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“No,” I admitted. “Well, not timid.”

He lifted his chin and laughed. “Certainly not since I’ve known you. If you ever were.” He eyed me curiously. “Were you? Ever?”

“I had to keep my head down when I was a child,” I replied. “So I tried my best to seem so.” I thought back to my childhood in the castle after my mother died. “I spent years avoiding my father. And then years mostly avoiding Arthur.” I met his eyes. “Then I found you.”

He held my gaze, rock-steady. “And now you never have to pretend to be timid again. Be everything you truly are. That’s all I’ll ever ask of you, my silver one.”

I stepped forward, careful of Medra, and lifted my lips to his.

If the kiss upstairs had been a simmer, this one was a burning spark that threatened to become a blaze. When I pulled away, I was panting.

Draven’s wavy, tousled, black hair fell over his broad shoulders, longer than ever. Clad in black trousers with a leather jerkin open at the throat, he showcased pure, raw strength. His green eyes stared back at me, hungry and haunting.

Mine.

I felt suddenly bewildered. Overwhelmed. What man was this who had shadows and darkness at his very fingertips?

But something in his darkness called to my own. He was my perfect complement in every way.

“I am the luckiest woman, mortal or fae, in all of Aercanum to have a mate such as you,” I said slowly. “Did you know that, Kairos Draven Venator? Have I told you?”

He grinned like the rogue he was. “No, but you should. Daily.”

I rolled my eyes.

“But that throne...”

“No, no, no,” I interrupted. “Nice try. I asked you first. Have you given any thought to...”

But Medra trumped us both, letting out a high-pitched wail that filled the hall and showed no signs of stopping.

“We’d better go straight to the kitchens,” Draven shouted over the crying.

I nodded and followed him out of the Great Hall and away from the lingering scent of dead roses.

CHAPTER 2 - MORGAN

For thousands of years, the world I lived in had been shaped by the fae. But for most of my life I had counted myself as half-mortal. And like the mortals around me, I had been too blind or too stupid to understand the unseen strings that pulled at us.

Alternative option: Somewhere in twilight’s embrace, a war that most mortals had managed to live in blissful ignorance of had raged on in the background. We had lived in ignorance, too, of the way fae had once treated us. We had not been their equals, but in many cases, their slaves.

But history books were written by the victors. And those who won wars usually did not wish to dwell upon previous losses or tales of how their grandparents had been not kings and queens but slaves.

Or at least, that was the Pendragon way of it. We had always been rather blinded with our own sense of pride.

Outside of Pendrath, however, Rheged had always been something of a mystery. Even as a child, I had heard tales of their reputation as a brutal, aggressive nation known for secrecy.

Now I wondered how many of the stories were true.

Their king, Nerov, had certainly played my brother false, offering aid and then withdrawing it only to attack. But perhaps he’d had no other choice. What was really going on within that dark kingdom?

In the past weeks, parties that seemed to come from Rheged had been attacking Tintagel and spreading as far as the northwestern borders of Lyonesse.

That night in the tavern, after my brother’s death, had been the first announcement of many.

The raids had passed Pendrath by, at least for now.

In the meantime, I had scoured the maps of Eskira and Myntra, searching for the seat of my father’s power. The court of Gorlois le Fay.