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believe she didn’t matter, that she had to marry the southern king—was wrong. He could have taken time and care with his words, instead of letting his frustration answer her questions.
    No, he could not ask for her. He had no right, he was not a king. The stricken look on her face when he’d dismissed her was painful, and yet he could not help but hurt her. What he said was truth. She would not, could not, ever be his. There was no point in telling her how he really felt about her. It would only have made her departure today more difficult, for her as well as for him. Better that she leave hating him. At least then he would know her heart would be clear when she reached Greenbriar.
    Thoughts of Solara lying in the arms of Braedon of Greenbriar sent his blood boiling. He forced the visions aside so he could concentrate on finding her.
    And when he found her, he would take her to another man.
    No! Stop this. She does not belong to you, and she never will. Your fate lies down a different path, not with Solara.
    His mind told him this, yet his heart refused to believe.

    By early the next morning, they had scoured acres of forests and miles of steep, rugged cliffside. No sign of Solara. Roarke was loath to return to Winterland and have to tell Noele that her sister could not be found, but there was no recourse. He turned the troops around and headed back to the castle.
    Where could she be? If the wizards had her, surely she would have opened herself telepathically, if not to him then definitely to her sisters. And yet not one of them felt the connection.
    Unless she was already—
    No. He refused to believe that. Even if they had kidnapped her, they would not have killed her. Taken her magic, yes, but the wizards typically left their captives alive. Without a magical soul, but alive nonetheless.
    And in the transfer of magic he’d have felt her. He was sure of it. One thing he knew about Solara was her strength of will. She’d have fought to the death rather than give up her magic or any part of herself.
    Despite the early hour, Winterland was a bustle of activity. Roarke dismounted and immediately set off for the hall to find Garick and Noele.
    A half-dozen sets of hopeful eyes settled on him as he pushed open the door. He walked toward them as if in slow motion, wanting to delay the inevitable.
    It didn’t matter. Noele’s lashes draped over her cheek and a single tear fell. She knew.
    “You didn’t find her.”
    Garick’s statement was more of an answer than a question. Roarke had never felt more inept, had never felt like such a failure. “No, I did not.”
    “This makes no sense,” Noele said, swiping at the tear. “She wouldn’t have left on her own. If the wizards took her she’d have opened herself up so one of us could sense her. Unless she’s—” Noele stopped herself from saying the word Roarke had refused to think about. But the stricken look on her face told him she’d considered it.
    “No. It can’t be. I will not even think she could have come to fatal harm.” Her eyes wide and filled with tears, Noele swept from the hall, Elise and Mina following.
    “What next?” he asked Garick.
    “Braedon will have to be told. He is expecting his bride-to-be, and custom dictates that she either arrive on time, or an emissary arrive explaining why she has not come forth.” Roarke sighed. Not only did they have Solara’s safety to consider, but also the potential of a breach of custom, putting the relationship between the southern king and the faerie of D’Naath in jeopardy. Uniting all the lands north and south with D’Naath was paramount to developing a stronghold against the wizards.
    “Aye. What would you have me do?”

    “I will take half the guard and travel to Greenbriar. You must remain here and guard Winterland, and keep searching for Solara.”
    “And when she is found?” Roarke refused to consider “if”.
    Garick shook his head. “Hold her here until I return. You cannot escort her