Chapter 71

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(Brenya's POV)

The sound of heavy boots marching on stone echoed through the gargantuan tunnel behind me as I made my way to the mouth of the Aviary. Torches as big as my body lined the black, shiny stone walls, lighting the path before me. The entryway that led outside was large enough for a dragon to fit through, though I doubted that was why it had been designed so massively.

It had likely been designed this way so that an impressive number of soldiers could exit the Aviary quickly and all at once, should it ever need defending. Should there ever be a threat against its inhabitants.

Should there ever be an unannounced army stationed just outside its wards...

Every Fae, Wolf and dragon soldier we had was already stationed outside. Aella and the Sylphs has retreated into the skies, unwilling to contribute in case of any violence.

When Dristan had announced the arrival of the human king and his army, it had taken less than an hour for our men to pull on their armor, strap on their weapons, and take their positions outside.

They hadn't hesitated for an instant. They were ready. Waiting. Lethal.

And at my command.

Dristan walked quietly beside me, his fierce eyes trained on the light at the end of the long tunnel. He looked as intimidating as I'd ever seen him before. He wore thick, steel armor over his already impenetrable fighting leathers. He had countless weapons strapped to his body, and I was certain there were several more that I couldn't see.

The two, twisted black horns atop his head glinted in the torch light as we passed each one. His massive wings were tucked tightly against his back, the talons at their tips as sharp as daggers.

The line of his jaw worked as he flexed it, over and over again. His narrowed sapphire eyes were two pools of frozen water, arctic enough to chill anyone who looked into them to the bone.

Marrok, Torryn and Warrick walked behind us, all three as heavily armored as Dristan was. They also chose not to speak, and though they appeared confident, I knew they were itching with anxiety.

Occasionally, Dristan's hand would brush against mine, or he would briefly turn his head and gaze down at the side of my face. I didn't return his stares, too afraid that his eyes would crumble the mask of calm that I had sewn to my face. I could feel his fury, his distress, his anxiety, through the bond between us. I knew he could feel mine, too.

To anyone else, we looked relaxed. Unbothered. Perhaps bored, or irritated at the tiresome chore that was at our gates. We showed not one ounce of wariness as we made our way through the tunnel.

As long as the wards held, the king, his army, and... Ronan... were not an immediate threat to us. His name was difficult to think of without feeling the heat of fury rush through my veins.

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