Page 114 of Liar Witch

The first blast of ice hits my shoulder and I bare my teeth at the assassins waiting for me.

Ten. Barely a handful. Last time, I sent thrice that number back to Cedwyn in pieces.

My brother’s insult cuts deeper than it should.

Another silver streak cuts past me, reminding me of Nilsa’s presence.

There may be less of them, but the stakes are infinitely higher with her here. They’ve picked their moment well. Music from above will make calling for help useless. The door, which swung closed behind me, is frozen shut, coated in ice to prevent us making a run for it.

The only way anyone will know that they’re here is if Rysen smells the blood. Unlikely, considering the windows are also frosting over as we speak. Our mate could summon him with their bond, but I already know she’s too independent to run to her mates for help. A glance behind me shows me she’s calm, but eager for the fight. A tiny grin touches the edge of her lips as she readies another knife.

My blade flashes forward, catching Nilsa’s target in his side as he tries to dodge her throwing knife. A different blade catches my shoulder, sizzling on contact. Pain blooms with sickening familiarity.

Iron.

I shouldn’t be surprised, but I somehow am. It’s a coward’s weapon, especially when wielded by a fae against another fae. Dishonourable assholes.

Cedwyn’s never sent them with iron weapons before. What’s changed?

I don’t have time to ponder it before I have to dodge another swipe. I won’t move from my position between them and Nilsa, even if that puts me at a disadvantage.

My mate is drunk, but her knives are still effective at evening the odds. Three are down with little effort. The cramped quarters make it harder for them to form an effective formation they can use against us.

The remaining seven hang back. They’re a uniform line of soldiers in black. Their faces are covered to stop me from recognising any of them. It makes it easier to kill them if I’m not searching for familiar faces; though Cedwyn rarely sends anyone I once knew against me.

I wait for them to make the first move.

It always goes this way. The first few are there to prove I’ve not gone soft in exile. To prove I’m worthy of the offer Cedwyn always sends them with.

Sure enough, the warrior on the left steps forward, sword at the ready, and pulls down the black mask covering the lower half of his face.

“Prince Kieran, prove your shameful curse ended. Return to the Court with us and renounce your ties to this realm. Or submit to the Winter King’s justice.”

Always the same threat. I want to sigh in frustration.

This time though, they have a surprise for me.

“If you die without a struggle, we’ll leave your female alive.”

My chuckle barely counts as a word, but it still sends a spasm of pain down my spine regardless, mingling with the spreading sluggishness of the iron in my blood. They think Nilsa needs me to make that kind of deal? They clearly haven’t seen enough of my mate in action.

It causes me no shame to admit that—even drunk—she’s just as deadly as I am. She’s not even brought her magic out to play yet.

Before I can shake my head in refusal, a hand grips my shoulder.

“You can’t have him,” she growls. Her fingers clutch onto me from behind, digging into my shoulder possessively, making me want to grin as she lays claim to me. “Leave or die.”

The fae don’t wait for my answer. The question itself is just a formality at this point, anyway.

If I’d been able to speak, they know I would have done so by now.

Nilsa lets fly a whole line of daggers steeped in darkness. But these men are trained. Better than the fodder they sent at us the first time. Only one of her knives meets its mark as the others dodge and coat themselves in glamour.

The one warrior who is hit drops to the floor instantly, as though the knife nicking his side was a mortal wound rather than simply an annoying one.

I want those blades. The quicksilver of my own sword might be toxic, but instant death from just a scratch? I can’t deny the tiny speck of envy I’m feeling.

I don’t have time to ogle the weapons which disappear as soon as they’re used. Instead, I focus on my other senses.