Page 9 of Lady Knight and the Thief

Torren felt like he might suffocate under all the stone, without the warmth of daybreak running along his skin. He’d forgotten the stifling, oppressive feeling of the Keep in all his years away.

He had not forgotten hisfather’sbaleful gaze, though. Nor his disdain.

The plan Torren and Rhene had put together had unfortunately gonecompletelyto shit. Torren was supposed to sneak in, find the scepter, and disappear before anyone was the wiser.

If his memory had been correct, there should have been a key to the vault, where the Scepter was likely stored within Cade’s tent. As a boy, his brother had been delighted to be in possession of a key to the vaults, where the vast Blackthorne treasure was stored–while Torren was not similarly entrusted with such a key.

The lady in the tent had been an obstacle he hadn’t planned for. As was this excursion into the Wylds.

Torren was still planning what to do with the Lass on the way to the tomb. Humans rarely made it far into the Wylds without some misfortune falling upon them. Torren needed to return to his people to provide updates and relay everything he learned here.

Like this lady, the Captain of his brother’s guard.

When Torren left with his mother, Cade hadn’t even had his seventh name day. Over the years, Torren had wistfully imagined what their lives would have been like if they’d grown up as brothers rather than as adversaries.

It was clear to Torren now that Cade hadn’t wished for his return. The feeling sat heavily in his gut.

A loud knock on the thick door paused Torren’s musing. Moments later, the lady and the lieutenant strode through the door, faces set in a firm, unreadable mask.

Torren’s guard–or jailer, depending on how one looked at the situation– still wore full plate armor, as he had through the night. Torren had paced the hours away, stealing glimpses out the barred window on the door on each pass.

The Lady Cypress walked in second, with the same sword she’d used to unmask him strapped to her hip. She was dressed for travel, with thick leather leggings encasing her thighs, a billowy-sleeved shirt, the same leather corset around her waist, and a teal cloak thrown over one shoulder.

“Do you have preferences on horses?” The guard asked Torren, hands laced over the pommel of the sword at his hip.

Torren blinked. Just yesterday, the man had dragged him across the valley and back to the Keep without blinking. Now he was inquiring about Torren’s preferences?

“Fast and surefooted. The rest makes no difference,” Torren replied, eyebrows scrunched together.

The guard grunted and turned to leave without waiting to see if Torren followed.

LadyCypress, or perhaps it was Captain Cypress, watched him through narrowed mismatched green and brown eyes, indicating with her head for Torren to leave first.

As if she didn’t trust him at her back.

Unfortunately for Torren, he would not get the scepter now if the Lass were to show up dead somewhere on the side of the road. So she was safe, for now.

However, no one from his father’s court was to be trusted. Torren had learned that lesson at the sharp age of ten summers when the king’s men hunted down his mother’s carriage in the dead of night. His mother had been freshly exiled–and they hadn’t even made it to the boundary lands between Faerie and Grethnah before they were chased down.

The sound of the horses screaming, the crackling fire that overcame the carriage with his mother still inside in meremoments, would never leave Torren. He had only survived by the sheer circumstance of wishing to be out, under the cover of starlight, testing the ring she’d bestowed upon him.

Ever since, a hatred for his father had burned within his gut.

He would never forget his mother, the way and reason she died. Nor would the hatred Torren held and kindled for his father leave him.

King Caelith Blackthorne had long been raiding Fair Folk towns and villages, imposing steep tithes that were preposterous to believe could be feasibly paid. Fair Folk did not work for payment as humans did. The Fair folk traded and bartered for things that had value, not just a lump of gold.

More and more of his people were fleeing the boundary lands, where the peoples of Grethnah and the Wylds blended. Faerie always welcomed its people home, but even more those who could not pay in gold did not return to the Wylds as towns burned.

Only gold glittered for King Caelith Blackthorne. The only thing that would rival the glitter of gold would be the sheen of the blood he deemed lesser.

Lady Cypress was tied closely to the crown of Grethnah. Too close. Torren could tell without even knowing the Lass. So, he would not be trusting the Lady as far as he could throw her.

However, some small part of Torren had hoped his brother would have grown into a man without the same proclivities as their father. Unfortunately, it seemed Torren was out of luck. Two minutes with Prince Cade were enough to know he was his father’s son, through and through.

Trailing behind the guard, Torren stole a glance back at the Lady in his company.

He’d heard stories about the famed, brooding Captain Cy. From a darkened corner of the arena, Torren had watched the jousts and even placed a few bets. Of course, always against thecrown and its favored rider. He’d lost every single bet against Captain Cy.