So I was standing in Ruby’s tiny guest room, staring blankly at my reflection in the large ornate mirror when Chevelle came in. “You were right,” I said numbly, unable to look at him as he approached to stand behind me. He didn’t speak. “I was about to cause a war. A war we couldn’t win.” I looked down at my hands, feeling helpless at my lack of control. “I nearly set into motion a conflict that would all but hand our world to the fey.” His fingers slipped against my waist and the simple touch brought, if not relief, then reassurance. I turned to him, sliding my own hand up his arm, but when I finally looked up into the deep sapphire of his eyes, all I could think was, what now? “Freya,” he started, but I cut him off. “What is it?” He held up a scroll with his other hand. “A messenger was here.” I took two sideways steps to sit on the bed, not positive I could remain standing when he told me who’d been lost. “Who?” “Two watchmen, a sentry, and a keep.
