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“And I need new shoes,” Remy added. Hale looked over his shoulder to Remy’s makeshift shoes. They had gotten her this far, but the gravel trail wore away at the thin leather. They wouldn’t last another day.

“The rest of us should get the supplies—one of us should take the witch to the inn,” Briata said, waving her block of cheese toward Remy. “She shouldn’t come.”

“Good idea.” Talhan was already producing a piece of dried meat from his pocket and fishing out his waterskin.

“Why?” Fenrin asked. He and Heather kept their packs on but leaned their heavy weight against a wide trunk of a conifer. It was too much effort to get the packs back on otherwise.

“Fae use the back road to Newpond,” Briata said. “One might stop for supplies in Guilford. It’s not a good idea for a red witch to be walking from store to store.”

“Agreed.” Hale lifted the hem of his tunic to mop his sweaty brow. Remy’s eyes dropped to the peek of golden skin revealed at his waist. It wasn’t until his tunic dropped again that she remembered what she was going to say.

“How am I meant to get shoes if I can’t come?” Remy waved her arms in exasperation.

“Bri has an eye for people’s sizes,” Carys said, folding her arms as she leaned against the tree trunk. “She will be able to pick you something suitable.”

Heather leaned over to Fenrin and whispered, “I need your help getting supplies.”

Remy pursed her lips at their exchange. Something more was being said there that she didn’t understand. But Fenrin simply dipped his chin to their guardian.

“I’ll head to the inn with the witch,” Hale said, surveying the village below.

Remy opened her mouth to protest, but Heather gave her a look. The lines around her guardian’s mouth deepened into a frown. She knew Heather didn’t want her walking through a town filled with fae. Heaving a sigh, Remy knew the decision was made: she would go with Hale.

“Glamours,” Hale said, turning into his human form even as he spoke. The shine of his wavy, brown hair dulled. The chestnut red streaks disappeared. His ears had rounded and his gray eyes no longer shone like steel.

Remy looked to each fae as, one by one, they turned into humans. They looked the same . . . mostly. They seemed shorter, less muscular. Their skin did not glow with health. The Twin Eagles still seemed otherworldly in the way they moved, but their golden eyes were now an amber brown. They wouldn’t stand out as readily.

“You two are traveling companions,” Briata said, eyeing Remy and Hale. “Make up whatever story you like but make it believable. Don’t draw suspicion.”

“Oh, and Bri?” Hale said to the golden eyed warrior. “I owe the witch a new bow.”

He had remembered. Remy’s lips tugged up at their corners, delighting in the thought of a brand-new bow.

Fenrin’s eyes darted back and forth between Remy and Hale. “Do we have to stop?”

“Yes.” All four fae responded in unison.

* * *

“My wife and I are traveling to Newpond,” Hale said more regally than the human he was posing as. “We are in a caravan with four others from the East. We’ll be needing three rooms.”

The innkeeper standing before them at the inn’s front door impatiently tapped her foot. She was a small, cantankerous woman, wearing a threadbare brown dress and a greasy apron.

“Newpond, you say?” she asked, glancing between the two of them. She did not step back to grant them entry.

“Yes, I’ve heard it’s a fine place to raise a family.” Hale smiled. Remy grimaced as he rested a gentle hand on her stomach. Great, not only would she have to pretend to be his wife, but his pregnant wife at that.

The innkeeper arched a thin brow at Hale. He was terrible at this game, and the woman saw through his act in one look. Her eyes darted to Remy and Remy knew she could see right through her plastered-on smile too. Something shifted in her expression as she assessed Remy, a flicker of recognition seeming to light up the innkeeper’s face.

“How wonderful,” she drawled sarcastically. “Welcome.” The innkeeper stepped back, allowing them to enter.

Her eyes roved over them both, and Remy realized she saw it all: his shined boots and new fawn-colored riding coat, Remy’s tattered cape and moth-eaten maroon tunic. Even with the Prince’s glamour, it was obvious that he was more than an average human man and that Remy was not his wife.

The inside of the inn was inviting, albeit run down. Hardwood beams supported the upper floor, lanterns hanging from them and rows of candles dotted everywhere to boost the low light from the tall windows. Dusty paintings filled the walls.

The innkeeper guided Remy to a table in the center of the empty room. Hale leaned their packs against the wall in one of the few places without cobwebs and took a seat opposite Remy.

“I’m supposing you and your wife are hungry? I shall have the cook bring something out,” the innkeeper said, walking halfway to the kitchens and then pausing.