Bran set his eyes on the armies of faeries before him, marveling at the movement that mimicked ocean waves. How long had it been since he’d been in an army? Centuries?

Unseelie faeries were no stranger to war. They’d all fought amongst each other more than they needed to. He grew up with a sword in his hand and a knife in his belt. Those were the conditions his young mind grew with. This shouldn’t bother him as much as it did.

He stared at all these faeries, bloodthirst running through their veins, as they prepared to hunt down the same kind of woman that he’d fallen in love with. It didn’t feel right anymore. Not just for her, for the creatures he was preparing to loose as well.

His gaze found her, not far from him in the crowd and backing away with the rest as he prepared to summon the sluagh.

The wind pushed her dark hair in front of her eyes, a strand catching on her nose and obscuring her eyes from his vision. Tattoos trailed up her arms, the ogham marking her as the Raven Queen.

Every time he saw them, heat trailed down his spine. It coiled at his hips and spread throughout his body like a beast he couldn’t recognize. He adored those marks because they told the world what he couldn’t yet.

Aisling was, and forever would be, his.

A wave of restlessness washed through the faeries watching him. They wanted the Wild Hunt to begin. They desired to see the fog-like body of the sluagh army, to unleash it upon the world and hunt down all the creatures they deemed unworthy.

He couldn’t back down now. He’d already agreed to this, no matter how much it pained him to do so.

Letting out a soft breath, Bran tilted back his head and let magic rush through his body.

The Raven King’s power was still foreign to him. He’d lived with something similar most of his life, the rush of flight, the rustle of feathers, the hum of ancient knowledge whispering in his ear, but it was amplified now by the thousands. He became more than just Bran, hundreds of souls who had been here before him, each darker and more dangerous than the last.

He was thirsty for blood, ached for more power, desired that which he could not have. The power of the Raven King was more than just dark. It was a consuming madness.

A familiar, cool wind brushed against his skin. The madness was soothed in the wake of Aisling’s magic as it always had been. Just a simple touch from her, and it all disappeared.

He understood why so many of his successors had spent their entire lives searching for their consort. She was a rare beauty that made him so much stronger just by existing. He simply wished he understood how.

With the madness abating for a moment, Bran brought his hands forward. The shadow of feathers stood out on his fingers. They remained underneath the skin, waiting for a moment when he would release them and become the bird once more.

“Sluagh,” he called out. “I summon you to my side. The Wild Hunt awaits.”

A deep rumble shook the ground. They rose from underneath the surface, hundreds of blackened souls, now nothing more than mist. They wouldn’t return to their bird-like forms until they had found prey upon which they could feast, or until they returned to Underhill with Bran and Aisling.

The black mist gathered at his feet, swirling in eddies all around him. He looked down into the shifting mass and tried to pick out faces he might recognize. No matter what, they did not reveal themselves.

Was this what it was like to be king? Or was he little more than a fraud?

The dark mist parted as a graceful woman stepped through the mass. His breath caught as Aisling’s silk gown rippled through the darkness. Without fear, she walked to his side and reached out a hand.

“Well done,” she said quietly, as if even loud words might provoke him. “Our army has arrived.”

Bran glanced up at the other faeries and felt the darkness in the corners of his mind flare its wings. They were all afraid of him. Even the Unseelie stared with horror in their eyes, pulling back when he made eye contact.

He wasn’t a king. The glorified title was an insult to the power he now controlled. And he understood why they were so afraid.

Bran had never been particularly responsible. He was known as the prince who made trouble knowingly. He wanted to annoy people, to put them in situations where they had to react poorly. He knew too many secrets because of his history, and they wanted him to disappear. Not to gain even more power.

Anger boiled his blood until they all turned a shade of red.

“Bran,” Aisling murmured again. Her cool hand slid over his bicep, down his forearm, and closed around his clenched fist. “I don’t know what’s going through your head, I need you to remain calm. You cannot abandon me to all these faeries’ mercy.”

That was right. He wasn’t here because of the Wild Hunt. He was here to take care of her.

The anger disappeared again, settling beneath the surface of his mind. The mere thought of her worried or uncomfortable banished all the dark thoughts for good.

He blew out a breath. “I’m still here.”

“Barely,” she replied with a snort. “That was a close one, Raven King.”

He wouldn’t tell her how close. That would only make her even more nervous. Bran loosened his fist to interlock their fingers. “Never so close that you couldn’t pull me back.”

“Don’t put that on me, Bran. I won’t always be here to help you.”

He saw the struggle in her gaze, but refused to believe her words. There wasn’t anyone who could take her from him. He would make certain of that.

“Come,” he said quietly, tugging her toward their mounts. “The Wild Hunt must begin. We’ve stalled them long enough, and the sluagh grow hungry.”

He brought her to their beasts, strange creatures shaking in excitement. Hanging pieces of flesh decorated the horse’s bones, much of their previous form had long since rotted away. They weren’t a named species and rare even in the faerie world. In Underhill, they had found a place to flourish.

A glowing red eye rotated to watch them approach. Aisling avoided eye contact with them, but Bran enjoyed meeting their strange gaze. They were his favorite creatures in Underhill. Misunderstood, odd, still alive no matter how much life had tried to ruin them.

He held out his hand for her to take. He gently helped Aisling up onto its back, then slid his fingers down her spine and stroked a hand down either side of her dress, making certain she looked the part of queen.

A firm pat to her leg marked her as ready. “I’ll be by your side the entire time,” he advised. “Keep your eyes forward and don’t watch anything that becomes too hard to watch.”

“Remember your promise,” she replied. “If there are any…”

“I will do whatever I can. I don’t break my promises to you, Aisling.” He let the unspoken words hang in the air between them. He might not break a promise to her, but he damned well would for the rest of them. She was more important than the faeries here, so even though he couldn’t stop the Wild Hunt entirely, he refused to put her in any more danger.

Her eyes stared into his, and he marveled at her composure. Her fear had been there for only a moment before she hid it behind a well of strength so deep he was certain he’d never see the end of it.

Patting her leg once more, he then turned and lifted himself up onto his own mount. The strange beast shied underneath his movement, huffing out a breath then stamping its foot on the ground.

He couldn’t see the leaders of the Wild Hunt. They would be at the front of the army, those who would ride through the skies as a symbol more than a soldier who would actually do the hunting. They would enjoy the spoils at the end when everyone else had already done most of the work.

Bran and Aisling were in the middle of the pack. His sluagh would find the changelings and any other human souls they desired. Humans were a small price to pay to find all those who had escaped the faeries.

Changelings were wrong. No faerie should end up stuck in the human world, and any family who abandoned their child knew better than to leave them with those the faeries deemed “lesser.” Humans didn’t know how to raise their kind right.

Though Aisling didn’t agree with him, Bran had been raised this way. Faeries in close contact with humans meddled. It was in their blood to do so. They couldn’t be trusted with such fragile creatures as humans.

A quiet mutter started in the crowd and, as one, the mounts they rode rushed forward. A portal opened in the distance. The horses knew where to go. They could smell the battle on the breath of the faeries, could see the portal was the next obstacle. Hooves pounded the ground like a drumbeat in his ears.

Black mist congealed around him and Aisling, protecting them from any harm that might come. The shadowy form of the sluagh coiled around his throat, then burst forward in a fluid thrust as they struck the portal like hitting water after leaping from a cliff edge.

He let out a whooping call and then burst free into the human realm.

Whipping around, he turned so he could watch Aisling’s expression as she rode with the Wild Hunt the first time. She stared at the clouds beneath them with shock clear on her face, then her eyes turned toward the stars that burned like a thousand candles. Her expression softened into awe, the beauty he had known she would appreciate overwhelming her.

Gods, he loved to put that expression on her face. And she wore it often now. Underhill was so very different from the human realm where she had spent her entire life. There were more wonders that he could still show her, but didn’t want to overwhelm her too fast.

They had time. They had all the time in the world.

The black mist surrounding him suddenly changed. The air crackled with energy, and he knew they had found their first changeling. The entire army surged forward as one, horses neighing, battle cries striking the air like a raised fist.

He hadn’t thought it would feel like this. The emotions of the sluagh bled through his connection, and suddenly he felt everything they did. The changelings were an abomination that needed to be hunted, and the humans were even worse.

He could feel hundreds of lost souls dotted across the rolling green plains beneath them. Every soul called out to him. The dying light of their happiness meant they were food for the sluagh. They could be devoured, added to the collective, and then they would be happy.

A small part of him marveled at how convinced the sluagh, and therefore himself, were in their conviction the souls would be happier. If only they could feed off of the hurt and anger that made these humans upset, then they wouldn’t remember…or perhaps they just wouldn’t be able to feel such emotions again.

He ached to show them what life could be like in Underhill. Sure, their bodies would change into monstrous beings, yet, they wouldn’t care anymore. No part of their previous life would affect their happiness with the sluagh.

“Bran,” the melodic voice called out to him, whispering against the gale of human souls. “Bran, come back to me.”

Again, she pulled him from madness back to her side.

Bran shook himself, horrified at the direction his thoughts had turned. He had known the Wild Hunt would be dangerous. That he might think things that weren’t his own thoughts. He didn’t know it would feel like this.

No wonder so many of the Raven King’s had lost their mind. This was impossible to fight against without his anchor.

He reached out for her, holding out a hand as they surged through the sky and plummeted toward the land. Her cool fingers grasped his, and together they made their way to the hunt.

Reaching deep into the powers of the Raven King, he coiled his grip around the sluagh one last time before he unleashed them onto the world. “I release you,” he cried out. “Feast upon the souls you deem fitting and find the changelings for us. We shall bring them home where they belong.”

In his mind, the sluagh cried out in glee. They fled from his side, parting into many waves of darkness that flowed over the land and disappeared from view.

The faerie bands split up. Some even mixed Seelie and Unseelie, past grievances forgotten in the adrenaline surging through their veins.

He hung back, waiting to see who would pair up before he nodded to a family group he recognized. It was mostly Unseelie, faeries he knew and trusted, with a few Seelie fae he didn’t know. Bran trusted the other’s opinions, however, and they were a family whose children stretched between both courts.

“We go with them,” he said, nudging Aisling’s horse in their direction.

“Any particular reason why?” she asked.

Not really, he knew she wanted an answer to ease her nerves. “None of them are considered royal. They’re here to drink more than to hunt, and they used to be friends of mine. They’ll be a little more respectful than some of the faeries we might pair with.”

“Enough said.”

They rode toward the others, and Bran winced as the stark differences between them stood out. These faeries, even the Unseelie, were pristine in their clothing. Not a single moth-eaten hole or frayed edge marred their opulence. Their steeds were a sight to behold, well-groomed and perfectly bred.

In comparison, he and Aisling were shabby and gray, strange creatures out of a haunted home rather than royalty. No wonder the others didn’t respect them.

An Unseelie looked up, scales covering one half of his face, and grinned. “Bran! I didn’t think you’d be gracing us with your presence tonight. I thought you far more likely to join the royals.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” he grunted in response. “I’ve never been one to enjoy the company of royalty.”

The faeries let it slide, taking it that Bran wasn’t hiding anything. He shouldn’t feel guilty about that, but the reality was that Aisling couldn’t be with the other faeries. Not just yet.

She was too nervous, and it showed. The Unseelie found weakness in others as a challenge. They would tear an open wound in her soul until it was raw and bleeding. While the Seelie found something to exploit until she was no longer useful and then would eventually crush her underneath their heel. Either option wasn’t something he was willing to watch her go through.

The snake-like Unseelie cast his attention to Aisling and grinned. Fangs poked his bottom lip. “And who’s this? Haven’t seen her face before, and here I was thinking I knew all of Bran’s conquests.”

Aisling arched a brow. “All of them?”

“Well, it’s not like there were that many. A private person, Bran is. He’s far more likely to take off and disappear for centuries rather than bring a lady back to his family.”

“Ah, that would be why then.”

The faerie tilted his head in curiosity. “Explain.”

Aisling grinned, the expression feral and foreboding. “I’m no lady.”

A surge of pride seared Bran to the bone. He tilted his head back and let out a booming laugh that made a few of the faeries flinch. It took everything he had not to drag her across the rotting horse and feel her lips against his.

Instead, he gestured at her pridefully. “There you have it. I wouldn’t bring a lady home. Such a rose would wilt in the darkness of Underhill.”

The scaled faerie bowed on his horse. “It’s an honor to meet you then, mistress. May you rule as the Raven Queen for many more days to come.”

Although Aisling might shrug off such a compliment, Bran knew what it was. The faerie had given her a significant honor. Very few would wish another to remain on a throne. The Tuatha de Danann were bloodthirsty creatures, always looking for the next way to grab their own power.

He’d essentially told Aisling she was the better choice for the position. Very few would admit something like that.

Cold magic touched his neck, drifting down between his shoulder blades and spreading icy fingers through his body. The sluagh had found a changeling nearby. They whispered in his ear how much they wanted to destroy it. How such a creature deserved to be punished for lingering in the human realm, when such a life was wrong…wrong…wrong.

“Go ahead of us,” he heard Aisling say. “I’d like a few minutes alone with him before we hunt.”

“What a woman,” someone called out, laughter bubbling like a brook. “Enjoy yourself Bran, but not too long. All the good ones will be taken!”

He held himself in place as the others raced away, though every fiber of his being brayed that he should hunt with them. He wanted to find the changeling, to tear it limb from limb, to make it bleed so much that the metallic taste coated his tongue….

This wasn’t him. These weren’t thoughts that had ever gone through his mind before.

Dark power tangled in his mind like a spider weaving a web. He was trapped in the shadows, his mind fracturing beyond hope of repair. Until he felt the cool touch of Aisling’s hand on his brow and heard her voice whisper in his ear.

“Where is the changeling, Bran?” She was more than just Aisling, more than just a witch. She was his queen, his everything, his all. “Find it and bring it to me.”

Find the changeling. That was everything he wanted. Every fiber of his being vibrated with the need to do just that.

The horse between his legs seemed to know what he wanted. When the beast surged forward, Bran gathered the reins tight.

He could feel the frantic heartbeat of the changeling as it realized it was being hunted. The creature knew exactly what tonight was, and yet it still remained outdoors. What a foolish thing it was. Did it not know the Raven King hunted on this night? That the sluagh thirsted for its blood?

Branches scratched at Bran’s cheeks. He and his queen raced through the underbrush, flushing out a changeling who took flight. It ran on human legs, having not been taught how to shift its shape so it could fly away to safety.

His blood boiled beneath the surface of his skin, and suddenly all the power inside him burst free. Feathers flowed over his hands, then shifted into shadows that consumed. Bran melted into the host of the sluagh and became one of them, racing at the forefront of their mass.

The branches in front of him parted, and he saw the changeling as it ran. Fabric fluttered behind as it darted through a clearing.

Foolish, again. Didn’t it know he could see it perfectly now? That it would take so little for him to grab it?

He materialized in the center of the clearing, dark magic billowing out from around him. It burned behind his eyes, and he wondered if they were completely black as well.

The changeling almost ran into him. It fell to its knees as it tried to stop, whimpering and crying out for mercy. It would find none from him. Not tonight, when the hunt ran in his veins and the sluagh howled in his mind. This was a night for feasting, not for sparing lives.

“Stop!” A shout rang through the clearing, chased by the thundering of hooves.

He looked up and saw a banshee riding toward him. Bran shook his head. No, not a banshee. A beautiful woman with magic sparking on her fingertips and a dead steed between her legs.

His power-crazed mind hardly recognized her, but a quiet voice inside him whispered that she was everything he’d dreamed of. That she had fought long and hard to be by his side. That she was the only person in the world who could stay his hand with a single word.

So he let her. Bran hesitated, though it made every inch of him ache.

She thundered up to his side and dismounted with a natural grace that spoke of strength. Fluid and calm, the woman stepped to his side and placed a hand against his arm. Her dark eyes flashed. “This one is mine, remember?”

Though he didn’t want to let the changeling go so easily, he inclined his head. What would this woman do? Would she tear the shivering creature to bits with her bare hands? A flash of heat made him shake.

The woman didn’t do anything as he thought she might. Instead, she knelt at the side of the changeling and reached out a pale, long-fingered hand. “You’re safe now,” she murmured. “I know the Wild Hunt is a terrifying night. You shouldn’t be outside.”

“There’s nowhere else to go,” it spat, still shaking in fear. “What else would I do? No one would let me into their homes to pass the dangers.”

“I cannot save you the fate of a changeling caught on the Wild Hunt, instead, I will offer you a choice. You can go with the other hunters, or you can come to my kingdom.”

“Your kingdom?” The changeling looked her up and down. “What’s your kingdom?”

“Underhill, where the sluagh live and all the rest of the Underfolk.”

“You’re the Raven Queen?” It looked up and caught Bran’s gaze, then blanched when Bran bared his teeth in a feral grin. “And the Raven King?”

The woman chuckled. “It’s not as bad as you might think.”

Aisling. The voice whispered through the darkness and reached into the depths of his mind. He knew her name. Not just that, he knew who she was.

And just like that, the curtain of darkness parted. Bran shook himself, embarrassed that he’d allowed himself to fall so far into the tantalizing power of the Raven King. It wasn’t right for him to scare a creature like this.

He looked at the changeling now, really looked, and felt guilt lance through his body as sharp as a spear. The creature was little more than an elderly man. His body was thin and wiry, sagging flesh loose from recent starvation. A shame, because his face was that of an attractive man.

Faerie, he reminded himself. This was not a human, although he looked particularly convincing. This was a faerie who had been cast aside by his family.

“How long have you been here?” Bran asked, kneeling as well. “You don’t have the look of a child.”

“I was a child when they first left me here,” the changeling growled. “I’m older now.”

“Old enough to have evaded the Wild Hunt for many years. Why did you allow yourself to be captured now?”

Aisling hissed out a breath. “Bran.”

The changeling lifted his hand. “It’s fine, mistress. He’s right. I’ve managed well on my own for many years, and I’m tired of running. Tired of living with humans and watching their ways eat away at my flesh. I’m sick, and I’m dying. I’d like to return home now.”

Bran chewed his lip. The changeling’s thought process was understandable, but that wasn’t quite how it had worked. By remaining for so long, whether they were aware of their bloodline or not, the faerie had broken numerous faerie laws. Faeries were not allowed in the human realm, regardless of who brought them there. His return to the faerie realm would not be with any sense of welcome, only with punishment.

Perhaps the changeling knew that, though. Their gazes met, and Bran saw understanding in the male faerie’s eyes. He knew that there wouldn’t be any fanfare and there would likely be a trial.

“I want to spend the rest of my days on the soil where I was born,” the faerie said. “It doesn’t matter if that’s behind bars. It’s still where I was meant to be and where I was cast away from.”

Bran dipped his head. “Then I bid you flee, changeling. Run through the dales, and the Wild Hunt will catch you. They will return you to the faerie realms where you will be tried by the court you would have resided in. Your fate is their decision, and I cannot sway them once you choose this path.”

“I wouldn’t want to sway them, Raven King.”

Aisling made a soft sound and touched the faerie’s shoulder. “Are you certain of this? Underhill has many rumors about the dark creatures who live there. We’re trying to make it a comfortable place for people like us.”

“Us?”

“I was a changeling, too, before Bran found me.” Her gaze softened, and a small smile lit up her expression. “We don’t always have to be the ones who are hunted. There’s a place for us now. I’ve made sure of it.”

The changeling smiled in return. “I have no doubt that you’ve done your best. Our people will never be welcomed or accepted by the other faeries. We were cast aside for a reason. Most of the time it’s because we embarrassed our families or we weren’t what they wanted. That kind of slight on their honor cannot be forgiven.”

“It’s wrong,” Aisling whispered.

“Life usually is,” the changeling replied. He leaned forward as if to touch his hand to Aisling’s shoulder, then stopped at the last moment “We learn how to manage ourselves and others simply because we must. Faerie honor is a delicate thing. They take it seriously, and it’s very easy to break the rules. Rules are what they live for. Otherwise, they would take over the world.”

Bran hated that he agreed with the man. Faeries were not kind creatures, though many myths claimed they were. Even to each other, there was more bloodthirst and anger than genuine feelings of appreciation or love.

Wasn’t his own family a perfect example of that? He hadn’t even known what a kind touch felt like until he’d been thrown into a training ground with Eamonn. The then Seelie Prince had helped him up off the ground and hadn’t slapped him again for failing.

It was life. But it wasn’t a life that Aisling understood.

Paying back the favor Eamonn had shown him, Bran stood and offered the changeling his hand. “Stand. May your feet be swift and your luck be well on this night.”

The changeling allowed himself to be pulled up and ran a hand down his mud-smudged shirt. “Thank you, Raven King. And you, mistress.”

Aisling stood, disappointment shining loud and true on her face. “Are you certain of this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

It killed Bran to watch Aisling’s eyes tilt toward the ground so she didn’t have to see the changeling race away from them. She’d done everything she could to help the man, but that didn’t mean he was going to accept her help.

In a way, this had gone exactly how he expected. Faeries, even changelings, had more pride than they deserved to have. They wanted to fix their lives on their own. They wouldn’t take help if it was offered so blatantly, and even if they didn’t know someone was trying to help them, they likely still wouldn’t take it.

Aisling remained at his feet on her knees in the grass. Her black gown had turned sodden with dew, yet she didn’t react. She stared at the ground.

He waited until the changeling disappeared from sight then sank down beside her. “We cannot save them all, Aisling.”

“I just wanted to save one.” The defeat in her voice made a crack run through his heart. “Why wouldn’t he let us take him home?”

Home. The word sounded all the sweeter coming from her lips.

When was the last time anyone called Underhill home? Bran doubted it had been done in centuries, or perhaps not ever. This little witch had no problem wandering into the strange world with all its terrible creatures and saw it as a place she could enjoy.

Her shoulders shook and pulled him out of his own head. Bran reached out an arm and tucked her into his side. “Hush now, witch. Some changelings don’t want to be saved.”

“How is that possible? They’ve been alone their entire lives. Why wouldn’t someone want a single moment when they aren’t the only one who cares whether they live or die? I can’t understand.”

She was projecting. Damn it, he didn’t know how to fix this. So he pulled her closer and pressed his lips against the top of her head. She wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking herself into the hollows of his body.

He wondered if it made him a sick man that he liked her where she was, the feeling of her breathing against his side, the way she fit him perfectly, even when she was upset like this.

“Not all of them are like how you were. Some changelings never know what they lose,” he replied. “Some of them only know the human realm and care little to know what the faerie lands are like.”

“Not that one.”

“No”—he chuckled—“not that one. He seemed to remember the faerie realms all too well. But some people don’t hold a grudge. Perhaps he looks very different under that skin he was wearing.”

Aisling slapped a hand to his chest. “Looks don’t matter, Bran. No matter what, they should have stayed with their families. They should have been loved no matter what they looked like or how they ended up.”

She wasn’t wrong, at least in the human sense. They were far kinder to their offspring than faeries. Tuatha de Danann were brutal. They knew who was going to grow up to be a warrior, a beauty, a king. If their child was anything less than that, then it wasn’t worth wasting all the effort to raise them.

“I never said it was a foolproof way to live, little witch.” He pressed his lips against her head again, silky strands sliding against his cheeks. “Faeries are hard to understand, especially for those who have soft hearts.”

“A soft heart?” She pulled back to give him a disbelieving stare. “No one has ever accused me of that before.”

“That’s because I see through you.”

She was kinder than she wanted anyone to know. Deep within the shadows of her heart, Aisling was a woman who wanted to heal the world. She just put up thorns so no one knew how much it hurt when she failed.

When she snorted, he touched a finger to her nose and flicked the end. “Don’t snort at me just because I’m right.”

Her brows drew down as the fight rose deep inside her. She wanted to argue, and damned if his heart didn’t start beating faster for the fight she would put up.

Aisling opened her mouth, then stilled as the braying of hounds filled the clearing. The Wild Hunt had caught up with them, a few hunting parties passing each other. Some of the faeries let out whooping calls, others cried out how many they had caught, some just brandished bits of fabric that once belonged to changelings.

He knew what they would do with those they captured. They were likely in cages at the camp in the clearing, their screams and cries for help lifting into the air. His mother would chortle with glee. She’d stamp her feet to make them more afraid, and they all knew she feasted on fear more than physical food.

Aisling shivered and pressed her face to his shoulder. “I don’t like this place, Bran. I want to go home.”

“I think you’ve made enough of an appearance.”

He thought. Some of the other faeries might mark her absence as a slight upon the other courts, but he was beyond caring. Let them think she had run away in fear. He’d brawl with any who tried to mar her name.

For now, he would take her home. He only hoped she wouldn’t do something foolish when he left her alone again.