Page 48 of The Hidden Fae Prince
Or the betrayal is deliberate.
A wing bludgeons Nevander’s shoulder. He stumbles, barely avoiding the darting beak. Eagle eyes seem to brighten with laughter.
Illusions don’t tire. Eventually, Nevander will. Not now, not yet, but he’s outmatched. No chance of fleeing to morefavorable terrain, if any exists in Primrose’s haven. Nevander has to stay engaged, if Seren will just run.
But Seren waits a mere twenty feet away.
“Find the door,” Nevander growls, then shakes with the griffon’s next impact.
“Wait!” Seren shouts. “Stop fighting it!”
Spirits’ breath. Kings need courage, not foolishness. Nevander parries a deafening blur of claws. “You need torun.”
Seren skids in the leaves, following behind Nevander. “This test is for me! I couldn’t fight like this, so fighting can’t be the answer.”
Nevander’s instincts clash against the logic. Seren is in danger. Nevander must protect him. And even this is better than the long years apart. The figment griffon may battle him to deadly exhaustion, but at least his thorns are dormant.
The griffon crouches, readying for another strike. As it moves, Seren seizes Nevander’s sword arm.
“Wait!” Seren orders.
Nevander staggers. No time to switch hands. He raises his empty left arm, ready to meet the griffon’s beak with defiance and snapping bones.
The griffon stops. Bright eyes blink inches from Nevander’s face.
“Will you listen to me now?” Seren demands.
Nevander trembles, heart thrumming with danger. Both the griffon and the new confidence in Seren’s voice. If this test had been for Nevander, he would have failed.
His sword vanishes from his aching hand. The griffon retreats, no longer breathing in Nevander’s face, but still too close. There are dark specks in its copper eyes.
“I dislike this trial,” Nevander says.
“It’s better than the flower petals,” Seren says. He still holds Nevander’s wrist, a light, inescapable tether.
“Flower petals?”
“Spring had a unicorn wielding evil flower petals.” Seren lifts his bloodstained right arm, then seems to remember himself and releases Nevander. “I had to make a crown. You probably would have tried to fight the unicorn.”
The accusation is fair. “I would have tried to fight Winter, too.”
“I’d like to see you duel the wind.” Tired amusement softens Seren’s face. “I think this is the opposite of Winter. We have to wait.”
“For how long?” Nevander asks.
More amusement. “That isn’t the point.”
Nevander craves a deadline. An action point to plan around. But these trials aren’t meant for him. The griffon settles on its haunches, wings rising and falling with each slow breath.
A figment of a griffon, in a figment of Autumn.
“Spirits,” Nevander swears. “Of course we have to wait.”
Seren sighs. “What am I missing now?”
“Telain was the court of catalysts and creation.” Nevander touches the wilting petals of Seren’s crown. “Karsiel was the court of striving. Loria was the court of wisdom—and patience.”
“More symbols,” Seren says. “What is Elladar the court of?”
