Wings of Glass: prequel: Sliver of Dawn
Author
J. E. Romm
Reads
16.3K
Chapters
16
No good deed goes unpunished...or so they say. When Lucien finds women's clothes floating downstream, his curiosity gets the better of him. He finds himself at the center of a fae confrontation. However, his people and the Ceteran fae have been warring with each other for centuries. It's best not to interfere. But he can't stop himself from meddling when the honor of a lady is at stake.
Chapter 1
LUCIEN
The water lapped against Lucien’s skin as he waded into the open river. His nostrils flared. Icy, but so good and refreshing. Smooth rocks lay beneath the soles of his feet, cold and slippery. A welcome change from the dry, crumbly earth that had baked beneath the sun all day.
Still, he had to be careful as he trekked deeper into the glistening pool. The still-sweltering sun burned the skin of his back, prickling along his shoulders as though he were a pig being roasted on a spit for an evening feast.
A low growl rumbled from his lips, and Lucien buckled his knees, sinking lower. The water pushed against his chest, tickling the dark, tiny hairs that littered his skin. Lively and free. They drifted lazily in the current the deeper he went, swaying like reeds in the stream.
He glanced back at the bank, where he’d discarded his tunic and pants. The messy pile slumped against the grass, one sleeve half turned inside out.
The sound of his mother’s voice echoed in his mind. She would have marched straight over, snatched his ear between her fingers, and twisted until he yelped. Clothes should always be neatly folded and placed in a special spot.
Lucky for him, she was nowhere in sight.
He ducked under the water’s surface and smiled as the heat washed away. The river closed over his head with a muffled hush. The cool kiss of it ran through his wavy brown hair and caressed his scalp, threading through every strand. A pleasant sensation, one that only lasted the first few moments after slipping beneath the surface.
Pushing off the river’s floor, Lucien surged upward and flipped his hair back as he broke the surface. Water streamed down his face. He scrubbed it from his eyes with both hands and grinned, chest lifting with an easy breath. Finally: some time to himself.
The last several days had been rough.
Under orders from his father, he was Cael’s sparring partner for the week. As the future alpha of their pack, his brother trained from dawn to dusk. And being the rather unfortunate younger sibling, Lucien was constantly dragged into those relentless training regimens.
It didn’t matter that he was a whole four years younger than his brother. Nor that he was physically smaller and still maturing into a man. Cael needed an opponent, and Lucien was always close at hand.
His ribs still ached from yesterday’s bout.
Everything was done with the pack’s best interests in mind, though Lucien often wondered if those interests truly aligned with his own.
All he wanted was to fish in this river and explore the territory of Moglayre. So many places called to him beyond the tree line and the winding hills, waiting to be discovered. Being trapped as Cael’s punching bag, however, was definitely not on his list of wishes.
He groaned and leaned his back against the water’s surface, letting himself float. The late afternoon sky above was a brilliant shade of blue, wide and endless, with not a single cloud in sight. How he wished he could laze around all day, drifting like this, enjoying the weather and fishing to his heart’s content.
At the thought of fish, his stomach rumbled.
He could easily catch some right now, if he wished.
In the space of a breath, his fingernails elongated into sharp claws. The tips glinted beneath the sunlight, and faint fur sprouted along the knuckles of his fingers.
Lucien flipped onto his feet and stared into the river’s depths.
His eyes were no longer the clear brown of a fifteen-year-old boy. They shimmered with a reflective lupine energy now, catching the light in a way no human gaze ever could.
With a hunter’s grace, he swam toward a shallower part of the river and slowed his breathing. Waist-deep in the water, he waited, patient and alert.
The surrounding water calmed.
Lucien stood still like a boulder, his muscles slack but ready, his eyes ever watchful as the current slowly coaxed the fish to return. A few small ones darted through first, quick flashes of silver. Not big enough for a meal. He let those pass.
Droplets clung to his back, then slowly evaporated beneath the sun’s steady heat. Soon the baking rays kissed his skin once more. He shook his hair, sending a spray of cool water across his shoulders and chest. The relief lasted only a moment.
Before long, he spotted a trout gliding through the current not too far from where he stood.
Lucien leaned forward, claws poised just above the surface. The fish drifted closer…closer…
He pounced.
His claws brushed against the scaly flesh, but he missed. The trout shot away in a blur, its tail flicking through the water as fast as its fins could carry it, fleeing the predator it had so narrowly escaped.
Lucien licked his lips, watching the empty current where it had been.
With renewed focus, he prepared again.
It didn’t take long before another unwary fish approached. He centered his gaze on its fluid body, watching the subtle sway of its fins.
His mouth watered at the image of it skewered on a stick. Fat dripping into the flames. The scent of roasting fish curling into the evening air.
He lunged.
The trout thrashed against his grasp. For a moment, he had it, the slick body wriggling between his claws.
Then it slipped free at the last instant, darting into deeper water and leaving him empty-handed once more.
Lucien cursed under his breath.
But he readied himself for the third try. The growl from his belly reverberated into the open air, almost loud enough to startle a bird from the nearby brush.
The next fish that swam close enough would be it.
Third time was the charm, after all.
With one arm raised, ready to slash through the surface, he stared unblinking at the rocks below.
Something strange caught his eye.
An object drifted toward him with the slow pull of the current.
Lucien narrowed his gaze and reached out. His claws brushed against smooth fabric. With a splash of water, he plucked it from the river and examined it.
In his hand was a woman’s chemise. White. Thin.
The soaked cloth clung to his fingers like a second skin.
He looked farther upstream, toward where it had come from. Sure enough, more garments floated toward him: another piece of cloth, then another.
Lucien hurried deeper into the river, gathering the clothes one by one. A frown slowly formed as the pieces came together in his arms.
This wasn’t just laundry.
It was a full woman’s dress. A Fae woman’s dress.
With the clothes pressed close to his chest, Lucien hurried toward the bank.
This river bordered Moglayre and Ceteran lands. Both cultures used it, yet kept enough distance so their people didn’t intermingle.
Each maintained their own space.
It was better this way.
Their people had experienced enough war over the years, and a skirmish with the Unseelie court was better avoided.
Lucien tossed the wet clothes onto the ground and pulled on his tunic and pants. The damp fabric clung awkwardly as he tugged it over his shoulders.
Yet a small voice nagged at him.
These belonged to a Fae, a woman’s clothes, at that.
If a full set like this was floating downstream, something wasn’t right.
Better to check.
