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TRISTAN

A hulking orc rushes toward me, battle-ax held high. I stand in his path with a gloating smile, then step aside at the last moment and swoop my wing outward across his neck. He falls to the ground. I pick his ax up and hurl it at the head of another orc that’s rushing straight at me.

I’ve lost count of the number of orcs I’ve slain. We’re only an hour into the battle, and the ground is littered with corpses. I launch into the sky, seeking a quick aerial view of the progress my soldiers are making.

It’s a relief to discover only a few of the corpses on the ground belong to the Summer Court army.

We’re winning, but the battle isn’t over yet.

My thoughts stray to Amelia. I pray she’s doing well.

I pray she hasn’t become sick with worry.

Though I doubt I’m close enough for her to sense my thoughts, I attempt to send her a wave of affection.

When I don’t receive anything in return, nor do I sense her presence in my mind, I have to resist the urge to fly closer to the castle.

I remind myself that the faster this battle is won, the faster we’ll be reunited.

Along the tree line, I spot several catapults being rolled out by the orcs. I growl. If they hurl flaming projectiles at us, some will inevitably breach the stone walls that surround Sorsston and buildings will catch fire.

I almost expect another red-eyed mage to emerge from the trees to speak an enchantment on the catapults, but that’s not quite what happens.

Instead, a large fae male strides out of the forest. Is he highborn?

My question is answered when there’s an abrupt flash of light and his silver, translucent wings appear.

Who the fuck is he? Why is he fighting on the side of the orcs? Well, perhaps he’s not entirely on their side. He might be using them for his own purposes.

Keeping one eye on the traitorous highborn fae, I fly from catapult to catapult, damaging the apparatuses with dangerously fast gusts of summer wind that also blow many of the orcs back into the forest.

The silver-winged fae suddenly takes notice of me. I can feel his attention falling on me as though he just touched my shoulder. It’s an eerie sensation, and I tread air in the sky and turn to face him.

Our eyes meet, and I release a threatening growl that bellows across the field. He shoots into the clouds, then tries to dive into me with a sword aimed at my head. I shift out of the way and slice my wing across his stomach. He bellows in pain, and as he glares up at me, his eyes flash with rage.

“What’s your name, traitor?” I ask in a taunting tone. Still treading air, I give him a wide, teeth-baring smile. The sort of mocking grin I often display to my enemies before killing them.

“I am no traitor.” The sword falls from his grip, and he presses both hands to his injured stomach as he beats his wings furiously and flies upward to face me. “I am Prince Finn of the Autumn Court.”

A bark of laughter escapes me. “Prince Finn? You mean, the Exiled Prince? Didn’t your father put a price on your head? If I remember correctly, you killed your older brother and tried to blame the death on a cousin who was executed before the truth could come out.”

He sneers. “I did my father a great service by killing my older brother. He was weak and had no business being next in line for the throne.”

“And now you’re… what? Joining forces with the orcs? To what end?” Knowing that I’ve already gotten under his skin, I give him another mocking smile.

“My father always believed the Summer Court army posed the greatest threat to the Autumn Court.” His tone is that of a sniveling, spoiled child trying to justify their poor choices.

I think of the glamoured servants and the destroyed sky bridge.

What a shame the gods have wasted such powers on the Exiled Prince.

“Ah, yes, I suppose in centuries past, the Autumn and Summer Courts have had quite a few skirmishes, but we’ve never gone to full war. King Haratt seems to be on good terms with your father at the moment. I know your father spent an entire month visiting the Summer Court recently.”

Prince Finn gasps. “You must be mistaken. My father would never visit the Summer Court. He would never?—”

“As the general of the Summer Court army, I can assure you that I’m privy to such knowledge. I exchange letters with King Haratt frequently.”

He goes pale. “You’re General Dalgaard?”

I summon an aura of violence that causes him to pale further. It would seem my reputation precedes me, if this pathetic, scheming fool is already on the verge of soiling himself.

“Ah, let me guess. You concocted a plan to destroy the Summer Court army in hopes that your father would invite you back into the fold?” I laugh. “You idiot. You’re going to die today. Or maybe instead of killing you, I’ll deliver you to the Autumn Court and let your father deal with you.”

“No,” he whispers as a faraway look enters his eyes. “No.”

“How did you kill Warden Xall and the soldiers?” I ask, still unsettled that a highborn fae herbalist couldn’t find any evidence of poison.

He smirks. “Rallunna venom. It’s deadly and untraceable.”

“Rallunna venom,” I repeat. “Interesting. Well, it’s been a delight chatting with you, but I think it’s time I killed you already.”

The Exiled Prince’s visage firms into an expression of utter resolve.

He intends to see the battle through, no matter the outcome.

No matter how many misguided orcs must die for his cause.

Orcs that no doubt jumped at the opportunity to slaughter a massive fae army in the belief that it would keep their territories safer.

He bares his teeth at me and snarls. Golden light gathers in his palms, though I know it’s not healing light.

The odd frequency of the magic buzzes through me, and I put a bit of space between us.

If one of the glowing orbs he plans to hurl at me even grazes my flesh, it’ll leave me paralyzed for several hours.

I release a deep, thunderous growl of my own, then I summon an invisibility shield and fly toward him.

I won’t be able to maintain the shield for long, as it drains my energy, but I plan to kill Prince Finn well before that happens.

While the idea of handing him over to the Autumn Court holds a certain appeal, he’s too dangerous to keep as a prisoner.

I swoop a wing out, preparing to slice his neck, when a booming noise rumbles over the countryside, and King Haratt descends from the clouds.