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Valerie Douglas Books
It's said of Fairy that if you're in dire need and you call their name they'll come. With his castle under siege and young son in his arms, High King Oryan couldn't be in more dire need. Only his High Marshal, Morgan, and a handful of Morgan's men stand at his back. There's only one direction left to run... up. And only one ally to whom he can turn. Kyriay, the Queen of the Fairy.
It is said of Fairy that if you are in dire need and call the name of one, they will come. With his young son, Gawain, in his arms and his castle under siege, High King Oryan couldn't be in any more dire need. He has only Morgan, his High Marshal, and a handful of Morgan's men at his back and only one direction left to run...up.
There is also only one ally to whom he can turn. Kyriay, Queen of the Fairy.
To his astonishment Kyriay herself comes in answer to his call, to rescue not just himself and Gawain but all of them.
It's not enough, though, to rescue them. Oryan must be restored to his throne.
In the midst of the chaos and war, love blossoms between Morgan and Kyriay, but can it survive...
The sounds of battle, the cries and screams, the clash and ring of steel on steel that echoed from the streets below and down in the Great Hall drew Oryan High King out of sleep instantly. A rush of fear chilled his bones even as he leaped for his sword and chased sleep from his mind. He paused only long enough to pull on his trews, before drawing his sword from the stand.
Gwenifer scrambled from their bed and raced toward the doors, her long, deep chestnut hair streaming loose, wearing only a thin shift over her tall, slender body, her own swords already in hand.
Knowing that where she went there was no chance of return, he wished keenly to be able to wrap his hands in that hair once again. He loved her hair. He loved her. Passionately. Grief already twisted his heart, knowing where she was going and what it was they faced.
With her hand on the door, she looked back at him, her gray eyes despairing.
“Go for Gawain,” Gwen cried. “Morgan will be with him if he’s returned, if he can reach him. I’ll hold them as long as I may.”
Gwen knew Morgan would try to get to him first, if he’d returned, if he could reach him in time.
Her eyes lingered on Oryan’s longish, much beloved face. Once upon a time she’d feared he’d married her only for her lands and title, for she’d always known she was plain and the only thing she could give him was tall sons and daughters. She’d been astonished to find he’d married her for her heart and mind.
As much as he loved her, she loved him. She knew she was going to die, if there were shouts in the Great Hall the odds were already against them. She wanted to run her hands through her husband’s dark brown hair one last time, to stroke and touch and hold him, but the cries and clamor below told her time was too short.
She was the Queen. She could go, run with Gawain herself, provided there was any place safe for them to run to. She would then be only the dowager Queen, guardian to Gawain until his adulthood, should he live so long, and dependent upon the charity of one of their vassals or neighboring kingdoms. Oryan was King and there were those who would flock to follow him because he was their King. And to Gawain, their prince. Their son. Her son.
As High King, even in exile, Oryan could protect him far better than she.