Warrior Fae Princess

by Breene, K. F.

  “We’ll be in animal form most of the time,” Devon said, ducking into the cabins to make sure nothing important would be left behind. A small square of white stood out on the table. A folded letter of some kind.

  Devon left it and backed out. Someone wanted to say goodbye to Charity, and since they couldn’t do it in person, they’d written a note. Hopefully, whoever it was had said something about Dillon—shared his memory in some way.

  Guilt ate through Devon’s middle. He shouldn’t be doing it like this. This felt sneaky and dirty. But maybe if he was a dick, it would be easier for her to let him go.

  “This is the right way,” the Red Prophet said when Devon rejoined them.

  “That’s going to get old,” Steve murmured.

  “I didn’t tell anyone I was going, either. Boy, will that piss off Her Highness.” The Red Prophet laughed, an insane cackle. “Her perfect little world is about to be cracked wide open. She knew this day would come. I was there when she had her quest. I wrote it all down. She’s worked to fortify her walls, but puppies will eat through anything.”

  “How old are you?” Penny asked incredulously.

  “Old as dirt, and about as clean. Most of us die in battle. Or did. Lately, no one dies at all. I haven’t had a funeral cake in years! They’re my favorite, too. The cooks think it is in bad taste to make one without someone dying. Our population is bursting at the seams. Many of us have left, trying to find a little excitement. No one told you that, did they? No one talks about those who leave. They are shunned, much like outsiders. You’d know something of the latter. But our people are out there, waiting for the guardians to leave the Flush. The tides are turning. The magic holding everyone hostage has been pierced with holes. Soon, it will be broken.” She held her hand to her ear and cocked her head. “Can you hear it?”

  “She’s a nutter and my mother is going to hate her,” Penny said, backing away.

  The Red Prophet cackled.

  “Whatever. Let’s go. This isn’t our problem anymore.” Devon met eyes with Steve, wondering why he was slow to change.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Steve asked quietly, turning his back to the others.

  Devon stepped away with him, feeling Charity’s magic seep through their link, starting to change his mind. He wondered if he’d still feel her even when he wasn’t in the Realm. He hoped so.

  “You sure about this?” Steve asked quietly, like a beta would question his alpha. “Karen has been wrong before. I heard about a pizza incident, for example…”

  Devon’s guts churned for a different reason. He’d have to make adjustments when he got back. He’d taken big losses on this trip. Life-changing losses.

  “Yes,” he said. “This is the right decision. We don’t belong here. They made that clear to us from the start. This is her shot at a good life, Steve. I’m not going to take that away from her. None of us are.”

  Respect shone in Steve’s eyes. He nodded. “I just wanted to make sure you’d thought it through. She’s going to be as mad as a hatter, and it’ll be your fault if she blows shit up.”

  Devon’s gut kept churning. “I wish she’d blow stuff up, but I have a feeling she’ll react differently. You didn’t see her in her mom’s house. But she’s a survivor. She’ll pull through, and she’ll rise to the best she can be.”

  “Her future starts in”—the Red Prophet looked at the gold-crusted moon—“some time.”

  Steve changed shape, and Devon followed.

  Her future started now.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Charity reached across the bed, only coming completely awake when she felt the coldness. She frowned and rolled onto her side, glimpsing the empty space that felt like it had been vacant for hours. Where would Devon have gone? She didn’t know of anything going on in the village, and it only would’ve taken a moment for him to order breakfast.

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes before stretching. Her body felt so gloriously sore. He’d given her all he had last night, and she’d lapped it up like a thirsty dog. She could go for another round this morning.

  Kairi waited outside, and though she stood straight and tall, her eyes were lined with fatigue.

  “Hey,” Charity said as Hallen walked up. If he weren’t too buttoned-up to grin, she got the sense he’d be beaming at her. “What’s the good word?”

  “What word?” Kairi asked.

  “What?” Hallen said.

  “Never mind. Hey, did you see Devon leave?”

  “Yes.” Kairi stared straight ahead. “He walked toward the shifter cabins earlier this morning.”

  “Cabins…” Charity murmured, staring off in that direction. “Did he say…anything?”

  Kairi set her jaw, but didn’t comment. Hallen practically glowed with satisfaction.

  A dark premonition crawled up Charity’s spine. Before she knew it, she was jogging down the cobblestone path.

  Turning the corner, she caught Kairi and Hallen out of the corner of her eye, following her silently. They were nearly as slick as shifters.

  “Third, hello!” a man called from his front door as Charity passed. “I look forward to your—”

  She didn’t politely stop to hear the rest of his words.

  She really hoped she was overreacting. That the past was throwing shadows where there were none. She really hoped there was a good reason for Devon to have left her bed in the middle of the night. So why didn’t Kairi feel comfortable talking about it?

  “You have my best interests at heart, don’t you, Kairi?” she called out as she jogged.

  “Of course, Third.”

  “If a big mistake was in progress, you’d say something, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, Third. That is my job.”

  “A big mistake is in—” Hallen started.

  Charity didn’t bother glancing back. She wasn’t asking him. She still didn’t know why he kept hanging around. He didn’t make himself useful like Kairi did, nor was he on the same fighting level as either of them. She no longer needed his help with her magic.

  Another dark thought wafted through her mind, stemming from her conversations with her grandmama. Little comments about suitable matches. About what status meant and how to achieve and maintain it. Approved smiles and knowing nods whenever Hallen accompanied Charity places…

  Did her grandmama expect her to accept Hallen as a match? Not a chance. She had a love, and she would not settle for any other.

  Period.

  Devon had better be in the guest house. Or on the battlefield. He’d better not have run out on her in the middle of the night.

  This had better be deeply ingrained paranoia.

  “Which way?” she asked at the other end of the village, and guilt ran through her. She should know how to get to the pack blindfolded. She’d neglected them.

  “Right,” Kairi said. When they reached the next corner, she said without prompting, “Left.”

  The houses grew smaller and smaller, and Charity’s guilt mounted until she reached what looked like a collection of shanties. They were neglected, tiny dwellings shoved out of the way. The gardens were being beautified, her father’s signature touch obvious, so that was something, but other than that, they were barely fit for wild dogs.

  Charity laughed sardonically as she registered the stillness of the ramshackle cabins. They felt abandoned. Her heart pushed up into her throat. Tears clouded her vision.

  “Wild dogs,” she said softly, stalling outside of the closest shanty. The door stood open, but she already knew it would be deserted. “You put them in the backyard, like dogs. They were your guests, and you sequestered them here, in a shithole, while you celebrated the woman they risked everything to get to safety. And here you talk about politeness. About doing what’s proper. About the right way of doing things.”

  Charity turned and threw out her hand.

  “This is not the right way of doing things,” she yelled, and the first tear rolled down her face. “When I was in a
tough time, they put me in Devon’s house. He bought groceries, protected me, welcomed me into his pack…and look how you’ve treated them in return. They brought you the Second’s daughter, and you put them here!”

  She marched inside as another tear fell. Then a third.

  “Why would they want to stay when they were welcomed with this sort of red carpet?” she said to herself. There was barely any furniture. A teeny communal kitchen, a common area with a little table shoved in the corner. Doors led to other sleeping areas, in which dingy mattresses littered the ground. All empty. The robes the shifters had borrowed from this place lay in piles or folded and cast aside. Left behind. Like her.

  That was when the strange hollowness inside her finally worked into her awareness. The wrongness that she now realized had fired the paranoia. She could no longer feel the back-and-forth dance of her magic and Devon’s. Had Penny reversed her spell?

  Distance.

  The thought curled out of her mind. An assurance greeted it.

  The connection Penny had forged didn’t work with distance.

  “No.” Her stomach rolled. “Please no, Devon. Please…” She was begging. Pleading.

  But he wasn’t there to hear her. None of them were.

  A stark white square stood out on the dingy brown table. Paper.

  She snatched it up, fumbling to open it.

  It was from Macy, written in a clumsy hand.

  Charity’s eyes flew over the words, and guilt threatened to consume her. She sank to her knees. Sobs heaved from her middle.

  “Dillon was killed,” she choked out, her hands shaking so badly that she couldn’t read the words. “Dillon—”

  “Third.” Kairi knelt by her side, her hand on Charity’s shoulder. “Are you unwell?”

  “Don’t I look unwell?” Charity screamed, shaking the letter in Kairi’s face. “Dillon died getting me here. He sacrificed his life for me. Why wouldn’t they tell me? Why—”

  But if Charity had made the short trek to their shanties, she would’ve seen Macy’s grief. She would’ve known. And she would’ve seen the horrible conditions they were being forced to endure.

  She could’ve fixed this. She could’ve organized a candlelight vigil for Dillon, and put them somewhere nicer.

  “What a horrible bitch I’ve been,” she said to no one, the tears coming quickly. “What horrible bitches my people are—putting guests in a place like this.”

  Was her not recognizing Dillon’s death why her father, or why grandmama, ignored it also? They surely knew. Charity was in a daze when she came in—they were not. Why had they not honored the death of a man who fought bravely to keep their family alive? To bring the Third Arcana home?

  “What is up with this place?” she seethed, guilt and anger turning her stomach. She rounded on Kairi and Hallen. “What are you hiding from? How could you possibly call yourself warriors? What do you do all day, but play with wooden swords and pretend at happiness? This is happiness?” She flung her arms wide. “Treating people like this resonates with you all? This is the identity of your people?”

  Kairi’s face turned red. Hallen raised his chin.

  Two fast steps and she punched Hallen in the nose. He staggered back.

  She laughed at nothing, and then threw up.

  “Let’s get you up,” Kairi said.

  “He’s left me, hasn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.

  Charity’s limbs felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each. This was much worse than the situation with her magic. She’d had Devon to help with that. Now, Devon had left. He’d left her, just like her mother, then John—

  “What is it about me?” she whispered, tears hitting the floor. Hallen staggered out, holding his face. “What is it about me that pushes everyone away?”

  “My allegiance is to you, Third,” Kairi said quietly. “To you alone. Your well-being is my duty, and thanks to the shifters, I know more about duty than I was ever taught by my peers. So I am not breaking my duty when I tell you that he didn’t want to leave you. It was killing him. I could see it in every line in his face, every movement of his body. He did it to help you. To give you a fresh start. He thinks you’ll be better off without him. They endured all this, without complaint, to help you. And your father saw it all. He internalized it. If you need an ally, turn to him. He will give you the world, Third. He has hidden his guilt, but it fills him still…and so does his longing to see the Brink again. It is there, waiting for you to call upon it.” She paused and tapped Charity’s head. “But if you plan to remake the mold of our people, your grandmama cannot get wind of it.”

  Charity tried to push back her grief, and her insecurity, and her abandonment issues, and focus on the problem at hand.

  “What?”

  She’d probably need another moment.

  “Internalize your suffering, speak to your father, and create a plan.”

  “A plan for what?” Charity said stupidly.

  Kairi tapped Charity’s head again. “We are warriors, Third, or we are meant to be. We do not curl up and die. We fight until our last breath. Decide your own fate, and take it.”

  Kairi straightened up, her piece apparently said, and left the room. Charity’s heart ached for Dillon. For Macy, who had probably been raw with grief, wondering if Charity would come and speak with her. For Devon, who’d forced himself to walk away from their love.

  Charity dizzied when she stood, and she realized she was still crying. Sobbing, actually. The pain cut down so deep that it felt like she was hemorrhaging inside.

  “How could he do this?” She hugged herself around the middle, trying to grab on to Kairi’s words, but the sentiment proved slippery. “He knew my struggle with being abandoned by my loved ones. He hugged me and told me he—”

  She realized he hadn’t assured her he would stay. No, he’d assured her he would do what was best for her.

  That could mean a whole lot of things, subject to the speaker’s opinion. His opinion.

  That sneaky bastard. That Seer had put him up to this, Charity would bet anything. No wonder he’d never told her what that woman had said. He hadn’t wanted Charity to blast him through the wall. He hadn’t told her about Dillon, he hadn’t told her what he planned on doing, and he certainly hadn’t asked her what she wanted. He’d taken her life into his hands and treated her like a puppet.

  Just like everyone else was trying to do.

  Anger flash-boiled her blood.

  Kairi was right—Charity wasn’t the type to curl up and die. She knew who her home was. She knew what she wanted. And she no longer gave two shits about the Seer and her stupid ball.

  It was time to take her life into her own hands. It was time to write her own destiny.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Charity stalked out of the shanty, rage stretching her skin.

  “‘Don’t tell Grandmama,’ is that what you said?” She stared at Kairi. “Well, I have to be honest, it’ll be pretty hard to hide this…”

  She turned around and pulled forth a surge of power. Sparks lit up along the sides of the shanty right before the air concussed. Walls blew inward. The roof crashed down on top, exposing another catacomb of the horrible structures behind it.

  Charity destroyed another one, but this time, she shot forth a ball of electricity and power. It slammed into a wall and then exploded in all directions, a blast of heated air rocking Charity back on her heels.

  Wood burst into flame. Sparks flew in all directions.

  One more surge of magic and the whole thing was down, flames licking old wood and catching like wildfire. The rest would be nothing but ash soon.

  This time, she didn’t have Reagan to calm the flames down. Hopefully they had buckets.

  “Third, what— Why…” Hallen couldn’t get the words out. His eyes were saucers. “They were animals. They—”

  She stalked toward him before pulling back her fist and delivering a punch. His head snapped back and his heels saw the sky.

&n
bsp; “They are gentleman and ladies, and they are my friends. They deserved better than you gave them.” Charity walked on. “Where is my father?”

  “He’ll be in his favorite shed, probably, or his house, Third,” Kairi said, walking by her side.

  People called out to them as they walked by, but she ignored them, intent on her mission. Her father was in his temporary shed, a nicer place than the shifters had called home.

  No, not home. A resting place until she was settled.

  He looked up, startled. “Charity, darling, what—”

  “Devon is gone, did you know?”

  His sag was slight, but the fact that she noticed it at all meant he was gravely disappointed. “No, but I wondered. I spoke to him yesterday, hoping to impress upon him the remorse he would feel…” He sighed and stood, coming around his table to clutch her upper arms. He leaned forward to look into her eyes. “He wanted the best for you. He decided that it would be best if you were here, with your people.”

  She felt her lower lip tremble under his supportive gaze. She shrugged his hands away, needing to hang on to her anger with everything she had. “Well, that’s the thing about modern women. We don’t like our men deciding what’s best for us without our consent.”

  “I understand, honey, but these are the guardian lands, and—”

  “Dad, I am glad I met you. I would like a relationship with you. But Devon is my home. He brightens up all my dark places. His pack, to me, makes sense. I belong with them. But there’s more to it than that. We, as a people, belong with them. I know you can feel that. You’ve said you can feel that. They fight like we’re meant to fight. I mean…we’re guardians, right? Why are you called a guardian when you spend your days messing around with plants? Aren’t there gardener fae? Or table-designing fae? We should be playing with swords to get our kicks, not thorny flowers. We’ve lost our way.”

  He stared down at her for a silent beat. Footsteps, barely heard, sounded right before Halvor gently knocked at the open door.

  Her father’s eyes darted back and forth between them. “What have you done?”