had my dominant hand not been cuffed.

While I contemplated the act of violence in the minute that he allowed for us both to catch our breath, I noticed tiny little lights beginning to flicker within the underbrush and shadows on the tree trunks in sets of two.

The Eyes of the Forest.

They had no visible lids, nor pupils or irises, but somehow, they still displayed emotion—curiosity. They peered at us as if they didn’t realise that I could see them, too.

Busybodies.

I read the thought all over Wren’s face as he turned.

Abandoning my plans to assault him, I yanked on the chain in silent command and continued to trek towards the next obstacle in our course. Wren fell into step beside me this time, keenly aware that we had company—and probably quite proud that his stunt had attracted so much attention.

Well, I would not have it.

At the next wooden boulder, I came to an abrupt halt and whirled on him with an expression of the most determination and grit that I could muster.

I yanked on the handcuffs.Take them off.

He stared back at me impassively.No.

Take. Them. Off.

A slow, sensual blink.I. Said. No.