Page 14 of Fallen Nocturne

Below, the fires of our camp burn among the cliffs. My warriors have lost their home, their purpose, and nearly everything else because they followed me. Brooding alone will do nothing to help them. I push away from the stone and head down the slope to join them.

Laughter reaches me as I approach the camp. I recognize Alys’s tinkling laugh immediately, followed by Eacharn’s rougher chuckle.

I pause in the shadows beyond the firelight, listening.

“Did you see how she could barely look at Nightshade without trembling?” Alys is saying, her voice dripping with amusement. “The great Elven Queen, terrified of a wyvern. How does she expect to survive this war when she can’t even face our mounts without cowering?”

“She’s soft,” Eacharn agrees, taking a long pull from a flask. “I give it a week before flight training breaks her completely.”

“A week?” Alys laughs again, that same mocking sound that grated on me earlier. “You’re generous. I say three days before she’s sobbing. Did you notice how she kept touching that ring? She’s like a child with a comfort toy.”

“It’s pathetic. They say she lost some of her memories,” Eacharn adds with a snort. “Though I suppose when your mind is that fragile, it doesn’t take much to shatter it completely.”

“The moment she rides, that soft little heart will give out,” Alys says with certainty. “Maybe she’ll just trip over that useless wyvern of hers and break her neck. Either way, we’ll be looking for new sanctuary soon enough.”

“Brainless little queen playing dress-up in her dead mother’s crown,” Eacharn says, mouth curling. “Half her mind is gone and the other half is useless. She’d lose a battle of wits with a goat.”

Something inside me snaps.

The dagger leaves my hand and whistles through the firelight. It buries itself in the log between Eacharn’s boots.

Both of them are on their feet instantly, hands going to weapons. My hand closes around Eacharn’s throat before he can draw his blade, lifting him just enough that he has to stand on his tiptoes.

“Commander—” Eacharn starts.

“Silence.” The word comes out as barely more than a growl. Around us, the wyverns shift restlessly, sensing their riders’ distress. Bloodthorn releases a warning rumble, but even she doesn’t dare intervene.

I look into Eacharn’s eyes, seeing the dawning fear there. Good.

“That soft little queen you’re so eager to mock gave us sanctuary when our own king ordered our deaths,” I snarl, my grip tightening. “While you’re sitting here laughing about her fears, she’s in that city trying to figure out how to keep her people alive despite having every reason to let us rot.”

“She’s the enemy—” Alys tries.

“The enemy?” I don’t bother looking at her.

“The enemy would have executed us on sight. The enemy would have used us as bargaining chips. The enemy would have forced us to fight our own brothers or die.” My grip on Eacharn’s throat tightens just enough to make him gasp. “Instead, she looked at warriors who had just finished burning her kingdom and offered us safety with no conditions or demands.”

“Because of the mate bond with you—” Alys cuts in.

I laugh darkly. “The mate bond she didn’t ask for? The one connecting her to an enemy commander? If anything, that bond makes her position worse. Her own people probably question her loyalty now, wondering if she’s been compromised. Yet she still protected us.”

I shove Eacharn away hard enough that he staggers back, one hand flying to his throat. But I’m not done. “You think she’s weak because she fears our wyverns? She stood in that field surrounded by beasts that could devour her in seconds, facing warriors who had just helped slaughter her people, and she offered us sanctuary. That’s not weakness. Rhianelle has the kind of courage you couldn’t understand if you lived another century.”

“You’re defending her because she’s your mate,” Eacharn says, though his voice lacks its earlier confidence.

I pull my dagger from the log with a violent jerk that sends splinters flying. “I need to remind you both of what we are now. Exiles living on the mercy of someone we wronged.”

The other members of the squadron have gathered now, drawn by the commotion. Theo, Kieran, and Glenn watch from the edges of the firelight, their expressions unreadable.

“We are warriors of Avalon,” Alys says, recovering some of her composure. “We don’t bow to elven queens.”

“No?” I round on her. “Then what are you doing here? Why aren’t you back in Avalon, serving the king who betrayed you?” She flinches, and I press on. “Oh, that’s right, because he ordered your death. Because the mistress sent assassins after you mid-battle. Because the only reason you’re alive is that an elven queen you despise offered you shelter.”

The camp falls silent except for the crackling of the fire and the restless sounds of the wyverns.

“But sure,” I say, focusing back on Alys. “Mock her for fearing creatures that any sane person would fear. Laugh at her for showing mercy. Predict her death while you sit here alive only because of her compassion.”

Alys’s jaw clenches. “You’ve changed. The mate bond has already corrupted you.”