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2. Keira

Chapter 2

Keira

W e take the descent through the woods at a leisurely pace, a procession of the Protector Guards and Trackers of the Hunt, led by Caitlin. I follow directly behind her, and Diarmuid walks beside my horse, refusing a mount of his own.

Thin mists hug the edges of the path that cuts through stone bluffs and between hills colonized by pines, birches and twisted oaks. Intermittent drizzles fall in the lightest kiss, stealing the heat from my skin.

An ecstatic high still rolls through me from the freedom of galloping through the forest and the empowerment of using my magic to protect my people.

The hunt is the only time I feel such purpose.

I hum a low song, as my mare’s footfalls clop on the road and slide on the slick moss that coats everything like a natural carpet. The entire valley seems to sing with me, birdsongs, the trickle of tiny waterfalls and the many echoing hooves ringing on stone from our party.

My mind drifts between cozy daydreams. Taking a hot bath. Reading a romance novel while curled up beneath furs. The bright blue eyes of my prince shine at the sight of me, then become hooded, as we reunite after months. His fingers running through my hair, unbuttoning the front of my dress, slipping inside the neckline -

“What will you do with your kill?” Diarmuid absolutely shatters my fantasy.

“Sorry?” My mind returns to the present begrudgingly. “Oh, the Cú Sídhe? I haven’t thought about it. The meat will go to the feast, the blood and organs I will give to the druids for their potions, and the fur I will sell. It is good for a woman to have a little money that doesn’t come from her father or husband.”

Diarmuid’s brows knit. “You don’t have a husband yet. Nor do you have a fiancé. And I know it is as good as promised but—” Diarmuid holds up his hands as I glare at him. “But I wouldn’t count on it until vows are made. Kings act on a whim. They do what is best for their people. And princes - well they do what their king and duty demand of them.”

My entire expression falls. “Have you heard something?”

“I want to protect my little sister. You give your heart away too freely. And not just to him. You were devastated the last time a guard did not come home from a hunt. A guard.”

“I don’t know how to be any other way.” I leave so much unsaid.

How could I not know every one of the guards' names and faces? To listen to their stories about their loved ones? Our Protector Guards devote their lives to defending our family. Caring is the least I could do.

What is the point of having a person in my life, a sibling, a friend, a lover, if I don’t give my all to them? By giving out our heart, piece by piece, we gain so much more from it. Not only vulnerability.

I trust Prince Finan. He has given his promise of love and a future together, and that is all I need.

The road twists around a bend, then opens into a grassy bowl surrounded by walls of slate, where the other hunting party waits for us. The captain of the Protector Guard vaults down from her horse, the intricate layers of braids in her long, jet-black hair flying in the air with the motion.

She starts slow clapping as she nears Caitlin .

“Well, look who finally made it. I hear your party killed three Cú Sídhe. Isn't that cute.” Gwyneth’s voice bounces around the valley.

Caitlin dismounts and meets her. “Had the two packs combined, I could have killed all the beasts with just Keira. You got lucky.”

“Oh, is that right?” Gwyneth puts an arm around Caitlin’s shoulders, pulling her into her side. “That’s something I’d pay to see. The mighty Caitlin, heir to the seat of Lord Protector of Appleshield, destroying a horde of fae beasts with her willpower alone. You know, I think if anyone could do it, it might be you. Of course, if I’m not there with my sword and spear first.”

Caitlin wipes a splattering of mud and blood from Gwyneth’s high cheekbone, and a look of utter devotion flashes across the captain's face. It matches Cailtin’s own expression.

The moment is too intimate, and I turn away.

No one has ever looked at me that way, not even my prince. A stab of pain slices through my chest, but I shove it away. Not everyone shows their heart across their face for all to see.

My horse prances on the spot, picking up on my agitation, and I dismount.

Men and women of the guard lounge on the damp grass or tumbled slabs of stone, sharing a light lunch in groups. Voices high with excitement echo around me.

I pass the corpses of the Cú Sídhe, trussed up on a long pole of pine for transport. Their forms are immense, in varying shades of green.

My feet take me to the ring of stones encircling a grassy meadow large enough to fit a hundred people. The ancient slabs are hacked into rough rectangular shapes, taller and wider than any man, and piled on top of each other to form arches.

I run my fingers across the slick surface of granite that shimmers with a hundred shades of grey, broken up by the rough texture of yellow lichen.

Within the center, The Tower stands as tall as any castle’s turret. The narrow building is completely hollow, with a grand, external staircase wrapping around its outer wall, spiraling up to a flat roof. Great arches follow the curve of the steps. I can see right through The Tower, no matter how I circle around it.

The stonework has corroded over the years, and surfaces that were once engraved with runes and decorations are now heavily pitted.

The Tower pulls me toward it and I wonder if it is imbued with some ancient, dark fae magic. We used to race to its top as children, Caitlin, Diarmuid and I. Never Brianna, she was always considered too small.

There is a single plinth of pure jade at its peak with thousands of fae runes cut into it. I used to trace it with parchment and thought I would translate their language as an adult. That I would march straight into the Otherworld and demand they teach me their runes.

I had such ambitious, frivolous dreams as a child.

On the day of the spring equinox, the priestesses and druids will come together at The Tower and feed their magic into the jade plinth to open the portals to the Otherworld. It is only when our two worlds align every seven years that our magic is enough to open the paths between worlds.

Once we had infinitely more magic, when the fae still walked our realm and contributed to our bloodlines, and the portals were always open, regardless of the year. Back then, even minor mages had enough power to activate a portal at will.

But we were at the fae’s mercy, little more than slaves, and their atrocities piled up until we purged them from our lands.

I stride beneath The Tower, and look straight up.

The jade stone at The Tower’s apex is visible through slits in the ceiling. In the center of the ground before me is a small jade altar, directly beneath the plinth. Its basin is filled with murky water and dried leaves, with four channels in a cross section which catch liquid magic and split it.

Each has a rune for a season; a spiral sun, a leaf, a snowflake and a flower. A directory of sorts to the portals that lead to the summer, autumn, winter and spring courts that surround The Tower in a full ring .

My feet follow the path of the flower bud, out of The Tower and across uneven grass, to another magic splitting altar at the boundary of the ancient ring of stones. Beyond are ten portals that lead to the Spring Court, all laying dormant.

Each portal is a ring of cloudy moonstone, its colors muted by dust that has collected on it, inserted straight into the stone of the mountain. A thin path winds through the jagged face of the bluff at a sharp incline, to allow passage to each portal, some at the height of a small building.

In their dormant state, each doorway only leads a few paces into the mountain.

I inspect them for a long while, and only turn as the scuff of boots approach from behind.

“Have you decided on which one to take?” I glance over my shoulder at Caitlin.

We have spent years pouring over every ancient book and scroll we could find on the fae to plan her journey to the Otherworld. The wilds of the Spring Court best suit her skill set and experience.

“That one.” She points at a portal. “I will make my crossing through that one.”

I glance at the doorway. It looks exactly like all the others. The knowledge of exactly where in the Spring Courtit will lead was lost a long time ago.

“You don’t have to go,”,” I say gently. “You can back out at any time.”

“And be forced to take a husband so I can produce an heir?” Caitlin spits her fury. “I will not marry. I will not take a man to my bed. Imagine the power I will hold if I walk through that portal and return pregnant to the magic. The independence. The reverence. I would be a mother saint, and the king himself would be hard pressed to force me to his will. I could—”—” She stops herself short.

“You could rule the Appleshield Protectorate as you wish, with Gwyneth at your side. Officially. Not as a lover.”

“Yes, but my pilgrimage isn’t just for personal gain.” Caitlin bites her lip. “I need to understand the enemy. To visit the lands of the fae. How can I be the lord protector one day if I do not intimately know the threat our family shields this realm from? I must learn about the fae who would flood our world through these gates and set themselves up as our overlords if we allow them. This will not happen on my watch.”

The gods know I don’t want my sister to walk through one of those portals, to take such a risk, but I would never hold her back.

We have seen firsthand how terrifying the low fae beasts are when they trespass here, but to be surrounded by those vicious creatures in their own world? My heart stutters painfully at the fear that flares within me.

All low fae are feral predators that hunt humans, wanting nothing more than to sink their teeth into us.

I have heard stories from my grandmother’s youth of the aftermath of goblins crossing over from the Otherworld and slaughtering entire villages until they were stopped. They killed anything living, people, horses, cats, and smeared their own bodies with the blood of their victims.

The Cú Sídhe hunt in packs like wolves and are just as deadly. The nymphs are brutal, with long clawed hands and a thirst for blood to be drunk straight from the source.

It feels like we send our women into the middle of a battlefield, utterly alone and with only a dagger to protect themselves. Caitlin will literally walk into enemy territory where every creature will recognize her as a human and mark her for destruction.

And then there are the high fae. A shiver runs down my spine just at the thought of them.

There have been accounts through the centuries of war bands of high fae men arriving through the portals and attacking small establishments, killing, pillaging, raping, and then stealing the human women they find to be their slaves and consorts back in their realm.

There are so many ways a pilgrim can be murdered or abused in the Otherworld.

This is way it is the highest honor for a woman to travel to the Otherworld and to return with a relic infused with their power. It helps us replenish the magic of our world, when it has been slipping away with each generation.

But falling pregnant to the magic itself? The child would be born immensely powerful, and that magic would last for generations of their lineage. The pregnant mother would have magic infused through her from the fetus, increasing her abilities for the rest of her life and utterly changing her destiny.

Peasant girls have become queens and their unborn babe the heir to the kingdom.

I shudder at the idea of being impregnated by such a foreign source. By pure magic in an immaculate conception. They say it can happen during the crossing, when a woman steps into the zone between realms.

My family has been gifted with great magic. It is our blessing to live close to the boundary and consuming the magic that bleeds from the portals and gaps in the barriers. In these highlands, there are streams of water that have their source in the fae world.

There have been many magical pregnancies in our ancestral line. My grandmother took the pilgrimage and conceived my father by the magic. His power is the strongest by far in our entire kingdom.

We walk back to the meadow and Caitlin barks orders until the Protector Guard are back on the road. She sets a fast pace through the last passes of wooded valleys and mountains of slate, as though she is eager to get away from this place.

The lands open out to meadows, which give way to sprawling farms that smell of freshly churned soil. I scan the horizon as Appleshield Castle comes into view, my breath catching at the sight of my home on top of a great rise.

Golden towers jut high above the immense outer wall that encircles the entire hill, enclosing both the castle and orchards that our family’s wealth depends on.

The outer wall defends against human armies or thieves, but the castle itself is a fortress designed against a siege from the fae. It is a massive rectangular structure that has tall turrets and high walls, with a few courtyards .

The windows are either slit or heavily barred.The entire building is purely of a military design, to defend against an enemy who could fly and wield great amounts of destructive magic.

Haloed by the high sun, my home cuts a formidable body against the blue sky.

I examine the path that snakes from the outer wall to the entrance of the keep, trying to make out the procession of black clad bodies there. My mind hits a blank as I try to remember which house of the lesser nobility of the North have those colors.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” Caitlin snaps ahead of me, then holds up a hand. “Halt!” The entire hunting party stops abruptly. Caitlin volts off her mount and stalks right up to me. “Get off your horse.”

“Sorry?” I stumble as I realize that entourage is in dark purple, not black.

“The king arrived early. Get down now.”

I don’t argue. I slide down in shock.

Caitlin takes out her handkerchief and pours water from a canteen over it, then attacks me with the wet cloth, wiping my face and scrubbing at my clothes. “I would have brought a damn governess had I known this would happen. Gwyneth! Can you do something with her hair?”

I glance between both of them. “Caitlin? Do you really think the prince is going to lose interest in me if I present a little disheveled?” I can’t hide my disbelief. He has seen me unraveled so many times when we sneak away to the old gardens.

“He is a prince. They expect refinement in a woman. We’re meant to be dainty, helpless, blossoms, remember?”

Gwyneth picks leaves and twigs from my hair before braiding it in a crown, tugging the hair with such force that I wonder if Caitlin’s statement was triggering for her.

I grit my teeth to stop myself from yelping.

She leaves a third of my curls free to trail down my back to my waist. Caitlin stalks the line of guards until she commandeers two clean surcoats from female trackers .

“This will have to do.” She looks me up and down. “Diarmuid!” she yells as Gwyneth gets to work on her hair.

Diarmuid appears at my side, pulling a vial from a sleeve and patting the liquid onto my neck. “Rose oil,” he mutters. “So you don't smell like death.”

“Not you too?” I groan. “Why do you even have that on you?”

“It's useful for wound healing.” He shrugs, then dabs some on Caitlin.

I consider the king’s entourage again and I can’t help the smile that creeps up onto my face. I haven’t seen Prince Finan in months.

“There is nothing more we can do with you.” Caitlin’s lips press into a thin line. “With either of us. I would have preferred to present to the king as the proper ladies he expects. It makes life easier. No matter that he wouldn’t bat an eyelid if he caught father dirty after a hunt.”

My mouth dries with nervous anticipation as we pass under the outer wall. Only the teeth of the rolled-up iron gate are visible and the four guards salute us as we pass.

I pick at the dirt beneath my nails as doubts niggle at me.

The broad road winds up the incline, between the glasshouses of orchards, already blooming unnaturally this early in the season. An abundance of white apple blossoms are visible through the glass, covering the otherwise skeletal branches in clouds of petals.

My heart rate ramps up as we cross the bridge that spans over a deep ravine between the hilltop of the orchards and Castle Appleshield itself. The foundations of the fortress are built into a bluff of pure stone.

Most of the castles in the south of Strathia are sprawling amalgamations of freestanding towers and buildings, with beautiful courtyard gardens and huge balconies, but not ours. The entire north was built to defend, so the rest of Strathia could indulge in safety.

The king’s entourage fills the castle’s main courtyard just beyond the bridge and gatehouse. The ring of our horses’ hooves on the flagstones echoes in the space and turns all heads our way. I scan the crowd of dozens, swallowing as my mouth suddenly turns dry .

Most in the courtyard are royal guards in deep purple uniforms, holding spears and with swords or bows at their backs. The king’s heavyset frame stands out from the rest, in a vibrant purple doublet seeded with pearls and ridiculous pants cut at the knee, ballooning out to the hips in ruffles of white velvet.

There is not a speck of dust from the road on him. I doubt he has ridden a horse since his youth.

A frown occupies King Willard’s fleshy face as his gaze narrows on me and Caitlin. It flicks to the five Cú Sídhe trophies accompanying our hunting party, then back.

My father stands next to the king, witnessing the same sight but with a smile on his face that lights up his green eyes. With one look at him, all the tension melts from me.

A slight breeze blows his chin-length fiery red hair, which is permanently disheveled because he can’t help running a hand through its length to pull it away from his face.

We dismount, our entire guard kneeling before our king. Caitlin leads Diarmuid and I right before him, and while we ladies courtesy deeply, Diarmuid bows.

“King Willard, it is an honor to host you at our keep,” Caitlin says as she rises.

He examines us both with exaggerated motions, head to toe, toward our kill and bows, then turns to my father. “Edmund, it is quite unladylike for your daughters to partake in a hunt like wildlings. Do you struggle to keep a rein on the willful creatures?”

My mouth hangs open until Caitlin kicks me. I don’t understand how she tolerates the dismissal. I have met the king numerous times, and still his personality hits me like the shock of a thunderbolt.

My father laughs, raising a single eyebrow. “No wise man would hold back the women of Appleshield. This fortress would fall to lower fae without them. We do not have ladies here. We have warriors and priestesses.”

“You are far too indulgent, old man.” The king’s lips quirk quickly upwards .

“You have a daughter Willard, fifteen like my youngest. We’ll see how indulgent you become.”

The king slaps my father’s back. “Ah! But I have already married mine off. She is no longer my problem. Women become so willful at that age. Better to let another man deal with it.”

I jolt at the harshness of those words. He speaks as though he sold off a breeding mare. The king turns to me and Caitlin, nodding to us wildlings in a manner that is not unfriendly. He completely misses the expression that flashes across my father’s face, anger that bleeds into sadness.

King Willard smiles when he notices brother. “Ah Diarmuid, my good boy. Why would a strapping young man like you have your sisters out leading a hunt of those horrible creatures?” He puts an arm around Diarmuid’s shoulders and leads him away. “Yes, I know the druids do not kill.” I cannot hear Diarmuid’s reply, only the king’s bellowing again. “You are always welcome to finish your training in my court, with my druid adviser.”

As they drift away, I contemplate who has it worse whenever the king visits, myself and Caitlin, or Diarmuid who always gets roped into spending hours entertaining him.

A roar of voices rises within the courtyard, as the guards and nobles talk among themselves. They had fallen silent for the king's humiliation of us. My cheeks and neck heat with embarrassment.

“I can never quite work out if the king is joking or if he insults us,” Caitlin mutters with a pleasant, courtly smile forced onto her face.

“Both, I think.” I scan the crowd.

“Definitely both.” Our father chimes in behind us, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. “Because he sees our strength in unity. We will give him no other reason to feel threatened while here, right? Not even a threat to his masculinity. Wars have been fought over less.”

Men. Typical men.

Affronted because we ride and hunt and thrive, because we have the prowess they value. As women, we are better hunters than most men, and that threatens their masculinity. It is so much easier to drag another person down, than to put in the effort to improve one’s self .

“I know what you two are thinking,” my father half-whispers to us, scratching his neatly trimmed, red beard. “And I agree with you. Any other chauvinistic bastard, and I would love for you to put him and his insecurities in his place, but not the king. We all swallow our pride for royalty.”

Our father pats our shoulders, then disappears into the crowd as soon as he catches the attention of the king’s druid adviser.

“Keira.” That musical voice calls my name, dragging out the syllables, and I turn to it like it is a spell.

Hidden behind chatting courtiers, Prince Finan leans against the stone wall, one leg bent and his foot pressed to it. I drink in the image of him like a woman dying of thirst. The blue-black curls of his hair are pulled back by a gold circlet, with a single ringlet flopping forward over his ice-blue eyes. He casts a simmering gaze at me, beckoning with a hand, and I jut forward like an eager puppy.

The crowd parts as I move to him, but I hardly notice them.

Prince Finan takes my hand and brings it to his lips, brushing the lightest kiss on its back. The fluttering sensation sends warmth up my arm.

I should curtesy to him, but our familiarity has far outgrown that.

“You do indeed look like a wildling.” He pulls a leaf from my hair and caresses my cheek as he rubs something from it.

“You heard what your father said to me?” I raise my eyebrows. “And you said nothing? You chose not to defend your lady’s honor?”

His laughter rings out. “One does not question your king. Not even a prince.”

I examine his face, with his head tipped to one side. There isn’t a hint of annoyance or protectiveness. Maybe I overreacted to the king's words.

“Besides,” Finan drags out the word as he twirls a loose lock of my hair around his finger. “What made you think you could go on a hunt? It's far too dangerous for a lady. Better to leave that sort of untasteful business to the soldiers.”

“Finan, aside from my sister, I am the greatest hunter in the Appleshield Protectorate. I join every hunt.” It’s like he doesn’t even know me.

He spreads one of my curls across his palm, so each individual strand is visible against the contrast of his pale skin. “I love the beauty of your hair,” he murmurs. “The way every strand is a different color. Gold, orange, red, burgundy, and brown. It is like every shade of autumn leaves are captured within them.”

His intensity steals my breath away and the capacity for thought escapes me.

The prince gives me a pat on the hip. “Go. Bathe and change. I want you looking pretty on my arm.” With that command, he straightens to his full height, a hand’s width above mine, and walks away from me, joining the conversation the younger Prince Niall is embroiled in with an ambassador.

I am left standing alone in a crowd of people. It feels like the sun disappeared.

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