A Court of Stags and Night

Rowan

A/N: It's very short, I know, but the next few will be longer!

Answers were still few and far between. But the question of Maeve's death still lingered.

On the battlefield in front of Orynth's walls, they had killed her. Hard won, but sure as it was daylight at this very moment. So why was everything changing now?

Because Maeve, it seemed, was not through with his mate. The more he thought about that moment on the battlefield, the more muddled it became. It was like someone was desperately trying to block his memories. And succeeding.

He grunted as Lorcan's dagger slid across the flesh of his forearm and barely blocked the gleaming sword arcing toward his unprotected stomach from Gavriel. They'd forced him into the ring to let off some steam. He'd grown too unpredictable again.

Lorcan feinted left and slashed his other forearm. He roared angrily and whipped his own blade around, but growled when Lorcan moved out of the way and Gavriel cut into his leg.

"Come on, Prince," the dark fae barked. "No wonder Aelin has the balls in the relationship."

He snarled and launched himself at the shadowy fae. He didn't even connect.

Agonizing pain ripped through his body from head to toe. His mouth opened of its own accord and screams tore from his throat.

Gods, it felt like he was burning from the inside out. He shifted into his hawk form and back to his fae form at least twice. He hadn't felt pain like this in years. What in seven hells was happening?

Aelin.

He reached out to tug on their mate bond, but the pain pushed him down. He couldn't move anything. He tried, but no muscle would answer.

He could see Lorcan and Gavriel frantically trying to get through to him. Not long after, Yrene's face popped up into the edge of his vision.

Darkness claimed him before he could try to reach for her again.