Keeper of Storms (The Fallen Fae #3) - Jenna Wolfhart Page 0,103

on me. Trying to make me angry, so that I’ll defend his honor? I don’t need to do that. I know what kind of king he is, especially compared to you. I’m sure you see it, too, or you wouldn’t be so afraid of him.”

Molt growled as he advanced on her, sliding his sword from its shadowsteel sheath. “It is a mistake to antagonize me, princess. You’re my prisoner. I don’t need you alive.”

Her heart struggled to pump as she clutched at the ground. The room spun around her, the Ruin’s words whispering in her mind. Her time in this world no longer stretched out before her with endless potential. She had only hours left. Maybe only moments. Nothing the wood king could do to her would matter.

“So, then kill me,” she whispered. “I’m never going to give you what you want.”

He raised his sword over his head. Reyna stared up at him, her heart in her throat. She braced herself for his blow, knowing it would come at any moment. Suddenly, a strange stubborn determination rose up inside of her as death knocked so closely against her mind. She knew it was all over. She’d come to the end of the line, and yet—

She couldn’t give up.

Shakily, she pushed herself up off the ground to stand before the king. His eyes widened just a fraction of an inch before his brows slammed down. He stalked around her in a slow circle, sizing her up. He didn’t know how weak she was. He had no idea about the storm that raged inside her mind, ripping her apart as each moment stretched by.

She curled her hands into fists and waited. If he wanted a fight, she would give him one. Even if she did not win, she would do her best to take him down with her.

But then he lowered his sword, smiling. “You want me to fight you.”

Dammit. She did.

She’d rather go down fighting than anything else.

“I won’t give you the satisfaction.” He flicked his fingers toward the warriors behind her. “Guards. Return her to the dungeons and prepare the gallows.” He cut his flashing eyes back to her face. “I sentence you to death, Reyna Darragh. By hanging. In front of all of Findius, so that they might watch their precious Hero of Fomorian Square choke on her own blood.”

38

Reyna

Rough hands shoved her forward. Iron chains circled her wrists, burning her skin, but she could scarcely feel the pain. Every single inch of her body ached. The pain was unyielding, but it also meant that it blocked out the worst of it.

It was impossible to focus on her wrists when every part of her hurt.

The guard tossed her into a cage behind the gallows. She stumbled forward, her knees sinking into mud. Rain poured down from the skies, transforming Findius into a dank, dark pit of misery. Mist still swirled through the streets, mixing with the torrential downpour. It made the entire city look like it was haunted by wraiths.

Reyna crawled forward and curled up against one wall of the cage. She peered through the bars at the other cages lined up behind the galley’s wooden frame. She counted four others in total, all empty but the one that squatted beside her. The other prisoner looked familiar. It was one of the rebels from the Illusion House. Duana was her name.

The fae twisted her head to the side, revealing a face bruised and bloody. Reyna’s gut twisted. Saliva dripped down her chin from parched lips, her entire body curving over itself. Anger flashed through Reyna, slashing away her own exhaustion. The wood king had to be stopped. She had to hope that Lorcan would soon be on his way.

“Hey, Duana,” Reyna hissed, pressing herself up to the bars. There were only a few inches between their cages. Duana’s head popped up, and her glassy eyes swept across Reyna. Her lips dropped when she saw who had called her name.

“Princess.” She sighed. “You got caught.”

“It seems you did, too.”

“They found our house and raided it.” Her head dropped against the bars, and a twang echoed between them. “Some of the rebels got away. But not all of us.”

“Laoise?” Reyna asked, heart in her throat. “Finnegan?

“As far as I know, they’re safe.” Duana’s eyes slid shut. “But I doubt they will be for long. Ulaid Molt won’t stop until we’re all dead and bled dry. We’re cattle, all lined up for slaughter. He’ll use the shadow fae for the blood he