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“I highly doubt that, little witch.” The prince grinned.

Remy watched those shining eyes widen as she released a breath.

The darkness claimed her.

* * *

Remy heard scuffling sounds echoing through the cavernous hall before her eyes opened. They weren’t in the attic above the stables of the Rusty Hatchet. No, they were in a ruin of some sort. Her head throbbed. The blurring of her vision was abating. It looked like an ancient stone cathedral. Half of the roof had crumbled inward. The windows opened out into the night air except for the small hints of stained glass in the corners.

She looked over her shoulder to see the prince. Hale was his name, Remy remembered. He crouched before an ornate stone hearth. It had recently been lit, judging by the hungry flames licking up the stack of logs.

Across the darkness of the hall, Remy heard shuffling and then Heather’s voice.

“Remy!” she shouted and rushed over.

Fenrin appeared quick on her heels. They both looked unscathed, their hands unbound. Remy didn’t understand why her head still remained attached to her body or why Heather and Fenrin were here, unharmed.

Her copper-haired guardian knelt next to Remy, fretting over her like a child. She reached a hand to the swollen lump on Remy’s forehead and spun towards the prince.

“What did you do to her?” she accused.

“Nothing,” the prince said, shrugging. He craned his neck back to look at Remy and with a cat-like smile, said, “She did that all herself.”

“Bastard,” Remy hissed.

Heather stifled a gasp. She grabbed Remy’s arm in a silent warning. Remy rolled her eyes. He was the Bastard Prince of the East, after all.

“Very original, Red.” Hale’s lips thinned and his eyes narrowed at her.

“Don’t call me Red,” Remy snarled.

She didn’t like this prince talking about her red witch magic. Even if they were in a ruin in the middle of the forest, there was no telling who else might hear.

“Then don’t call me ‘bastard’,” the prince rumbled back.

“Kids, kids.” A feminine voice called from across the darkness.

A fae female appeared from the doorway. She was tall and lithe with a long white-blonde braid that swayed behind her as she walked. Her cloak opened to show her fighting leathers and a sword strapped to her hip. Two more fae appeared behind her, a male and a female.

Remy blanched. “You have two female soldiers?”

“You don’t believe females make good fighters?” The second one laughed as she entered the room.

The blonde fae neared Remy. Her large blue eyes glowed in the firelight.

“Says the little witch who nearly escaped a fae prince and felled a giant pine tree with her magic alone.” She spoke in a warm, velvety voice. “No one here will underestimate you because you are a woman.” She extended her hand, her braid slipping over her shoulder. “Carys.”

Remy took the fae’s hand. She had a powerful grip.

“Remy,” she said.

“Those two are Talhan and Briata, the Twin Eagles.” Carys nodded to the other two fae who had taken off their cloaks across the hall and were unbuckling bedrolls from their packs.

It was easy to tell they were twins, even without their moniker. Both were tall and muscular, the male slightly taller and bulkier than the female. It was clear why Eagles was their nickname; not only for their short, brown hair and hooked noses, but it was their eyes that completed the likeness. They had golden eyes, a remarkable, unearthly yellow. Remy shuddered when they gazed her way. They were attractive in the way all fae were, but their striking features would make anyone do a double take. No wonder they had kept their hoods up in the Rusty Hatchet.

The Twin Eagles gave Remy a nod and carried on with what they were doing.

“I have many more than two female soldiers,” the prince replied, “but these three are my best fighters, so I selected them to accompany me on this mission.”