Court of Winter (Fae of Snow & Ice, #1)(35)
The outer rim seemed more structured, but the inner portion was a winding maze of streets and alleys that would be very easy to get turned around in for someone who wasn’t able to fly above everything.
Snowy rooftops covered every building and home, but snow was less common on the steeper, ice-coated roofs. I marveled that none of the central city’s buildings rose higher than five stories, making the castle at the heart of the capital’s inner district that much more commanding and breathtaking.
My throat bobbed in awe as I beheld it. Even from a distance, its towers, huge turrets, and steeply peaked roofs screamed of wealth and decadence. A solid, thick wall surrounded the entire castle, and its exterior held glistening spears of decorative ice. A shimmering dome of sparkling magic as fine as dusted snow covered the entire expanse. I could only presume that dome was a protection ward that didn’t allow anyone in who wasn’t invited.
I tried to soak everything in, tried not to let one detail escape me, but it was hard as the congestion grew. Fairies flew everywhere, making it difficult to see, and the closer we traveled toward Solisarium’s center, the more fae appeared in the skies.
Hundreds of fae flew at different heights and speeds. Some flew leisurely, obviously not in a hurry to get anywhere as they traveled just over the rooflines. Others flew as fast as their flapping wings could carry them as they climbed high into the sky, probably hoping to avoid the busier altitudes below. Some carried bags. Many carried children. But regardless of where I looked, fairies were everywhere.
“So many fae,” I whispered, not even realizing I’d said it aloud until the prince responded.
“Over a million call Solisarium home.”
He’d continued to look irritated in the few times I’d caught glimpses of him, but his tone didn’t sound angry when he replied. I kept any further comments to myself, though, and returned to gazing at the capital and the castle ahead.
It wasn’t until we were almost at the castle’s boundary that I realized in the entire time the prince had been flying, he’d done so in a straight line. He’d never had to climb or dive or sweep out of the way to avoid the congested areas of flying citizens.
Everyone moved to the side for him.
My lips parted when I realized that. The prince’s giant, talon-tipped wings continued to flap while his gaze stayed trained straight ahead. Even though some fae stopped to hover and watch us, he didn’t greet anyone or show any signs of acknowledgment, and it wasn’t lost on me that more than a few made the sign of the Blessed Mother, as though hoping our land would protect them from any evil left in his wake.
And for the very first time, it struck me how incredibly hated the prince must feel. Everyone feared the Death Master, and fear often morphed into anger, revulsion, and then hate. Hatred was easier to feel than fear—I would know.
“Is something wrong?” the prince asked, not even slowing as we approached the outer ward of the castle’s protective barrier. Magic pulsed over my skin, even from a distance, as though warning any flying fae not to come near unless they wanted to experience the castle’s wrath.
“No, everything’s fine,” I said, doing my best to ignore his probing stare.
But as much as I tried to ignore the pang of curiosity that had filled me about the life the prince must have led, I couldn’t suppress it completely.
It seemed Prince Norivun wasn’t the only one who felt intrigued by the other.
CHAPTER 11
The minute we pushed through the castle’s protective ward, the sound of steel meeting steel clanged around us.
“Fuck,” the prince hissed under his breath.
He dropped from the sky, and my eyes widened at the horrific fight occurring by the castle’s outermost wall.
Two guards were lunging at each other viciously. Deadly blows nearly landed on each male as they sliced and danced around one another.
The prince touched down and released me in the same beat. I stumbled back as he strode toward them, his affinity rising as a ripple of his aura shot out. The guards surrounding the two fighting males all stumbled back, then fell to their knees in deep bows when the prince passed them.
“My prince, I’m sorry,” one of the guards called as he rushed after him. “I tried to stop them, but they’re fighting over—”
“Let me guess,” the prince seethed. “Lorinda, that barmaid?”
“Yes, my prince.”
The prince reached the two dueling guards, and one of them seemed to finally realize the storm cloud that was about to unleash, because he glanced away from his opponent.
It was enough of a distraction for the second guard to land a blow. The sound of flesh tearing, then a gurgle of blood erupting filled the courtyard. The prince stopped in his tracks, and my hands flew to my mouth as the guard fell.
His opponent’s sword had struck right at the base of his neck, severing part of his head. Blood pulsed in shooting sprays from the wound—a lethal injury unless a talented healer could be located immediately.
“Get Murl now!” the prince bellowed.
Several guards rushed away as two ran toward the fallen male.
“What in the realm is happening out here?” a portly, older male called, coming from across the yard as the prince rounded on the one who’d landed the blow.
“Not now, Lord Crimsonale,” Prince Norivun bit out as he faced the guard.