Keeper of Storms (The Fallen Fae #3) - Jenna Wolfhart Page 0,60

lips twitched. “Again, I can see that. Your hair might be a different color now, but I’d know that face anywhere. You’re Princess Reyna Darragh, the hero of the Battle of Fomorian Square.”

Reyna felt her whole body deflate, as if it had been sucked dry of all its blood. “I am no hero.”

“You are in my eyes, love.”

“Your king is dead. Because of me.”

The female’s eyes flashed. This was it, Reyna knew. There might not be any warriors around, but she’d go in search of someone. A brother, a son, a cousin. Someone who could wield a weapon and bring it down on her head.

Reyna knew she would not fight them if they came. She’d done enough damage. She did not want anyone else’s blood on her hands.

“I know about the king.” Her voice was soft and agonizingly kind. “Ulaid Molt killed him to take the throne. So, unless you’re him, and I don’t think you are, then his death is not your fault.”

“But it is.” Reyna’s voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears flooded into her eyes. Pure exhaustion roiled through her as she sobbed. She did not think she had any more tears inside of her, and yet they wouldn’t stop. She was so tired. So very tired.

Maybe you should just give up. It’s all too much, isn’t it? Just give up, and let me claim you. It’ll all be over then.

“Love.” The woman was beside her now, her gentle hand on her shoulder. Her frazzled hair framed a gaunt face that had not seen a hearty meal in years. And yet still she remained. She carried on. Even now when destruction had landed at her door. “I hear footsteps. Wood fae warriors might be coming and doing a sweep of these streets. Let’s make sure they don’t find you here, eh?”

Reyna cocked her head. The steady thump of dozens of footsteps echoed through the stone city. She was right. Those were warriors. And they were heading in this direction.

“I shouldn’t come with you,” Reyna said, backing up. “I’m dangerous. I’ll only end up getting you killed.”

“Well, if you do, then I’ll have to haunt you, now won’t I?”

Her heart faltered. “They’re looking for me. You understand that, right?”

“Aye.” The woman nodded firmly. “Which is why we need to get you out of sight. Come, love. I live nearby.”

Reyna hesitated. She could not help but feel touched by the kind woman’s offer, but a part of her wanted nothing more than to lie there in the filth and wait for the wood king’s guards to find her. Lorcan was dead because of her. Findius had been captured. The wood king would turn his sights north, destroying every realm if they did not bow before him.

It was all over.

The shadow fae huffed, snatched her arm, and dragged her toward the mouth of the alley. Reyna didn’t resist, even though she could have easily swiped her aside with the slightest of blows. The fae paused at the edge of the street, popped her head around the corner, and then scurried across to the black stone buildings. The footsteps had grown louder while they’d bickered in the alley. Now, they sounded as if they might round the corner at any moment.

The shadow fae muttered to herself, pulling Reyna past several single-storey buildings until she came to a sudden stop outside one that was identical to the rest. She flung the door wide, pushed Reyna inside, and then dove straight behind her. The door slammed shut, reverberating in the small space.

Reyna blinked and glanced around. There wasn’t much to it. A small bed sat in the corner beside a fireplace that glowed with dying embers. Three shelves hung along the wall. They held empty jars and a single heel of stale, moldy bread. Dim lighting filtered in through only two windows, one in the front of the house and one in the back that looked out onto another alley.

“It’s not much. I know,” the shadow fae said. “Not to a princess.”

Reyna closed her eyes, remembering the sparkle of the Air Court’s castle. All those courtiers and their fine gowns, their feasts, their dancing, and their meaningless waste. Meanwhile, on the other end of the continent, the shadow fae did not even have fresh food or clothes that had not been worn to rags.

Something had to change.

And how will you change it, Reyna Darragh? You have only made things worse.

“You have that funny look on your face again,” the woman said, cutting