Page 72 of The Hidden Fae Prince
He doesn’t even know if the mushroom circle can shield against Midnight. He just has a bad feeling. Whatever Midnight wants, however Midnight found them, Seren wants Nevander safe.
But of course, Nevander only moves to step between them. His wings obscure Seren’s view. “I’m not bound to obey you, Highness.”
“What the fuck are you bound to?” Seren demands.
Nevander’s answer is to strike in a blur of pale feathers. Midnight meets him in a chorus of cold metal and colder laughter. They move faster than Seren can track, dodging more than they hit.
A rare glancing blow slashes a white streak in Nevander’s gray armor. As if cutting paper. Seren’s heart stumbles. He calls a dagger from his carryhold, because his empty hand aches. But he can’t move from the circle. Nevander told him to stay. Seren would just get in the way.
The surviving augray leaps in. Nevander shoves it away with a gauntlet to the jaw. His sword catches one of Midnight’s blades. But he can’t stop the second, which pierces his stomach.
Nevander’s wings shimmer, then vanish. The blood-sheathed sword extends through his back.
23
Each Inch of Starving Skin
Thismustbeanillusion. Seren refuses to believe his eyes. Nevander is too strong. Any second now, he’ll shove forward, unharmed, golden blade striking—
Midnight yanks the sword free, and blood paints the air. As Nevander slumps to his knees, Midnight strolls forward.
“Fear not,” Midnight says, with nauseating calm. “I haven’t yet slain your guardian.”
More threat than reassurance, but the fae truth gives Seren the breath to speak. Nevander is still alive.
Even though blood stripes the peaceful meadow. Black from the augray. Red and shimmering from Nevander. Iron and scattered rubies in the silvery light.
“What do you want?” Seren demands, dagger hilt digging into his palm. Nevander’s feather crumples in his other hand.
Midnight’s swords vanish to their scabbards. “A pleasure to properly meet you, PrinceCalithel.”
“Spare the bullshit,” Seren retorts. “We’ve met before.”
Surprise lifts Midnight’s carved features. “Do you believe so?”
More fucking fae nonsense. “You appeared in my palace two nights ago. We spoke.”
But that doesn’t make sense. How could Midnight break into the palace, yet not be able to cross a simple ring of mushrooms?
How did he know Seren would be here?
“What an interesting tale.” Midnight grins, sharp, and the wind whispers with laughter. “This is our first conversation.”
Seren has only been in the Summer realm a few weeks. Apparently, that’s long enough to expect the truth.
And maybe this is the truth. Maybe the person in the greenhouse was an illusion. Or an imposter. Certain differences coalesce. There’s a manic redness around this Midnight’s eyes. An energy that sets Seren’s nerves on edge, even without his empathy. Midnight’s armor is more elaborate today, dark gems glittering along his gauntlets.
Seren could have missed those details in the dark greenhouse. He could be misremembering everything now, as Nevander struggles to stand, too far away. But one detail is clear enough for Seren to grasp.
No scar glitters across this Midnight’s face.
It could be hidden with glamour. Fae value vanity almost as much as truth.
Opportunity seizes Seren’s heart, even in his panic. Fae can’t lie—and Midnight seems talkative.
“Are my brothers alive?” Seren asks, the words strange on his lips.
Midnight regards him, motionless for a breath. “Briar is alive and well.” He extends his hand, fingertips inches away from the mushroom boundary. “Follow me, and you can meet him.”
