“Bex, yes.” A small smile pulls at her mouth. “You know Wren?”
“Since we were quite young,” he says, and Bex relaxes a little. “Do you know what she is? What I am?”
“Faeries.” Monsters, her expression says. “I keep rowan on me at all times. And iron.”
When Oak was a child, living in the mortal world with his oldest sister, Vivi, he was super excited to show her girlfriend, Heather, magic. He took his glamour off and was crushed when she looked at him in horror, as though he wasn’t the same little boy she took to the park or tickled. He thought of the news as a surprise present, but it turned out to be a jump scare.
He didn’t realize then how vulnerable a mortal in Faerie can be. He should have, though, living with two mortal sisters. He should have, but he didn’t.
“That’s good,” he says, thinking of the burn of the iron bars in the Citadel. “Rowan to break spells, and iron to burn us.”
“Your turn,” Bex says. “Who are you?”
“Oak,” he says.
“The prince,” Bex says flatly, all the friendliness gone from her voice.
He nods.
She takes two steps forward and spits at his feet. “The witch told me about you,” Bex says. “That you steal hearts, and you were going to steal my sister’s. That if I ever saw you, I ought to run.”
Used to people liking him, or at least used to having to court dislike, Oak is a little stunned. “I would never—” he begins, but she’s already moving across the room, flattening herself against the curved wall as though he’s going to come after her.
There’s a sound in the distance, loud and sharp. The walls shake.
“What’s that?” she demands, stumbling.
“My friends,” Oak says. “I hope.”
Bright light flashes, and the prison tilts to one side. Bex is thrown against him, and then they’re both on the floor of Mother Marrow’s cottage.
Hyacinthe has a crossbow pointed at Mother Marrow. The window Oak unlatched is open, and Jack is inside. The kelpie stoops down to lift an acorn, unbroken.
Mother Marrow glowers. “A bad-mannered lot,” she grouses.
“You found her!” says Jack. “And what a toothsome morsel—I mean mortal.”
Bex jumps up and pulls an antique-looking wrench from her back pocket—that must be the iron to which she was referring. She appears to be considering hitting the kelpie over the head with it.
In two strides, Oak is across the room. He claps his hand against the girl’s mouth hard enough for her teeth to press against his palm.
“Listen to me,” he says, feeling like a bully almost certainly because he was behaving like one. “I am not going to hurt Wren. Or you. But I don’t have time to fight you, nor do I have time to chase you if you run.”
She struggles against him, kicking.
He leans down and whispers in her ear, “I am here for Wren’s sake, and I am going to take you to her. And if you try to get away again, remember this—the easiest way to make you behave would be to make you love me, and you don’t want that.”
She must really not, because she goes slack in his arms.
He takes his hand from her mouth, and she pulls away but doesn’t scream. Instead, she studies him, breathing hard.
“I should have known something was wrong when you knew my name,” Bex says. “Wren would have never told you that. She says that if you know my name, it would give you power over me.”
He gives a surprised laugh. “I wish,” he says, then winces. He should have found a better way to phrase that, one that didn’t make him sound quite so much like an actual monster. But there is little for him to do but forge on. “You need someone’s full name, their true name. Mortals don’t have those. Not in the way that we do.”
Bex’s gaze shifts to the door of the cottage and then back, calculation in her eyes.
“Wren is in trouble,” he says. “Some people are using your safety to make her do what they want. Which is going to mean killing a lot of my people.”
“And you want to use me to stop her,” Bex accuses.
That’s a harsh way of putting it, but true. “Yes,” he says. “I don’t want my own sisters hurt. I don’t want anyone hurt. Not Wren and not you.”
“And you’ll take me to her?” Bex asks.
He nods.
“Then I’ll go with you,” she says. “For now.”
Oak turns his gaze to Mother Marrow. “I am going to grant you this, for whatever I owe you. Should I survive, I will not tell the High King and Queen that you took Bogdana’s part against them. But now my debt is dismissed.”