LISA
The Fae girl is a captive. A possible danger to the pack. Soone Lucas, the great Alpha, is wary of.
But... is this how captives are treated?
The young Fae girl lounges on a nest of blankets, arms straight above her as she reads from romance novel. Not a hard guess on the contents, considering the half-naked man on the cover. Dirty bowls are scattered around her head like so bizarre halo.
Whatever Chapter she’s on must be particularly steamy, based on her wide eyes and the slight flush on her cheeks.
I’d kill for a good book right now. Sothing to distract from the constant fear, from the throbbing in my thigh. From the nightmares. But no—we don’t waste precious supply runs on entertainnt. dicine, weapons, food—those are the priorities in Wolf’s Landing. Not escapist literature.
No idea how she’s procured the book, but I need to know.
Magister Orion sighs heavily from over my shoulder. "I know how it looks. But the Fae cannot deny her comfort, considering her status in their society."
I turn to face him, crossing my arms. "If she’s so important, why don’t you just hand her back to Lucas, then?"
Ava’s teacher rubs the back of his neck with a soft laugh. He gestures toward a chair beside Pip’s makeshift bed.
"Perhaps you should sit down, Ms. Randall."
I reluctantly lower myself into the chair, never taking my eyes off him. On the floor, the Fae girl ignores us completely, turning a page in her book.
"This doesn’t look like imprisonnt to . This looks like..."
"Protective custody," Magister Orion finishes for . He settles into a chair opposite mine, his massive fra making the furniture look child-sized. "Yes. Pellonia is not precisely a prisoner, though your Alpha is quite suspicious of the girl."
"Pellonia?" I glance down at the purple-haired girl, who’s still ignoring us. Cute.
"Her proper na. Pip is a... nickna she’s adopted during her little rebellion."
I study her more carefully now. The chains on her clothing, the deliberately ssy purple hair. Definitely a teenager trying on a personality.
"She’s a princess, right?"
"Correct. The daughter of the Crown Prince."
I cross my legs, shifting my weight in the chair as I decide Magister Orion isn’t the one who needs my attention. The girl—Pellonia—is the more interesting puzzle here. I pin her with my stare, not bothering to hide my assessnt.
"So, Princess Pellonia. Why is a spoiled royal playing rebel? Seems like an awfully big risk when you could be sipping whatever passes for champagne in fairy land."
Magister Orion opens his mouth, but I snap my fingers at him without breaking my concentration on the Fae princess in question. "Not asking you. She’s got a mouth. She can use it."
The trick with a brat is to get them angry. They specialize in defending their actions, declaring no one understands them, and throwing a fit until they get their way.
I should know—I am one.
Well, reford.
Mostly.
The sudden click of my fingers in the quiet room has the intended effect. The giant man closes his mouth, his exhale almost imperceptible. Smart man. I can practically feel him judging , but he takes the hint.
Gotta fake my authority. Brats hate authority. And if she’s the Crown Prince’s daughter... well, we don’t have royalty like the Fae do. But I bet she’s got an arrogant streak a mile wide beneath all her rebellious attitude.
There’s no way she’s going to let a re human nag at her.
Silence fills the space between us. The only sounds are the distant voices of people outside and the occasional rustle as Pip turns another page in her book. She’s pretending I don’t exist, which only makes more determined.
One minute stretches into two. Three. The Magister sits perfectly still, apparently content to let this play out.
I count four full minutes before Pellonia’s grip on her book tightens slightly. Her page-turning slows, then stops altogether. Slowly, the book lowers just enough for her eyes to peer over the top.
Those eyes. They’re hard, calculating, deeply distrustful. Not a kid’s eyes at all. They remind of my own when I look in the mirror these days.
"You’re human," she finally says, her voice flat. Not a question.
"Last I checked."
"Then you wouldn’t understand."
Nailed it.
I bark out a laugh. "Try , Your Highness. I’ve got nothing but ti and an aching leg. Entertain ."
She lowers the book a little more, revealing the tight line of her mouth. "It’s not entertainnt."
"No? Then what is it? Teenage rebellion? Daddy issues?"
She sits up abruptly, the book tumbling into her lap. "You think I’m doing this to upset my father?"
"Aren’t you?" I tilt my head, studying her chains and purple hair with exaggerated interest. "Please. Your whole aesthetic screams ’notice , Daddy.’"
She slams a hand against the ground with a soft hiss.
"You know nothing about or our world. This isn’t about my father. It’s about survival."
"Survival?" I echo, leaning forward slightly. "You’re a princess. What exactly are you surviving, when you live in a pretty little palace?"
"Not all prisons have bars, human. And not all thrones are safe. The New Order," she sneers the na, "has infiltrated every level of power. Including the Fae Court."
"Wow. Shocker. I’m so surprised." Rolling my eyes, I drawl, "And the only hero—sorry, heroine—our world can rely on is a spoiled little Fae princess. I’ve read this book."
"This isn’t so story!"
"Yeah, yeah. So you’re what—a resistance fighter?" I curl my lip. "Princess Leia, looking for her Han Solo?"
"I’m a ssenger. A connector. Soone who can move between groups without raising suspicion." Her chin lifts slightly. "I can help. I have helped."
"Right. Helped decimate a compound of people hiding from the New Order."
"We didn’t—!"
Pellonia presses her lips together, her eyes narrowing into slits. She shoots Magister Orion a nasty glare.
"Get this human out of here," she demands. "I’ve done nothing wrong, and I don’t have to explain myself to her."
Magister Orion looks up at the ceiling, his massive shoulders lifting in an exaggerated shrug. "Oh dear, I’ve just rembered I have several... important magical... things to attend to tonight." He waves his hand vaguely. "Very urgent. Perhaps you two can continue this stimulating conversation without ."
Before either of us can protest, he’s backing toward the door, muttering sothing about "young won sorting things out" and "diplomacy training." He doesn’t bother to hide what he’s really thinking.
The door closes with a soft click, leaving alone with the sulking princess.
"Coward," I mutter.
"For once, we agree," Pellonia says, picking up her book again.
I snatch it from her hands in one quick movent. She lunges forward, but I hold it just out of reach.
"Give that back!"
"Half-naked man can wait," I say, glimpsing the cover again. "You know what I think? I think you’re not nearly as important to this ’rebellion’ as you want everyone to believe."
Her face flushes. "You know nothing."
"Then educate , Princess. What exactly does a teenage fairy bring to a revolution? Besides attitude and terrible fashion choices?"
She yanks at one of the chains dangling from her belt. "I told you. I’m a liaison. I carry ssages. I help coordinate—"
"Bullshit," I interrupt. "You don’t coordinate anything. You’re a runner. An errand girl."
Her nostrils flare. "I am not—"
"They’re using you." I lean back in my chair, crossing my legs. "Probably because nobody would suspect the Crown Prince’s daughter of working against the establishnt. That’s the only reason they keep you around." I have no idea what I’m even saying; it’s all word-vomit. I’m just paying attention to her body language.
"That’s not true!" Her voice rises. "I’ve been with the Rebellion since the beginning! Since before most humans even knew what was happening!"
Now we’re getting sowhere.
"How convenient that you happened to be there ’from the beginning,’" I make air quotes. "Let guess—they approached you? Made you feel special? Like you were chosen?"
Her silence tells everything.
"What a coincidence that the Rebellion just happened to recruit royalty." I tap my finger against my chin. "Tell , does your father know where you are? Or are you just another runaway the Rebellion is using as a pawn?"
Pellonia’s hands ball into fists. "My father is the reason I joined! He’s been compromised. The entire court has been compromised."
"By the New Order?"
"Yes! They’ve infiltrated everywhere—human governnts, supernatural communities, even the Fae Court. My father doesn’t even realize he’s being manipulated." Her voice cracks. "T-they replaced his advisors one by one. Anyone who questioned them disappeared."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and despite myself, I feel a twinge of sympathy.
"The Rebellion found ," she continues, quieter now. "They have people everywhere too. They saw what was happening and approached at a royal function. Said they needed soone on the inside."
"Who exactly is ’they’?"
"The leadership? I’ve never t them. We have cells, for safety. Small groups that don’t know about each other." She hesitates. "My handler is called Corvus. He coordinates our region."
"And how big is this mighty rebellion?" I lean forward with a mocking smile. "I bet there’s only ten of you, aren’t there? All pretending to be heroes because you’re bored."
"Thousands." She lifts her chin proudly. "All across the country. Humans, shifters, vampires, fae. Everyone who sees the truth about the New Order."
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