Sample of Chapter 1:
The fabric was pulled from my face, and the world came back into focus. I was knelt among others, second from the end, in the disorganized row of Fae before a tall wooden archway. Upon first glance, the uneducated could be forgiven for thinking the bizarre structure an out of place monument among the trees.
It stood lonesome against the weather. Snow gathered in the grooves carved into it up the entirety of its length, and the dark wood was dried with age. In the space beyond it the forest continued. There were no lights between the trees, not the sound of bustling activity nor even the hearty scent of roasted winter meats carrying on the breeze.
The illusion that archway upheld was complete and durable, made of runes so ancient I doubted any of the others could even recognize the carvings for what they were. If it weren't for Markos forcing me to read the old tomes in that forsaken dusty library with him, I might not have recognized them either. Of course I would never tell him his lessons were useful in any way, lest his ego grow any bigger.
Keeping my gaze low, I risked a glance back. Vanir guards waited in a sloppy semi-circle behind us, barring our way in case anyone tried to run, while more lingered on the sides. I smiled to myself cynically, they weren’t a regimented army with order or training, they were a pack of wolves; disorganized savages, that would chase anything that moved.
I returned my focus to the ground ahead. Those on either side of me whimpered quietly while our captors made their way down the line in deliberate, thoughtful steps, judging us each in turn. At least my shivering helped me blend in. I kept the distance of their boots in my peripherals and tried to locate my weapons. They had been taken when I was tied, and now sat haphazardly on the back of a cart not more than twenty feet away.
Calculating the distance, I wagered that I could make it if this turned sour, but I wasn’t sure I could get the timing right—the cool steel of a blade against my skin erased the conjecture and I froze. The back of a knife guided my chin upward and I lifted my head with slow reluctance. I shouldn’t have let my attention slip, even for a moment.
I met the gaze of the man standing before me with a small jolt of shock. He was younger than I by perhaps a couple of years, in his mid 20s if I had to guess, with dark brown hair that framed his face like melting chocolate. His eyes were the deepest blue I had ever seen, and held a crystalline beauty like polished sapphires. The sclera of one was blackened with magic, but I hardly noticed it.
His naturally, long, straight lashes cast a shadow over his cheeks. They fluttered as delicately as a butterfly's wings, and I no longer felt the cold when he looked down at me. The cascade of thoughts tangled into one another, leaving me momentarily stunned. He was an oleander. Alluring with his angelic beauty, but undoubtedly toxic in a way that would affect the heart and nervous system.
He gave a tight smile, as if my surprise had hurt him, and the spell was broken. I lowered my gaze. While I had been caught off guard, he was analyzing me. Deciding how much of a threat I was, and judging my worth.
“You look like trouble, green eyes,” he announced the conclusion like I’d asked a question and it sparked immediate irritation. This was a game to him, and I refused to play
