Someday I’ll change the laws and wipe the simpering, useless heads of families from the court I will cultivate, but for now, Aura’s loyalty to the direct bloodline of the Celestial family works in her favor.
“I can't kill the witch, Aura, you’ve already been told why. I wouldn't be so concerned about your daughter's heart, it’s far stronger than you will ever know.”
She scoffs and pushes back in her seat, her hands flapping in front of her dramatically. I wonder how she ever learned to navigate the Unseelie Court if it's this easy to rile her, or whether this is just a show, a carefully cultivated relationship between us that she’s now trying to exploit to get her way. The birth of Airlie’s son didn’t go the way she expected, and now she’s lost ground in her efforts to bring her heir and new grandson home.
Her distaste for Roan is the reason I’ll never trust this female, no matter what pretty stories she weaves, and she knows it too.
The day the two of them married, many centuries ago now, was the first time I told Aura exactly what I thought of her, brash in my youth and uncaring of the consequences. I hadn't yet watched hundreds of thousands die, hadn’t experienced the true depravity of the war, and there was still an arrogance within me that thought I could convince the Fates to give me my mate sooner. It was a hard lesson to learn, the Seer’s words were immovable, but an effective one; I’ve never again forgotten the power they hold over me.
She tries again, her tone wheedling and edged with the fury she won’t ever truly show. “The days after a baby is born are very delicate, Soren. You wouldn't know this because of the curse, but this is the perfect time for the witch to enchant Airlie and twist her mind away from reason. Roan has never been strong enough to call his wife into line. If you don't do it, no one will.”
I count my breaths.
It's a slow act to give myself time to find my patience, reminding myself of all the reasons this woman should stay alive. Granted, the list is small and growing shorter by the minute. Every lashing insult strikes another line from it, until I’m left with the balance of the Unseelie Court and that alone.
Eventually I'm able to speak with a level voice once more. “What happens between Roan and Airlie has never been and will never be any of your business. Your daughter is married to her Fates-blessed mate. They’re a family now, and what they choose to do with their lives is none of your concern. Before you start up your tirade against Roan, Aunt, I should remind you that he’s upstairs healing from the injuries he took while defending our kingdom from our enemy, all while your own husband didn't bother to leave the wining and dining of the Unseelie Court to wish his daughter well and meet his new grandson.”
The insults and critiques fly straight past her, glancing off the armor of arrogance she wraps around herself, her mind focusing on one thing alone. “Injuries Roan took while fightingwitches,and yet while he was traipsing around the Outlands, abandoning his pregnant wife at her greatest hour of need, there was a witch here in this castle, granted freedoms by all of you, simply because she knows the names of some plants and can brew a pot of tea! These are not the decisions of a king, Soren! Not one strong enough to lead this kingdom and restore our way of life.”
It's a peculiar feeling to defend the witch so vehemently, but for Airlie’s sake I will. “I think you forget that your grandson is alive because the witch broke the curse. He is the first full-blooded high-fae baby born in centuries, a whole generation of life to come, because that curse is gone. Accept that this castle is under my rule and my word is law, or leave. Make the journey back to Yris and the Unseelie Court with nothing but the guards you brought with you, but know that it's a long way home, Aura, and a miracle of the Fates that you made it here unscathed in the first place.”
I smear a hand over the parchment in front of me, her gaze following my fingers as I run them over the numbers from the messengers. “The attacks are doubling every day now that the witches know the curse is broken, and they’re scrambling to keep the high fae too busy to recover from the evil they held over us all this time. Who knows if they'll be able to cast the curse once more, or if my Fates-blessed mate will be able to break it again if they do. For now, the kingdom is a bloodbath, and your choices are very limited.”
Aura’s face sours like old milk, the lines deepening around her mouth as she grimaces. It detracts from her natural beauty, the same she passed on to her daughter, and I struggle to see that beauty now that her sharp tongue and meddling ways mar it.
“Your Fates-blessedmate? What are you going to do, Soren, marry her? You’ll marry a witch and place her on your mother's throne? I’m glad she’s not here to see how far her son has fallen. You’re supposed to protect your people, not shove a crown on your enemy’s filthy head!”
I shuffle the papers once more, carefully looking for the exact parchment and plucking it out of the pile where I’d hidden it. Her eyes flick down, an eyebrow rising as I’ve caught her attention.
“I sent messengers across the seas to speak with the Sol King about trading routes and a treaty between us once I am king. One of the messengers brought this back, a warning of what’s to come if I turn my back on the path the Seer laid out before me.”
I slide the image across the table at her, the carefully rendered likeness that the Sol King himself had brought to life with his magic in the most horrifying way. Hamyr told me that the regent was being sent one as well, a thorough warning to any and all who may rule to understand our responsibilities to the Fates and wholly surrender ourselves to their commands.
It’s a warning and a promise—the Seelie Court won’t take any defiance of the Fates lightly.
I watch Aura’s face crack, her grimace turning into gaping terror as she shoves it away again and cringes against her chair. There’s no color left in her cheeks, a fine tremor rippling over her. My own reaction was similar, the creature unlike any I’ve seen before and more horrifying the longer I stared at it, and one thought has plagued me since Hamyr held the parchment out to me, his own hand trembling as well.
The witch has seen one up close.
There’s none of my own reaction in my voice as I say firmly, “That’s a Ureen, Aura. Do you know what they are? The nightmares that haunted the Northern Lands for centuries, falling from the sky and consumingeverything. I think only of my kingdom, as I have from the moment my parents were murdered. I can't share your sentiment, though—my mother’s death lies heavy on my shoulders.”
Her breaths heave out of her chest, her hand clutching at the lace panel on the front, delicately tatted and sewn on by skilled hands. There are jewels decorating her pointed ears and her hair, diamonds around her wrists interspersed with sapphires, and a large ring sits on her finger, a symbol of the vows she spoke with that spineless husband of hers. All of her finery is on display, and in the dire situation we’re in, it’s nothing but gaudy and tasteless.
I motion toward the door, dismissive and done with her games. “You need to leave, Aunt. I have too much business to see to and not enough hours in the day to argue like this with you.”
She trembles in her seat, still horrified by the image, and I move a stack of parchments over it once more to help her regain her wits.
When she finally leans forward in the seat, gulping dramatically, the color is still absent from her face as she croaks to me, “I’ll help you arrange the wedding. Airlie is of no mind for such things while caring for the baby, and this isn’t a simple ball to leave to the castle staff. The Unseelie Court will be in attendance, all of them, and it must be strictly planned and executed if you’re to take your throne. The regent himself cannot deny you the crown, so long as we do it right.”
I might just slip Airlie that image to use against her mother, if this is the result.
There’s a new meekness to her form as she reaches out with a shaking hand once more, taking a blank piece of parchment and one of the ink pens I have sitting on my desk. “I’ll write the list of the families you must invite along with all of the Unseelie Court. We could arrange it for the autumn equinox, but winter solstice is better, more apt for such an occasion.”
She glances toward where the monster hides under a stack of other papers now, gulping as she rasps, “If we have time to wait, that is. If the Fates demand it happen sooner, then I’ll make the necessary changes.”
I shake my head, looking at the list of attacks before me. The messengers arrive daily, stepping through the fae door and riding their horses as though chased by the monsters of the Fates as they battle their way back to me through the enemy-infested lands.
There are hundreds of villages between here and the Witches Ward, hundreds of thousands of lower fae and part-bloods within. All of them have long been abandoned by the regent, but now I’m forced to pull my forces back to Yregar, leaving them defenseless and without hope of aid. While we don't have room for more refugees, I sent out word through my scouting riders regardless.
