Page 22 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

A host of warriors who rode the skies, gathering lost spirits and hunting oathbreakers and warlocks and those who dared to defy Fae laws. Those who made wishes but did not linger to fulfill their end of the bargain.

Fae justice was not the same as human justice. Saying thank you could give great offense. As could asking someone’s name.

There were a thousand rules. A thousand ways to break them.

Lachlan was a sword beside her, a tense bowstring. The promise of an untimely end.

She was caught between two predators, between two forces as ancient as storm clouds and the animals screaming in the forest.

“Kerne,” Lachlan greeted the holly-crowned rider.

Kerne was no less devastating for being named. It did not soften him in the slightest. “Did you think I would not find you, Thorn?” Something both delighted and dark moved over his face. “Even here? When she was marked by the Tithing?” He scoffed. “You are sentimental, Thorn.”

Pippa was fairly certain the professor had never been accused of that before.

She was also certain there was some other conversation being held that she was not party to.

“You tried to steal her from us.” Kerne’s voice was an ice storm. He was snow falling down a mountain. Ice closing over your head after you fell into a lake. Pippa choked on a blast of cold just from hearing it. Her ears hurt. “No one steals from the Hunt. Not even you. Don’t make me remind you again. She might not survive it.”

Lachlan went so still that the mists at his feet shifted. “Careful,” he warned softly.

“You know the rules. Bring her,” Kerne said, equally softly. “Or we’ll take her.”