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MY FATHER AND I CONTINUED traveling for some while longer. The Knights rode behind us at a respectful distance, allowing us to talk in relative privacy. He told me about the history of the Summer Court, of the great and beautiful things that our ancestors had done for the Fairy realm, about the cloud-capped towers and gorgeous visions of Feyland in its heyday that even the most panoramic vistas of the current incarnation could not match. We began to bond – slowly – in our own way. We spoke a bit of painting, and my father told me of his love of the art, and when he spoke of lovingly applying the paint to the canvas, or tenderly brushing the walls of a cave with his paintbrush, his words resonated within me, and I found myself leaning into him, appreciating his words, understanding him. As much as I hated to admit it, we had a connection. He was my father, after all, and we shared a fairy blood and a fairy nature. He talked to me of magic – something I had never been able to truly share with my mother – and explained to me how it worked. I showed him what I had taught myself to do in the Pixie dungeons when first trying to escape from Delano, transfiguring and reshaping objects, and some of the techniques for gathering energy that Kian had taught me when we trained together at the Winter Lodge.
“Very good!” cried my father. “You are a natural. I can tell you are my daughter by your skill alone.”
And I couldn't help blushing.
When we had reached the Cliffs of Gorgon, the last major landmark before reaching the Summer Palace, we heard a loud, shrieking bugle.
For a moment I thought perhaps that it was the Summer Knights, heralding our arrival. But the sound was eerier than that. It was a high-pitched, frenetic sound that meant only one thing, and one thing only. Attack.
Out of nowhere, there appeared a flock of blue and silver, swords and shields – like a flurry of predatory birds seized upon them. I knew the insignia – it was the same wintry crest I had seen only days before in the court of the Winter Queen. But these were not the kindly knights I recognized from the ball. These were seasoned men of war, embittered – scars on their faces and in their hearts. And at the head of the crowd I recognized their leader.
It was Flynn.
I had seen Flynn first when I was a prisoner of Kian. Kian had been kind to me, treating me with the respect and duty due to a diplomatic hostage. But Flynn was filled with a hatred of my kind – the Summer Kingdom – and had longed to bring my corpse on display to the Winter Queen, unaware of the Queen's friendship with my mother.
“The Summer King!” Flynn spat, drawing his sword! “I did not see you at the ball.”
Our knights drew their swords, and a flurry of gold and red velvet met the steely cool tones of the Winter weapons.
“I came only for my daughter,” said my father. “In peace.”
“Foxflame.” The word was filled with contempt. “Your life will be the prize I have always sought.”
“No!” I cried.
“The Prince may be weak for his little Summer Princess – but I am not weak!”
All around us, we heard the clank and clash of silver – knights battling each other to the death. My heart began beating faster.
“Let us pass!” my father roared. “We come in peace!”
I drew a sword from my belt and held it up before my face, my hands trembling only slightly as I sought to defend myself.
“Peace, Summer? Is that what you call it? Peace?”
Flynn rushed at us, his sword slashing wildly.
“Was it peace when you killed my brothers – one by one – and left me the last of my kin to stand at my mother's side at their funerals?”
My father parried with a single blow.
“Was it peace when you ravaged my village, and burned my childhood home down to the ground?”
Another knight rushed at my father and engaged him in hand-to-hand combat. Flynn was left alone, rounding on me.
“We meet again, Princess.”
I blocked his thrust; the sword shook in his hand and Flynn looked up at me in surprise.
“So the bitch can fight!” he said, sneering at me.
I was able to defend myself for a few moments – enough time to dismount and scramble to my feet, but in truth it was Flynn who was the better fighter. It was clear that he was one of the prizes of the Winter Court, and from his powerful demeanor it was easy enough to see why. He overpowered me easily, knocking the sword from my hand.
I heard it clatter on the ground, and the sound was like a death knell in my heart. Terror squeezed my soul.
“No, Breena!” I heard my father cry, his voice contorting in an anguished howl.
Flynn raised his sword above me, poising, readying, aiming to strike, like a snake before its prey.
“No!” another voice cried out – a voice I recognized, and another sword came down against Flynn.
My heart leaped within my chest. It was Kian!
“You shall not have her!” Kian raged against Flynn, his proud, lithe body moving with the grace and agility of a snow leopard. “You shall not touch her!”
I saw Rodney fighting, too, felling one Winter Knight after another. I could see the pain in his eyes as he did so – the questioning. I knew what he was wondering. Was this one a friend to Shasta? Did this one know her – or love her? And yet it was his duty to fight, and so Rodney fought on.
Rodney felled his final knight, and then rounded on Flynn.
“I'll take it from here,” he called, and Kian ran over to me, helping me up. In the distance we could hear the terrible flapping and clashing of wings as the Fairies, one by one, revealed their expansive wingspans.
“Are you all right?” Kian hugged me tightly, leading me behind a tree. I could not answer. My eyes were fixed on my father, battling away with the full force of his life.
At last my father felled his man, and I was able to breathe.
“Are these...are these your friends?” I asked.
“Some of them,” said Kian. “Others I do not know. But they attacked a peaceful rally. They acted dishonorably.”
He pressed my forehead close to his lips. “And,” he said. “They threatened you.”
“Kian...” I breathed, gasping heavily. “I want to stay. I...I am staying...in Feyland.”
All around us, the Winter Knights were being defeated. The few that remained alive scrambled to their feet, retreating in a flurry of wings to the sky. Flynn gave us a menacing scowl, but he too dashed – unable to face certain death at the hands of the Summer Court.
“I know,” said Kian softly. “I dreamed of you last night. But it was not a dream – a mere dream. It was a vision. I knew Feyland had claimed you as its own. And I knew...I knew to follow you, to help you.” He smiled weakly. “I am your intended, after all. And the magic has laid its claim to us. We are bound by it.”
“Oh, Kian...” I could not resist kissing him – his lips, his face, his eyelids and his cheeks. “I want so much...”
We heard a sharp “Ahem!” and turned around. My father stood before us, his chain mail stained with blood, with the proud stance of a paternal lion, and only a hint of a bemused grin on his face.
“The Winter Knights have all been defeated,” said my father. “Save one.” He put a sword against the tip of Kian's throat. For a moment I felt a flicker of fear, until I realized precisely what it was my father had seen us doing. Even in fairy world, I imagined, fathers protected their daughters much in the same way.
“Who is this Winter Knight who remains?” asked my father in a feigned growl. “Clinging to my daughter as if his life depended on it.”
“This is Kian,” I said, my voice gaining in strength and confidence. “Prince of the Winter Court. Friend and protector to me. And...” my voice grew even louder. “My intended.”
“I see.” My father stepped back. “I remember promising to you each other – but you were children then. And in light of the war...”
“He is my intended,” I said again.
“It is not your intentions that worry me,” said my father. “Now, sir,” he turned to Kian. “You have fought bravely and honorably – stopping an illegal raid – but I cannot ask you to the Summer Court. It would be...unthinkable. But I shall allow you to...well...to say goodbye, shall we? We shall set up camp for the night in the glen over there – Bree, join us when you are ready. You must thank your...protector.”
With a knowing, if cautious, smile, my father left us alone.
I thrust my arms around Kian's neck the moment that we were in private.
“I don't want to let you go again,” I cried.
He held me closer.
“You won't,” he said. “I promise. Not again. Never again.”
I closed my eyes.
“It won't be easy,” he said, “I cannot visit you at your court. You cannot visit me at mine. But there is always a way. Love will find a way.”
He kissed me again.
“Breena,” he whispered. “Meet me at the hunting lodge. In three days' time – at sundown. Can you do that?”
“I'll try,” I whispered back.
He kissed me once more, the tightest, most powerful, most passionate kiss I had ever known.
“Love will find a way,” he said.
He mounted his horse and rode off.