the guard behind her, who forcibly shoved her away with a grunt of disgust. She tripped and fell to the dirt, shielding herself with her hands over her head. Loud gasps were heard from the crowd. A stiletto boot nudged her leg, and Kestrel’s voice rang out from above.
“For bringing me the princess,” he answered, sounding satisfied. “A rather impressive token of your coveted friendship. A worthy prisoner of war.”
Lilac began to tremble again, and suddenly the open air of the colosseum felt too close. This was no meeting of formalities or introductions, as Garin had earlier suggested. Kestrel intended to keep her as a bargaining chip.
As if in response to her thoughts, Garin’s voice rumbled from across the pit. “With all due respect, Kestrel, you merely requested the presence of me and my thrall. I said nothing about handing her over. She remains mine.” The last sentence came out as a hiss.
Garin’s words did little to quell the icy dread trickling down Lilac’s spine. How much was his word worth in the Low Forest? If he still intended to protect her. All lines of loyalty had blurred all too quickly under Kestrel’s confusing interrogation. It was probably exactly what the faerie had wanted.
She uncurled from her ball and found Kestrel still towering over her.
The faerie cackled. “Really? And with your unfortunate biting curse, what will you do with her? Make her your chamber maid? Have her feather dust the windows?” Kestrel danced in place, hyping himself with every word. The crowd of hats and lace roared with laughter. “Will she serve your tea?”
Suddenly, he changed direction and returned to Lilac.
Without warning, he snatched a fistful of her hair and leaned in, angling her skull at Garin. “Will you make her your slave? She has the most vivid imagination, you know. The pressure of your hand on the small of her back… Of you, between her thighs.”
Cheeks now a muddled crimson, Lilac blinked through her hot tears. His chest rose and fell in piqued heaves, murderous steel eyes never once leaving Kestrel.
The faerie unceremoniously released her, leaving her scalp to throb violently as the blood rushed back. Once more the crowd above tittered; across the way, Bastion said nothing, observing the scene grimly.
He was toying with all of them. Perhaps Garin’s selfish lies had only provoked the faerie into further madness.
Garin’s lips curled away from his teeth.
Kestrel’s laughter ceased abruptly and he cocked his head, a curious expression washing his features. “Perhaps…You’ll taste her?”
“Stop it,” Garin said quietly. He was almost begging.
The faerie king gasped, cupping a gigantic palm over his mouth. “My! You haven’t—has she not let any blood for you? Even with your inability? Not even a little?”
“She has,” Garin croaked insistently, but his anguish only gave him away.
“Lo! Apparently, she hasn’t,” Kestrel roared along with the crowd. “A cruel lass, she is. That’s to be expected.” He clucked sympathetically, tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Typical, really.”
Then, he swiftly rose the staff over Lilac’s head.
“Please,” she blurted, speaking out for the first time. She instinctively shielded her face with both arms, but the guards on either side of her yanked her up to her feet and pinned her arms to her side, also stilling her writhing torso. She stopped struggling and tucked her neck, bracing herself for the blow—
And felt nothing.
Slowly, she opened her eyes.
A warm sensation made its way down her shoulder and trickled onto her cleavage. She clamped a hand over her neck—the incisions from Piper’s teeth had painlessly reopened. Like lightning, Kestrel lunged forward and grasped her chin with one hand, talons clinging to her cheeks while his other hand dug deeper into the teeth marks. That part wasn’t painless; Lilac’s piercing scream choked off by the crushing pressure of his palm on her windpipe.
“Why is he protecting you?” he murmured softly against her hair, nails digging deeper. “Why, especially after what you did to that poor shapeshifter.” Then, louder for everyone to hear, he repeated the question. “Why is the head of the vampires protecting the daughter of the very humans who have caused Brocéliande to live in such misery?” he bellowed. “Who treat us, as though we are lower than dirt!”
He released her before she turned blue, his right palm slicked with her blood. He then flounced over to Garin, who held his breath and turned his head as far as it would go—but even Lilac knew what Kestrel was doing. The faerie raised his red hand and smeared it unceremoniously