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“Maybe.” He shrugs, brown waves bouncing over his shoulders.
I pin him with a gaze, leaning over the table and bracing my hands left and right of my tray. My bad hand stings, but I ignore it. “Why do the others want to kill me?” It might not be the best question to ask since I haven’t got an answer from the king himself, but it’s worth a try.
And the Guardians bless him, Royad speaks. “You mean even after your successful wedding night?” He gives me a pointed glance. “It’s a long story, but the quintessence is that half of the Crows are dissatisfied because he keeps taking brides, and the other half is dissatisfied because he can’t keep one of them…”
“Alive,” I finish for him. “Because he can’t keep one of them alive.”
Royad merely nods.
“They don’t want him to marry? Why?” I mean, I could name a hundred different reasons why a monster like him shouldn’t marry someone who didn’t choose him, but that’s a different story entirely, so I sit back and wait as Royad sorts through his words.
Finally, he brushes his feathers with a claw and nods to himself. “Some believe that the power we possess is all we need to rise to greatness again.” The last word comes out a bit strangled, but I am certain it’sagain.
“Again? I thought the Crows were a powerful people in Askarea.” It’s an assumption I made based on the stories I’ve heard about them and what I’ve experienced in this palace. Yet, there is no way to know where they stand in fairy power balance.
“There was a time when we were. Myron’s father, King Carius the Cruel was sitting on our throne then, long before the Crow Wars when we were banished to these forests.”
It’s the most information I’ve gained since my arrival, and I’m not ready for it to end. “They don’t teach us much about Askarea in the human realms.”
“Perhaps that’s your luck. Askarea’s history is bloody, even without the Crow Fairies. And since we’ve been confined to the Seeing Forest, the Crows have become restless. They don’t like that Myron made a trade with King Recienne of Askarea for onlyonebride per year.” When I raise an eyebrow in question, he explains, “Before the war, all Crows of noble descent went on a hunt for a new bride each Ret Relah, but not since Carius lost and Myron succeeded him. In the beginning, we didn’t get any brides at all—courtesy of the Fairy King—but then our magic started unweaving the wards on our kingdom, and Crows started roaming the fairylands again. Instead of starting another war, Myron made a deal with Recienne. We’d stay in our own little realm in exchange for one bride each year. Now, instead of many chances, we only have one…Bride,” he corrects. “Instead of manybrides.” I can’t be certain, but he seems to be scrambling for words, gaze flitting over the furniture, the ceiling, anywhere but me.
The room falls silent except for my breathing and the almost tangible awkwardness as he is opening and closing his mouth. I’ve seen King Myron do the same thing, and I’m beginning to think that it isn’t because Crows aren’t naturally eloquent; quite the opposite. There is something amiss, but as I study him, his human features shift to beak and feathers, and all I get is a hiss as he finally meets my gaze.
I shrink into my chair, instantly regretting that I still cringe from his monstrous appearance when his Crow nature takes over. Or was the shift deliberate so he didn’t need to continue the trajectory of the conversation?
The misery in his eyes tells me it’s neither. Something more is going on that keeps him from telling me the truth.
Willing my nerves to calm and my heart to slow, I sit up and face him, letting my gaze slide over his face in acknowledgement of everything that is and isn’t there: the feathers framing his features where usually his brown hair hangs in loose strands, his scar that hasn’t vanished entirely even when his skin has turned grayish around his eyes and beak. The mouth that is still human.
“Tell me about Askarea.” It’s a simple request and allows for him to tell me practically anything he wants to share.
Royad cocks his head in a very bird-like manner and lifts a claw in front of him, turning it back and forth, flexing it in a display of the sharp weapon it is. “You’re not afraid of me, Ayna, are you?” His words are a sharp hiss the way they always are when he shifts into this birdlike creature, and the sound of it grates along my bones.
It’s a valid question, and the thundering beat my heart has become once more should tell me that I am beyond afraid. Yet, I shake my head. “If the Crow King trusts you, perhaps it’s time I did, too.”
His mouth twists into a grim line below his beak. “Trust is a fickle thing. Do you trust Myron? You don’t even dare call him by his name, do you?”
It’s a good question, one I should be asking myself. I don’t have an equally good answer for it, though, so I hold Royad’s gaze and fold my arms over the silken dressing robe. “I’m wearing King Myron’s clothes. That should be answer enough.”
Royad’s brow creases, pulling feathers lower on his forehead, and I suppress a shudder at the eerie sight. “He’s your husband. You wearing his clothes after your wedding night shouldn’t surprise me. However, the fact that you haven’t skipped his title makes me wonder how close the two of you really got last night.”
If this is a test, he has the best Crow Fairy poker face in history. And I should know. Ludelle and the crew of the Wild Ray taught me the card game, and I’ve become quite adept over the years.
My chest aches at the mere thought of the people I used to call my family. Of the man in whose arms I used to fall asleep, and the thought of tainting his memory by implying I slept with the Crow King—Myron.Royad is right. If I want to convince people enough to make them believe their king made me moan all night, I better use his first name and learn how to blush at command.
“Unlike as a conversational partner, Myron is an exceptional lover.” It’s the best I can do without outright lying, and Royad’s mouth twitches, beak and feathers retreating as he slowly grins.
“Oh the joys of being married to the most powerful Crow in existence,” he says, voice back to a comfortable baritone.
It’s my turn to frown. I’m still not over the whole near-death experience in the hidden lake-room, not to speak about being offered up by my own homeland as a tribute for the Crows. “Is this a conversation you have with every bride?” With my eyes, I shoot little daggers at him. Just because I trust him doesn’t mean I need to like him.
“Only with those who matter.”
His words give me pause, but before I can ask what he means by that, he sits up and gestures at the tray between us. “Are you going to finish your tea?”
The half-empty cup is sitting in the corner where the dark wood meets an iron frame, steam no longer rising from the light-green liquid. I shake my head.
“Then let’s get you some fresh clothes so Myron can parade you around the palace.”
