Page 2 of Their Wicked Cage

“You just had that look on your face.” She giggles. “Is there anything else I can get you while you wait?”

“Refills would be nice.”

Black hell, no. I cannot withstand another tankard of that cursed ale.

She flits away with vampiric speed. Within seconds, she’s sliding the refills in front of us. Ark murmurs his thanks, and the moment I hear her start arguing with the other table of guests, I meet my friend’s playful gaze, taking in the purple staining his brown skin and thinking of the bruises slowly healing across my knuckles. We both should’ve healed completely by now, which means things are far worse back in the Fae Isles than when I left a few days ago.

I push aside my tankard and fist my hands atop the table. “We need to talk to Avaline now. Our bruises⁠—”

“I know,” he says, his mind likely consumed by the same worry for our home. “It might be the ale talking, but I can’t help worrying that if we’ve somehow misjudged Avaline’s talents and she can’t locate the witch⁠—”

“She can,” I say, sounding surer than I feel. “The trees tell her everything.” If anyone can locate the witch, it’s Avaline. From matchmaking soulmates to tracking missing persons, her affinity is one of the reasons the nymph supreme keeps her so close. “If the witch is imprisoned somewhere in the Wyldelands, she will find her.”

“And then what?” He plucks one of the fried sweet potato slices from the basket and pops it into his mouth. While chewing, he adds, “Are we just going to saunter into the forest, kidnap the witch, and sneak her back into the Fae Isles?”

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just insult me by saying I, the king of the Fae Isles, have to sneak around in my own kingdom.” I run a hand through my hair. “No, there will be no sneaking around. We’re going to escort her straight through the palace doors and announce her as my guest, and no one will mutter a word about it.”

“To your face or behind your back?” he asks baldly.

“Both.”

He rubs his lips together, then lets them slide into a dangerous grin. “I bet a thousand gold Lord Devlin will hunt you down within the first ten minutes the witch is present in the palace.”

If anyone is to question me—or anything I do—it’ll be Lord Devlin.

The prick fancies himself important because on her deathbed, my late mother begged me to give him a role in my court, declaring him as head of the council and the voice between the Crown and the Isles as the Covenant-Tongue.

Even before he was titled, Devlin was a problem. Always lurking around the castle, whispering in my mother’s ear.

“This is going to be the easiest gold I’ve ever earned in my life,” Arkyn continues, oblivious to the storm clouds rolling around in my mind. His hazel gaze brightens like he already holds the winnings, and he takes a long pull from his foamy ale. “Do you just want to pay up now, Riv?”

“No,” I drawl, watching as loverboy sighs and finally slides off the barstool. He’s muttering to himself as he shoves through the swinging door behind the bar and into what I can only assume is the kitchen. “It’s time.”

I slip out of the booth, giving an arguing couple a wide berth as I cross the bar and fold myself onto the empty stool beside my target.

“That seat is tak—” Avaline cuts herself off, blinking once, twice, and glancing between me and her glass of wine. “I’m either very drunk or very fucked.”

I paste on my most charming smile as she turns to face me completely, a furrow between her dark brows. “Considering that’s only your second glass of wine, I’d say you’re clear on both accounts.”

Her skin is as luminescent as the moonlight cutting in through the round windows, a stark contrast to the green hair hanging neatly down her back in soft waves. Only Avaline Skov would be wearing a pale pink dress in a hovel like this. It’s the same shade as the rouge on her lips and cheeks, and it clings to her ample curves in an incredibly alluring way.

Or it would be if she were fae.

Nevertheless, I hadn’t quite noticed how pretty she was before, and I don’t like that I’m noticing now.

My neck heats.

“Supreme Riven, what in Sylithe’s name are you doing here?” she asks, scattering those thoughts entirely.

Well, I’m not going to tell her Ark and I followed her here, mostly because I think it’d be in poor taste to admit to stalking. And I’m definitely not going to tell her we’ve been orchestrating a way to get a moment alone with her.

Time to deflect.

“I could ask you the same thing. I didn’t think a female of your fine tastes frequented such…” My gaze flicks between the sticky bartop and the ale-soaked stones lining the floor. “Fine establishments,” I finish grimly.

“My brother owns this tavern,” she says, eyes narrowing into slits. “Listen, I don’t know what you need, but Carver will be back any minute now, so…”

So, make this quick is what I can tell she wants to say, but she knows better than to disrespect me. Not because I’m the fae king, but because I am one of the Seven, and one word of this clandestine meeting between us to Tallis, her supreme, will spell trouble for the matchmaker. Tallis is... utterly merciless, and if she suspects even the smallest act of treachery, Avaline won’t live to see sunrise.