Page 30 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

The Fae and witches have always shared a deep connection.

They are the wind that howls in the night, and we are the wave that crashes against the rocky shore.

But I fear that one day, they will come to resent us.

Their magic is different, wild and beautiful, drawn straight from the earth itself.

Ours, by contrast, can be twisted and corrupted.

And yet, they envy us, because our magic holds the power to destroy entire lands.

Tabitha Wysteria

‘Why do ya keep calling me little wolf?’ Wren asked the next morning, her brow furrowed as she stood watching Arden pack away the remains of their modest camp—two threadbare blankets and a few crumpled parcels now void of food.

‘Do wolverians have something against nicknames?’ he replied lightly, slinging the last of the parcels into his satchel.

‘No,’ she said slowly, ‘but it’s a bit odd, don’t ya think? Ya giving me a nickname when we barely know each other.’

He glanced over his shoulder, green eyes glinting. ‘Excuse me, but I rescued you yesterday. Were it not for my noble intervention, you’d have been a feast for the jackalopes. I reckon I’ve earned the right to call you what I like. A reward for heroism, if you will. ’

Wren shuddered, the mental image of jackalopes gnawing on her limbs not one she particularly fancied. ‘Heroism?’ she scoffed, curling her lip. ‘All ya did was terrify me half to death, throw a leaf jacket at me, vanish for hours while I wandered around lost, then returned just to call me mental.’

‘You are a bit mental.’

‘And ya called me a dryad.’

‘I didn’t call you a dryad,’ he said with mock offence, turning just long enough to poke her gently in the cheek. ‘I thought you were a dryad. Until you started talking.’

‘Are we going to find me friend now, or are ya planning to tease me to death?’

Arden tilted his head thoughtfully, and Wren’s attention shifted to the antlers that curved elegantly from his head. Regal and wild, like something born of ancient magic.

‘Oh, the friend thing is real?’

Wren blinked. ‘What did ya think it was?’

He shrugged. ‘I thought the friend might be imaginary. Some sort of coping mechanism.’

‘Coping mechanism for what ?’

That familiar wicked grin slid across his face. ‘Just having a bit of fun, little wolf.’

He turned and started walking, his strides long and unbothered. Wren jogged after him, scowling. ‘I heard that one of da gods made this forest a long time ago as a gift. Said to have created da Fae too, becas the god wanted to shape da most beautiful of all da races.’

Arden stopped so suddenly she almost walked straight into his back.

He turned, that infuriating grin spreading once more across his face.

‘So… you think I’m beautiful?’ His brows rose.

‘Careful now. Yesterday you tackled me stark naked. Today you’re calling me beautiful.

Shall I expect a proposal by to morrow?’

Wren snatched his satchel and smacked his arm with it.

He laughed. ‘I might’ve said yes, but you are exceptionally violent. Are all wolverian girls this aggressive?’

Wren dropped his satchel with a thud, stepped neatly over it, and marched on, leaving Arden behind in her dust. She was finished entertaining his foolish games.

She had a purpose—a mission—and that purpose was to find Freya.

What if the valkyrian was lost forever, swallowed whole by the shifting woods?

Naturally, he caught up with ease. How could he not, with those maddeningly long legs? In contrast, Wren’s frame was compact, built for agility, not speed. He moved to block her path, placing himself squarely in front of her.

‘Hey, hey, little wolf. I’m sorry, truly. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘It’s fine,’ she muttered, sidestepping him in one fluid motion, unwilling to stop.

‘You’re angry.’

‘No, am not.’

His hand reached for her arm, a gentle attempt to still her.

But Wren had had enough. With a swift twist, she seized his wrist in both hands, spun on her heel, and dropped him flat onto his back.

Her knee pinned his chest as her blade, plucked from within the folds of the oversized jacket, rested sharp and sure against his throat.

She expected panic, or at the very least surprise. But the expression that shone in his vivid green eyes was something else entirely. Respect. Wonder.

‘Who taught you that?’ he asked, voice lower now, no longer teasing. It had the weight of someone sizing her up, of a predator who had finally found reason to be wary of its prey .

Wren didn’t answer. Truthfully, it was the only manoeuvre she knew, something Mal Blackburn had once taught her in jest, during a quiet night as they plotted. Wren was many things. A Seer, a spy, a thief, but not a warrior.

She pressed the knife just a little closer, enough for the tip to kiss the hollow of his throat. Her eyes darted to the spot, curious. Would a Fae bleed red, like her? He didn’t quite look like her, especially not with those antlers that crowned his head like carved ebony.

‘I’m not the monster,’ he murmured, his brow furrowed, not in fear, but at the uncertainty on her face.

Before she could speak, he moved. Magic, swift and seamless.

Wren gasped now flat on her back, the earth cold beneath her, the knife turned in his hand, its tip grazing her throat. He loomed above her, but there was no malice in his expression, only amusement. Then, with a pulse of restraint, he pulled back and offered his hand.

She took it. His long fingers curled around her wrist, warm and strong, lingering longer than they should have.

They both looked down. Slowly, his hand unfurled, as if reluctant to release her.

She stepped back, rubbing her wrist, the ghost of his touch sparking across her skin.

She bit her lip, surprised by the ridiculous ache for him to touch her again.

‘I’ll help you find your friend,’ he said softly. ‘And once we do, I’ll take you both to Floridia. I was heading there anyway.’

A sudden sound, a rustle, a whisper of danger snapped their attention outward. They glanced around, but neither thought to look up.

Something dropped from the treetops above, landing squarely on Arden. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

‘Freya?’ Wren’s eyes lit up at the sight of the valkyrian warrior standing over him. ‘Yer alright! We’ve been searching for ya.’

Freya smiled, serene and sweet. ‘And I’ve been searching for you, too.’ Her eyes dropped to the slumped Fae. ‘And who, may I ask, is this?’

‘Me new friend,’ Wren replied, entirely unbothered.

Freya frowned. ‘One doesn’t make friends in this forest, Wren.’

Wren shrugged, her smirk half mischief, half defiance. ‘That’s probably true. But I’m not like everyone else.’

…

‘We ought to have left him behind,’ Freya muttered, her tone flat as she hauled Arden’s unconscious body over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

She had discovered a small, long-forgotten wooden hut, clearly built by someone once in need of shelter, now abandoned and surrendered to the moss and rot of time.

Without ceremony, she dropped Arden to the floor, the thud echoing faintly against the splintered walls. ‘I’ll go find you something to eat.’

‘No!’ Wren’s voice was laced with sudden panic, her heart leaping at the thought of losing Freya again to the forest’s cruel whims. ‘We’ll get separated. Like before.’

Freya offered her a soft smile, all cool certainty. ‘Do not worry, Wren. I won’t be long.’

Wren opened her mouth to protest, but the valkyrian was already gone, disappearing like mist through the wooden doorway.

Left alone in the little hut, Wren huffed and kicked at a loose pebble on the floor. Unfortunately, it bounced off the edge of a stone and clipped Arden in the ribs. She gasped, immediately scrambling over to his side to check she hadn’t done any real damage.

‘I did that once,’ she whispered, not even sure why she was speaking aloud.

‘When I was a girl, out playing with da others. Got in a mood and punched a tree. Didn’t realise da branch above me was heavy with snow.

Whole lot of it fell on me brotha’s head.

Another time I spilt a pot of boiling water in da kitchens.

It startled one of da wolves. Poor creature bit me brotha in da arm. ’

A groan rose from Arden’s chest. ‘Your brother should probably keep his distance from you,’ he rasped.

Wren’s eyes widened. ‘Yer awake!’

‘Well, I wasn’t dead,’ he muttered, wincing slightly. ‘So I suppose it was only a matter of time.’

She leaned over him, hovering close, peering into his face to make sure he truly was all right.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, brows drawing together in confusion.

‘I heard once that if ya look into someone’s eyes, ya can tell if they’re really okay.’

‘Are you a healer, then?’

‘No.’

‘Comforting.’ His gaze dipped, something shifting in his expression, and Wren instinctively followed his line of sight. It took her only a second to realise.

She was sitting on top of him.

Wren had never quite mastered the delicate intricacies of social interaction.

Certain things, like sitting atop a man to check if he was still breathing, barely registered as unusual to her.

It hadn’t occurred to her that it might be misconstrued.

To her, it was simply practical. Innocent.

But she’d long come to understand that the world rarely shared her perspective.

What meant nothing to her, could mean everything to someone else.

Arden cleared his throat awkwardly the moment she scrambled off him, pretending not to notice the way his limbs had stiffened, as though his body had betrayed him with its response.

‘What happened?’ he asked, pushing himself up on his elbows.

‘Me friend fell on ya.’

His mouth opened, then shut again. He stared at her as if trying to determine whether she was being serious. ‘If it were anyone else, I’d swear they were pulling my leg. But with you? Strangely believable.’

Wren rolled her eyes.

‘Where is she then, this mysterious friend of yours?’ he asked, glancing about the little hut.

‘She went to find food.’

He arched a sceptical brow. ‘Still haven’t laid eyes on her. I’m beginning to wonder if my imaginary friend theory might not be so far off.’

Wren laughed, and the sound, light and unguarded, seemed to catch Arden off guard. Something softened in his expression, his eyes glinting like dewdrops kissed by morning sun. It was the sort of look that said he’d happily listen to that laugh a thousand times over, just to hear it once more.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.

‘I think ya might be da most annoying person I’ve eva met,’ she said between chuckles. ‘Even worse than me.’

‘I am not annoying,’ he declared, mock-offended. ‘I’m delightful.’

That made her howl, laughter spilling from her like an overflowing goblet. She rolled to one side, giggling uncontrollably .

‘I’m serious!’ he insisted, though his pout only made her laugh harder. ‘Everyone adores me.’

‘Of course they do,’ Wren said, wiping her eyes. ‘Yer a real treat, Arden Briar.’

He scowled at her but said nothing more. ‘We should get some rest. I’ll take first watch.’

‘We didn’t take turns last night.’

‘Get some sleep, little wolf. I’ll wake you when your friend returns.’

She hesitated at the mention of Freya, her gaze drifting towards the forest beyond the hut. Gods, she hoped Freya was safe.

Wren lay down, wriggling for a comfortable position on the uneven floorboards, groaning when she couldn’t find one.

‘Now what?’ Arden sighed.

‘It’s da floor,’ she grumbled. ‘It’s bloody awful.’

He snorted. ‘You sound like a princess.’

Wren stilled, peering up at him. ‘What’s wrong with being a princess?’

‘Nothing. Except I can’t stand them. Been working for the Hawthornes since I was born. If I had my way, I’d be rid of the whole lot. People should shape their own fate. Not be ruled by royal blood.’

Her heart clenched.

‘What do ya do for them?’ she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged. ‘A bit of everything. Now I work in the kitchens.’

That explained the berries, at least. The Forest of Endless Trees wasn’t a threat to the Fae. It had been grown to shield them, a haven from danger. But that hatred in his voice…

‘Why do ya hate royals so much?’

He didn’t reply. Instead, he shifted, patting his leg. ‘Come here. You can use this as a pillow.’

She blinked at the unexpected offer, but shuffled over, settling herself against him.

‘My leg, Wren! I said my leg!’

She ignored him, letting her head rest against his stomach, curling one leg over his as she snuggled closer. ‘Hush. I’m trying to sleep.’

‘I can’t keep watch like this!’

She shut her eyes and let her breathing slow, feigning sleep as he began muttering under his breath.

‘Stupid bloody wolf,’ he grumbled. ‘Ought to strangle her. Would be doing the forest a favour.’

Wren snored loudly in response.

‘This cannot be real.’

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing.

Eventually, she shifted off his torso and onto his leg, granting him the movement he needed.

A slow calm settled over them both. Her breathing deepened.

Muscles slackened. And as she hovered at the edge of sleep, she thought, perhaps dreamt, of his fingers gently stroking her hair.

Then she heard it. Barely a whisper, as if he were confessing it to the night.

‘I hate royals… because they’re the reason my whole family’s dead.’