Her loyalty to me may have started out as a desire to keep the throne passing directly down the bloodline of the Celestial family, as it has since the time of the First Fae, but there's a newfound respect in her as she comes to terms with the reality of the war around us. With her arrival at the castle so close to when the rations ran out, I put her in the guest wing that looks over the dying farmlands, just to be sure her mind can’t be swayed by the regent’s honeyed lies. There’s no twisted, gilded perception of Yris Castle here, no denying the truth of our situation and writing my words off as some ploy to scare the Unseelie Court into siding with me in the war.
The death that surrounds us is inescapable.
Tauron and Tyton both mingle in the crowd, smiling and laughing with the soldiers and grimacing as they’re questioned about the castle's protections by the lords in attendance. Many of them have sons who serve me as soldiers, and they hear much of the war efforts directly from them, giving them the very misguided impression they know the extent of the battle we’re bracing for. None of them are truly prepared for what will happen if the castle comes under attack, but their loyalty is enough for now.
Firna hovers by the banquet tables, which are laden with just enough food for those in attendance and not a single scrap more. She fusses as she makes Airlie a plate, her eyes narrowed on my aunt as Firna monitors Airlie’s every move. Firna’s temper paces like a dragon before its most treasured possessions, ready to pry the woman away. In her latest stay at Yregar, Aura has learned the hard way that no matter her royal title, the Keeper of Yregar has my ear and my full support, especially when it comes to Airlie. If Firna suspects even the slightest wisp of tension from Aura toward her daughter, she’ll find herself banished to the least comfortable and most reclusive rooms in the castle.
My gaze moves away from Airlie only when Fyr steps up to me, bowing deeply as the chatter of the room dissipates. His eyes are solemn as he takes a deep breath, his news marking the beginning of the fight for the throne.
“The regent has locked down Yris Castle and is refusing to let any of the families there leave. Prince Doryn met with him and discussed his urgent desire to be with his wife and daughter during such trying times, but the regent refused to let him go. Princess Tylla did the same, asking to travel here to be with her sons, only she approached him during a banquet in front of the entire Unseelie Court, and instead of dismissing her from his presence, the regent has detained her in her rooms. She’s now heavily guarded and not allowed to repeal his decision or go in exile to her family’s lands.”
Tauron’s face doesn't change at the news of his mother's treatment, but Tyton scowls as the eyes of the lords and ladies slowly turn toward them both. He still looks exhausted from the rite that drained his magic at the witch’s direction, his scowl deepening as he meets my eyes across the room.
I motion for Fyr to continue, his voice carrying through the murmurs with ease. “Any of the Unseelie Court families who have sided with you have also been put under house arrest within the castle. Those who were neutral to him and happy that the laws are being followed have been told that it’s a safety precaution as the witches prepare to attack. Doryn, Tylla, and a handful of other more vehement supporters of changing the succession laws to give you the throne before your Fates-blessed marriage have been told that the arrest is to stop them from undermining his rule. The regent claims to know of a plot to kill him and place you on the throne, regardless of the laws.”
More gasps ring out, but I was expecting this from him. The news of my nuptials to the witch have rattled him, but my uncle has been planning for this for a very long time, assessing every last move he’ll need to make to keep the throne until he’s sure of his success.
Anything he can do to degrade my reputation, to weaken my position within the Unseelie Court’s minds…nothing is off-limits to the male.
I incline my head at Fyr and say, loud enough that the part-bloods and lower fae in attendance can hear me clearly as well, “I thank you for your good work. How many families have been imprisoned?”
There are forty-two seats on the Unseelie Court, held by the royal families that descended from the First Fae, thirty-six of which live within the perimeter of the regent. Even several who are loyal to me are content to live within the protection of Yris. It’s the Unseelie way to live near the court, but it rankles me all the same.
Of the six seats missing, Aura is safe here at Yregar, and the Goblin King in his own lands. Roan's father stays at Fates Mark, ruling the Outlands and scorning the Unseelie Court’s venomous gossip. Mercer, the Prince of Yrell, still holds his castle and defends it against the witches, his borders inching smaller every day as the Witch Ward grows in power. The Seer holds an honorary position, but she holds it all the same.
I hold the last seat, passed to me from my father upon his death.
The regent has the support of twenty households, and I have the same, with only the Seer and the Goblin King choosing not to cast a vote.
The Seer has never voiced a preference—it’s not the Seers’ way. They were given a spot in the Unseelie Court as a mark of respect to the Fates, and never in all the millennia that we've lived in the Southern Lands has a Seer cast a vote.
Even with his statement of intent to join us at midwinter, until he declares loyalty to one of us the Goblin King is neutral ground, a wasted vote during the long centuries past. No king in the goblin lands has cast a vote for generations, not since the first of the high-fae princes were banished to live there and told to control the rabble as punishment. That one action led to the eventual uprising and civil war, the same that my grandfather fought in to bring peace to the kingdom once more. The accords were drawn up and signed, but only after much bloodshed and loss on both sides of the conflict. The Briarfrost family had agreed to continue to serve the Celestial King but only if they held sovereignty over their own lands, thus the line of the Goblin Kings began.
The divide within the kingdom has remained ever since.
“All eighteen of your supporters at Yris have been put under house arrest.”
Fyr pauses to glance at Prince Roan and Princess Airlie before he speaks again. “Princess Sari has also been moved to her chambers and denied the right to leave.”
It's hard to keep the surprise from my face, but it ripples through the crowd regardless as unease begins to pool in my gut, swelling with every passing moment.
The regent has always treated his daughter like a pretty trinket, something he owned and could show off to his people. My efforts to get her to acknowledge the war around us may very well have put her life in danger. If anything happens to her, I’ll have no one but myself to blame.
“He says there are spies within the castle and she’s safer that way, but there have been many rumors that the princess was spending much time in the libraries before that, asking questions that aren't befitting of the Heir Regent Apparent.” There’s a sardonic lilt to his voice, the first sign of his own opinion of the message.
It’s a slip, and one Fyr never makes, always faultless at his job, but his own opinions of the regent and his daughter are nothing short of vicious.
He and Firna have a good life here at Yregar, but my keeper was the eldest of three part-blood sisters. The youngest died in the war long ago, having run a successful tavern in one of the villages along the eastern edge of the Mistwyrd Forest that was gutted by the witch army in one of the first waves of violence across the kingdom. Firna's middle sister, Fyrla, worked at Yris alongside Firna, but when Firna and I chose to leave the castle behind after my parents’ deaths, Fyrla stayed on.
There were many accounts of what happened to Fyrla, but the only thing anyone can agree on is that she bore a child of high-fae blood and died during the birth, unaided and with no family to build her funeral pyre.
That child now works in Princess Sari’s employ, a confession all of its own. Sari collects the bastard children of her father, his ego enjoying watching them work and toil for his full-blood daughter. Though my cousin might be naïve in many ways, she’s calculating and careful in this one aspect of her life, doing what she can to protect her sisters from her father's egocentric power plays.
Fyr hasn’t met this cousin of his in any meaningful way, only passing by her in the castle of Yris whenever he delivers messages, but he never stops thinking of her. He and Firna both implored me to remove the girl from Yris, but no matter what tactics I tried, my requests were denied. The only solace I could give them was the promise of Sari’s devotion to the girls and the way that she offered them whatever protections she could. It's not enough, it never could be with the regent’s twisted games, but it's all I can do for now. I've promised Firna many times to hold my uncle accountable someday, and I won’t fail her.
That day is swiftly approaching.
With nothing left of his news and another deep bow to me, Fyr steps back and melts into the crowd, his message passed on and his job well done. He makes a beeline to his mother, and she puts together another plate from the banquet, this one far smaller than Princess Airlie’s, but still she fusses with the food for her beloved child.
