Page 80 of Lady Knight and the Thief

“What are my crimes?” Cypress spat. There had to be some mistake. She was loyal to the crown. As she always had been. She was on the way back to the Keep after finishing her assignment, for fucks sake!

“Conspiracy and Heresy, Lady,” Oswald said.

His voice would have her believe there was some compassion, but the set of Oswald’s jaw and the glint in his eye told Cypress a completely different story. As did the lance Oswald slowly hefted from its place on the saddle. The company of men behind him mirrored the lieutenant's movement.

“This is ridiculous, you cannot honestly believe thatIam guilty of Heresy?” Cypress asked Oswald.

He knew her face. Knew her identity as Captain Cy. Surely, he would trust her.

“I have my orders from King Caelith, Lady. You will be returning to the Keep with us, whether you like it or not,” Oswald said, expression hardening.

“No. No, I don’t think that I will be,” Cypress said, her heart thundering in her ears. “I am not somecriminal.”

“Lady–”

“Captain!”Cypress snapped through her teeth. “I am yourCaptain!”

She was Captain of the Prince's Guard, following orders from the King. There had to be some mistake. The party behind Oswald began to murmur amongst themselves. And then, Cypress noticed what was lying across their horse's back. Iridescent wings were strapped and stuffed into saddlebags. Thick pelts from Fawn and Satyrs, cloven hooves dangling on either side of the horses.

Cypress felt sick at the horrors the Guards had brought to Faerie in their search for her.

So many people and creatures of Faerie lay dead somewhere, just to slack the bloodlust of Caelith’s guard.

Weeks ago, Cypress would not even have known. She never would have guessed that the iridescent wings draped across the horse's back would have come frompeople. Or that the cloven hooves dangling from pelts were not just goats or sheep.

Cypress’s stomach roiled, and her throat burned as if she’d just drank molten metal fresh from the forge.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Lady,” Oswald tried, adjusting his lance grip.

"Captain," Cypress corrected. Oswald’s lance would do him little good this close, where they couldn’t circle her without leaving the road.

For once, Cypress stopped trying to ignore the whispering in the leaves, the ever-shifting language of the Dryaads.

A moment passed, then another, while Oswald’s face slowly contorted with contempt.

Through the entire exchange, Torren had been silent. Cypress sent a glance in his direction, only to find him ready and waiting with his bow lying across his lap.

Torren raised an eyebrow and waited for her signal.

Cypress looked down to where her hands were gripped around the riser of the bow.

Everything was about to change.

Cypress dipped her chin and then sent an arrow firing toward Oswald’s eye. Then, she exploded into motion. Her horse charged, and she drew her sword.

Three arrows came from Torren’s bow in quick succession, and then he was moving toward the party behind Oswald. Torren moved like he could take them all down by himself.

Cypress couldn’t focus on that, though. Oswald brushed her arrow away with his bracers at the last moment.

With gritted teeth, Cypress attacked. She sliced at his midsection with her sword. And Oswald blocked with his lance. Cypress precisely struck his wrist with the flat of her blade, and Oswald dropped the lance with a shout.

Cypress wasted no time. She dealt a blow to the back of his head that seemed to crumple his spine. Oswald fell from his mount to the dirt on his back.

Without hesitation, Cypress urged her horse to Torren’s side, where he was currently dealing with the other members of the party. Before Seren stopped, Cypress vaulted from the saddle and launched into the attack.

With significant ease, she and Torren quickly dealt with the remaining guards. Cypress slashed and parried her way through the party. Their blood coated her sword and the ground beneath them, and splashed on her clothes.

One of the Guards–or should she call them Crown Raiders–backed away from the fray. Not a single drop of blood was splashed on his armor, but the remains of Fair Folk had been piled high on the back of his horse.