“The high fae forget that the first victims of Kharl's war were the witches themselves.” Reed stares at her, his mouth tight as he holds in a grimace, but her words just keep tumbling out. “Do you think the mindless raving masses want to be that way? Do you think they knew what he would do to them? When he first came to the Southern Lands, he gave them two options—join him, or die. Any witch who escaped him, fleeing their covens and ancestral lands, found themselves at the mercy of the high fae. Painted as enemies and hunted for nothing more than the blood in their veins and their silver eyes.
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