He jogged back from the road and got to work in the field, keeping one eye on the approaching prince and his party. Leaning down, he sprinkled new seeds into the freshly-churned dirt. Food for his village. They would need it to fill hungry bellies and trade for tools.
He could not forget the look on old Cadman’s face when Lorcan had returned to Comharra. Relief and hope. Love and so much kindness. His flinty eyes had welled with tears, and it had felt like a stab in the heart. Lorcan had lied to his old friend, the only male who had ever felt like a father. They let me go, he’d said. They decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.
One day, Cadman would realize that Lorcan was nothing more than a spy. He’d betrayed their court to a cruel king, and he hadn’t even needed to be threatened to do it. He doubted Cadman would ever look at him the same again.
Prince Thane Selkirk and his party thundered into view. There were seven of them in total. Three warriors lined each side of Thane where he rode on a great, gleaming black horse. The prince himself was a sight to behold. Everything about him was golden. His hair, his dyed leather armor, and his eyes that glowed even from a distance. A golden tattoo spread across his forehead, the twisting, naked limbs of a Hawthorne Tree.
So, this was Lorcan’s mark. He needed to get Thane to trust him, confide in him, and listen to his counsel. He would tear the Air Court apart from the inside, and one day, he would end the exile and the suffering of the shadow fae. Lorcan just had to hope that his cruel father was dead by then.
Attackers launched from the woods, all clad in faded leather armor. The horses screamed as blades slashed toward the prince’s company. The air fae warriors twisted on their steeds, putting their bodies between the attackers and their liege.
But the shadow fae had planned for that. From deep within the woods, archers loosed. Arrows slammed into the thighs of several horses, downing them instantly. The air fae warriors tumbled to the ground, now pinned beneath their steeds.
Lorcan leapt to his feet, tossed the seeds to the side, and raced toward the prince. He yanked his sword from the scabbard at his back, his heavy boots spraying up dirt.
The air fae were battling hard with the shadow fae, though Thane’s loyal warriors would never know that was what they were. His father had chosen the attackers carefully. None with raven hair. Most with paler skin. And not a single one wielded shadowsteel. These were to be brigands and nothing more. Only Lorcan looked the part, but he could explain that away easily enough.
He slid into the midst of the attack, throwing himself into the middle of it all. Whirling toward a shadow fae, he raised his sword. It whistled through the air as he made his attack. The shadow fae blocked the blow, but stumbled back, his eyes wide with false surprise.
They had practiced this, time and time again. Every move was choreographed to perfection. It was impossible to predict what the air fae would do, but they could control everything else. Every swing, every block, every blow. The shadow fae did not wish to kill their own prince, and Lorcan could not bear the thought of killing them. The fighters he had lived and trained beside every day for the last year.
They were only doing their duty. He could not blame them for following their king’s commands.
Two of Thane’s warriors had been thrown to the ground with their horses. The others were on their feet, battling fiercely against the shadow fae. Lorcan fell into step beside them. They gave him only the briefest of glances before turning their attention back onto the fight at hand.
Teutas rushed the largest. He knocked the air fae’s blade aside easily, and then slid his own sword into his gut. Lorcan winced as the fae fell, his blood spilling onto the dirt-packed ground.
He did not wish to see any of these fae die, but there was little he could do about that. The air fae would not hold their blows against the attackers, and the threat needed to look real. Otherwise, the prince would not believe his life had ever truly been in danger.
Another air fae fell, screaming in agony from the gaping wound in his neck. Blood arced through the air.
That was two dead and two trapped beneath their horses’ weight.
That left only two more, and Thane, who was fighting with even more ferocity than his guards.
Lorcan locked his gaze with Teutas. With a grim set to his lips, his fellow warrior charged straight at Thane. He slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Thane grunted in surprise, scrabbling to reach his blade.
Lorcan grabbed Teutas by the collar and threw him away from Thane. Teutas grinned, flipping his sword from hand to hand and dancing on his feet. He always liked the game of swords. Too much, Lorcan couldn’t help but think. If he wasn’t careful, one day his bravado would get him killed.
With a roll of his eyes, he charged Teutas. His blade clashed against the shadow fae’s. The male gave him only the smallest of nods, turned on his heels, and raced into the woods. Lorcan watched him go, his chest heaving. A part of him itched to follow. Once he spoke with the prince, his fate would be sealed. There would be no turning back then.
With a deep breath, he turned his back on the trees. Thane was sprawled out on the ground, his cheek smashed against the dirt. His golden eyes flashed with rage as he watched the shadow fae vanish into the trees. Two of his warriors were now on their feet and racing across the field, no doubt determined to capture them and drag them to Tairngire where they would hang for treason.
But they would never find the shadow fae.
“Are you hurt, Your Highness?” Lorcan asked, leaning over the fallen prince. He held out a hand and helped him stand. The prince’s grip was strong, sure, and warm. His father would hate that.
“No, no, I’m quite alright. More annoyed than anything else.” Thane brushed the dirt off his trousers, frowning at a speck of blood. “Thank you for coming to our rescue. You did a far better job than most of my guards. If it weren’t for you, I might very well be dead. It seems I owe you a great debt.”
“I was only doing my duty,” Lorcan answered, hating himself in that moment. He was doing his duty, alright, but it was to an entirely different court.
“Regardless, a debt is owed.”
Lorcan shifted uncomfortably. The sun baked the top of his head, though a chill in the ever-present wind pricked at his skin. “Am I to bow, Your Highness? Forgive me. I’m only a villager, and we have never even dreamed of meeting the prince of our realm.”
Thane chuckled. “No need for that. You saved my life. That’s far better than those ridiculous bows.”
Lorcan’s lips twitched with a smile. He had expected the prince to demand it. His father would have.
“Listen, you are quite good with that sword for a villager. And it’s nice steel, too.”
It was very nice steel. He hoped Thane would not look too closely at it, or he would realize that it was a blade fit for a lord.
“I’ve been practicing swordplay for a decade, Your Highness. Ever since I was a boy,” Lorcan replied. “There aren’t many here who can protect our village, and someone needs to do it.”
“Your village, what is it?”
“Comharra, Your Highness. It lies to the west of these fields. We suffered a terrible attack eleven years past, and there are only a handful of us left.”
“Ah, I know the one.”
“You do?” Lorcan asked, surprised.
“Aye. A terrible tragedy. I’m glad the village has you to protect it now.”