Rage (Her Monsters Book One) - K.A Knight Page 0,111
aware of her heritage. Not yet, it’s not time. Only when she comes of age will she unite both of the courts, creating peace. One sought for a thousand years. One girl to save them all...because they are dying. Humans, metal, and magic, leading to less and less babies every year. Their magic is dying out and watering down. It was the only choice.
But that is a matter for a different day—now, we must figure out who was brave enough to step onto my lands, and I must see if they saw anything.
“You are different,” Ashera observes, breaking the silence.
Looking over at the man, I notice the difference in him too. Where I once saw a boy, now stands a man with the scars, and a hard stare to prove it. Has it really been that long since I have been here? Maybe I was letting things slip before Dawn came along.
“As are you,” I reply.
He nods, his face still serious, no laughter or smile there anymore. Once he would have—what has changed?
“I have found my mate,” I confess with a grin, and he stops and looks at me.
“Congratulations, brother,” he cheers, embracing me again before stepping back. His face once again stoic.
I incline my head and we continue our walk, the trees opening up as we cross the drawbridge into the castle grounds. There, in the center of the square, or the heart as they call it, is the mother tree. I tap my heart in greeting and step towards it. A branch breaks away and moves through the air towards me. I don’t move, I stand still as it wraps around my finger and pricks it, taking my blood.
Everything with the fae includes sacrifice.
I turn and follow Ashera again as he leads me through the twisting corridors, always seeming to know his way even as they shift right in front of him until we come out into a sitting room.
Ashera breaks away from me and heads over to the wall, fading against it, as a silent protector. Taking the seat opposite the king, I wait for him to speak.
The room is filled with the scent of oranges and flowers dot the walls. The ground is not steel, concrete, or stone, it is hard dirt. Four sofas sit in a square with a table behind one of them and chairs. It is an informal sitting room, which bodes well. Even the room the fae deem to see you in is a choice. If this had been the throne room, or worse, I would have known they were being coy with me, or treating me as a stranger or an enemy. This lets me know I may speak freely.
The king looks up from the book in his hand, pretending to have just noticed me. When most people think king, they think an older man. Now, Bayard is that, at over a thousand years old, but he doesn’t look a day over forty. His golden hair falls to his shoulders in waves and his golden crown, with flowers and trees, is wrapped around his head. His eyes are the brightest blue and if he was using his power, would most likely blind or stun someone. He is like looking at the sun itself. Now, it surrounds him, glamoured to hide his true power. That also means he intends no harm. If his power was in use then I would be fucked.
He sits back and crosses his long legs. His body is one humans dream about. “Cernunnos,” he greets, the only man to still use my given name.
I smile in greeting, making sure not to show teeth. Another strange tradition, but most creatures have fangs and flashing them is a warning.
“Your Highness,” I greet him formally, knowing how to play this game. Even among friends, you must go by the rules or pay the price. If I had addressed him as King Bayard, the bloodied and fertile, I would have been addressing him too formally. Only calling Bayard shows that I am not giving him the proper respect of his title. It’s the little things that matter with the fae and where many trip up.
“Please, call me Bayard.” He nods, and I relax even further. It’s a good sign.
“Then please call me, Nos,” I reply in turn.
His eyebrow raises and a wicked grin curves his lips. “Nos?”
I grin back, unable to help myself. “My mate likes it.”
He bursts into laughter, and the light catches him like a rainbow as a multitude of