I smile at her. “Youallhave magic—his is just unrestrained and eager to come out to play. But you all have magic within you.”
She nods as she presses a hand against the page, a determined set to her mouth, and I begin to fear what retribution I'm about to face from Prince Soren when she begins her own campaign of war against him.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
Soren
A messenger from the regent arrives, escorted by six of the regent’s guards in an obvious display of how serious this message of his must be. Tauron meets them at the stables and splits them up to lessen their show of force, sending four of the guards into the barracks to rest there while the remaining two are escorted with the messenger into the castle.
I see them in the Grand Hall, sitting on an ornate chair a few paces in front of my parents’ thrones in what I'm sure my uncle would see as a sign of submission to him, but the members of my family and the families of Yregar that surround me look on that deference to my parents’ legacy and my current position with respect.
Only a king should sit on the Celestial thrones spread throughout the castles in the Southern Lands. It's the Unseelie way, and yet, my uncle has sat on them all. A ploy to manipulate the court, to twist their opinions and make them bend to his will, he pushes the boundaries of the law to the very limit in his desperate plan to claim the crown. For some, this tactic has worked, convincing half the Unseelie Court that he’s a just ruler and will be a good king. Others see through it.
He’s never gone as far as wearing any of the Celestial crowns, dozens crafted over many generations to mark occasions and some gifted from other rulers as signs of the bonds that once existed between the kingdoms, but the regent has employed a fleet of silversmiths and jewelers to create hundreds of tiaras for his daughter. He walks a fine line between what's acceptable and what’s considered a treasonous act, but he plays his manipulation games well, ensuring the Unseelie Court looks at Sari as the Heir Regent and wishes for that softened and proper beauty as the future of the throne, a stark contrast to myself.
My rule will not be kind to any of them.
Airlie leaves her son in her rooms with Firna and a fleet of maids to watch over him as he sleeps, the babe wanting for nothing in her absence. Standing with Roan at my left side in a clear sign of loyalty and power, they both stare defiantly at the guards, who glare back at them. Both of the males’ gazes drop down pointedly to her now flat stomach. It feels like a threat, and one I won’t take lightly. Airlie is dressed in her old finery, dripping with jewels and exquisite laces as she puts on a show for them, her chin tilting up as she dares them to approach her or ask questions.
Roan’s sword is sharp where it hangs at his hip.
This is the first time I’ve held an audience in the Grand Hall since before the wagons of food arrived, and though we're being careful about wastage, I’ve ordered a good lunch for those who attend, the royal families, servants, and villagers alike.
Two dozen of the lords and ladies living at Yregar make up a portion of the crowd, but they keep mostly to themselves, as always. Standing huddled together, they’re here to listen to the messenger and my reply as a show of support, but they’re clearly still nervous of everything going on. They're loyal to me, but without a seat on the Unseelie Court, there’s nothing they can do with that loyalty except attend these events and attempt to sway those with more power than they hold.
“His Majesty, the Regent, has heard a tale of woe whispered throughout the kingdom,” the messenger says, his voice loud and booming off the opulent walls of the Grand Hall.
The crowd is quiet, far more subdued than my uncle's traveling troop, and the messenger smiles at what he must think is a respectful sort of silence. He doesn't understand that they're shocked and appalled, contempt for him and the regent rife.
He lifts his chin further into the air and speaks again, a declaration he rode a long way to give. “Goblin soldiers were seen by passing scouts making haste to Yregar with supplies of war. He sent soldiers to aid you in such a brazen attack, but as they arrived, they witnessed you opening the gates and welcoming these soldiers into Yregar in an unwarranted act of defiance.”
There were no soldiers sent to Yregar at my uncle’s command.
Not for our aid nor any reason other than to spy on my movements and loyalties. I was expecting this confrontation, and I’m prepared with my answer, my household moving around me easily after so many years of dancing like this with the regent. Roan and Airlie step closer to my side, Roan carefully moving his wife ever so slightly behind him. When other high-fae males do this, it’s often a show of power, dismissive of their wives’ own agency, but only an idiot would miss that Roan is ensuring Airlie’s safety while they show me their support, a united front as always.
I cock my head at the messenger and place an elbow on the ornate armrest of my chair, the plush cushioning there catching the weight of my limb and holding it fast as I drape myself over the seat in a leisurely fashion. This pose is a common one for the regent, a sign of his comfort in his rule, but I wield it like a warning.
My household knows it too.
The crowd stares as I raise an eyebrow at the messenger, replying, “I have to admit, I’m confused by such an accusation. The Goblin King is not our enemy. He signed the accords centuries ago and has lived well within them from the moment the ink hit the parchment. Is my uncle suggesting that we’re at war with the goblins? Because I have no knowledge of such a thing and, from when we last spoke, neither does the Goblin King. He simply offered aid and loyalty to the Celestial Heir, as is his right.”
The messenger slowly fills with tension, his posture straightening like the edge of a knife as his face betrays his anger. My uncle clearly made a guess at my true motives for going to the Goblin King rather than begging at his feet at Yris to keep my household fed, but he didn't pass on those assumptions to this male. Perhaps the regent’s spies aren't as rampant as I’ve assumed.
“The Goblin King has offered no such loyalties to the kingdom. There have been dozens of attempts to speak with him and discuss his responsibility to the accords, and he has spurned them all. He has shown great contempt to the regent, and yet he meets with you and sends you aid? This does not sit right with the Unseelie Court.”
The messenger looks around only to meet Aura’s eyes, his head ducking into a bow and a grimace curling the corner of his lip.
There's no denying her position within the kingdom, and though my aunt takes very particular handling, after our recent confrontation in my chambers, I’ve made peace with her. I smile and gesture to Aura, a cold expression on my face, and her answering look is just as frosty, playing along with the game of war waged amongst the high fae at such gatherings.
My tone is carefully neutral as I speak loud enough for the lower fae and part-bloods attending to hear my every word. “I simply reached out to a member of the Unseelie Court and invited him to our midwinter ball. We’ve been very careful to follow the exacting laws of the Unseelie Court while planning my upcoming wedding, ensuring that nothing impedes it or my coronation. The Goblin King is eager to form lasting bonds once more within the kingdom, and his gesture in escorting our supplies to Yregar was a welcome congratulations gift for finding my mate.”
The messenger blanches, his gaze darting around, but the witch is in the healer’s quarters, guarded heavily by an extra band of soldiers I placed there the moment I heard of his arrival. She toils away in the garden unimpeded, and moving her there was the best idea I’ve had yet. She’s able to be useful to the castle while freeing up my cousins while we wait out her end goal of betrayal.
The guards standing over the messenger are trained, but neither of them is as disciplined as my own men. Their faces show nothing but contempt toward me as they watch the spectacle.
I know the messenger, if only by the gossip and assumptions of the court. Syrus, a fifth son of the lord of Yrell. With no hopes of inheriting his own lands or any titles and a resentment for his bloodlines, he signed on under the regent, even though the rest of Yrell sides with me. It’s a gamble he's going to lose, despite the regent crest that’s pinned to his chest giving him a feeling of power over others. The two soldiers I don’t recognize, but their loathing of me runs just as deep, etched into the sneers that twist their lips.
“You've invited the Goblin King to the winter solstice at Yregar, even knowing he holds the regent in contempt. The Unseelie Court won’t be able to attend—not if the safety of the regent and his beloved heir Princess Sari cannot be promised, and with the goblin hordes here, it can never be assured.”
