As I look around the room, I find that all of the plates are far smaller than my cousin’s, proof of the awareness within my household of the tenuous agreement I’ve brokered with the Goblin King to keep the castle fed and the mutual unspoken agreement to prioritize Airlie and her infant son’s needs. Their respects for my cousin and the baby are exactly why each and every one of the fae folk in attendance have been allowed to stay at Yregar under my protection and with my solemn oath to provide for them, even as my resources dwindled away to nothing.
Another of my messengers, Rome, steps forward. He's smaller than most high fae, with eyes as black as coal and hair shorn close to his scalp. There’s banshee blood somewhere in his heritage, which isn’t often seen within the high-fae castles. His skin is darker than Roan’s, and it's only the pointed tip of his nose and the tilt to his ears that show his pixie and high-fae descent. He meets my eyes with a deep bow, shifting on his feet in discomfort as he straightens.
He never did like to give news in front of my entire household, but he speaks without preamble, voice loud and clear as it echoes through the Grand Hall. “The witch armies march to Yregar in the largest assembly I've seen in many decades. There are reports from the scouts stationed farther north that they began the journey south when the curse was broken, and they now ride at speed, as though following a beacon of light. They know there's a witch within the castle walls, and they come for her. They ride to Yregar to take her back into the fold.”
* * *
Reed escorts the witch into the Grand Hall with a blank face and a firm hand around the top of her arm as he marches her at his side, keeping her close as though he's sure she'll disappear in a cloud of magic and leave us all with questions he won't have answers to if he allows even an inch of space between them. They’d waited outside the closed doors while the messengers spoke, the witch’s ears too weak to hear their words, but Reed would have heard it all.
He avoids looking at Airlie, who stares daggers into the side of his head, her mouth a thin line as she fumes. Although furious that this is taking place, she knows her place and stays silent in the crowd. She stands surrounded by the ladies of my household with her mother's hand resting on her shoulder, a silent reminder to hold her tongue.
I’m never going to hear the end of this from her, but at least she’ll be alive to rage at me. If the witch had succeeded, she’d be the sort of silent only the dead can achieve.
Reed brought the witch straight here from the healer’s quarters with dirt on her skirts and her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Wisps of her dark hair have fallen from the hasty braid she always wears. Her expression is serious and her silver eyes guarded as she stares directly at me. There’s no sign of fear of the consequences she’s here to face, nor any sort of deference to the throne she stands before as she holds my gaze with the defiance of an angry god long since gone from this earth. She’s as sure of herself as if she were the Seer handing down my fate, every inch of her certain of the path ahead.
It's not my fate to be with this female, no matter what the Fates may say.
Reed stops in front of me and bows deeply, his hand tightening around her arm and jerking her into the same motion when it’s clear she has no intention of bowing with him. Arrogance rolls off her like an incoming thunderstorm, her expression darkening with fury as she jerks her arm out of his grasp and straightens once more.
A ripple of shock works through the crowd and turns into a murmur of anger, my household deriding the witch’s disrespect, and when Reed straightens, a scowl of his own shot in her direction, I dismiss him without another word. Her actions speak louder than her words ever could. Reed takes two steps back but stays at the front of the crowd, watching the witch with the intensity of a loyal soldier. His hands hang loosely at his sides, a façade of relaxation when I know exactly how quickly he can draw that sword of his, swing it and cleave her head from her body at the first sign of an attack.
He wouldn’t hesitate either, which is the reason he’s been assigned to her in Tyton's stead.
I look at her with every inch of the disdain I feel for her. “You've been brought before my household to answer for your crimes.”
The witch doesn't look to Airlie for any help nor do her eyes ever flick toward Roan, who stands at my side, alive and whole thanks to her care. Her healing acts are just a piece of her plan that hasn't come to fruition.
Instead she stares directly at me, the high-fae heir she’s fated to be with, and her chin tilts even higher as she holds my eye unwaveringly. “And what crimes would those be? I wasn't aware the high fae had outlawed planting a garden or offering aid to new mothers and soldiers returning from the war.”
Murmurs spread through the crowd, gazes darting between the Snowsong couple and the bundle still sleeping on Airlie’s chest, but that was always the witch’s plan. An act of good faith so strong, helping my closest family so I wouldn’t notice her true intentions here.
“The scouts have come back and said the witches ride to Yregar for you.”
Her brows inch up her forehead, and she tilts her head consideringly. “My crime is breaking the curse and thwarting your enemy? Are you planning on winning this war entirely by yourself, Prince Soren, without aid from any other? I’ll be sure to ignore any further acts of destructive magic and leave them to thecapablehands of the high fae. You still remember how to use your power, don’t you? A powerful high-fae prince must be adept at such a basic skill.”
Gasps of shock ring around the room from the high-fae lords and ladies in attendance, but the lower fae and part-bloods aren’t quite so offended by her cutting observation of Yregar and the desperate state we have all fallen into. They avert their eyes, staring at their feet rather than letting their own opinions show.
A cold smile settles on my lips and her eyes focus on it, her jaw flexing as she clenches her teeth.
“You were close, I'll admit. Our little trip to the Ravenswyrd Forest had you close to convincing us all that you wanted nothing to do with Kharl. Do the witches of the Ravenswyrd still walk there, are they the ones who taunt us if we dare to enter? Do they know that you repaid their deaths with loyalty to Kharl and his armies, or did you find out your fate and take it straight to him to be crafted into a weapon against us?”
She shakes her head at me, her body rigid and her words lit up with clear disbelief. “You're ignorant to any true sign of reason. If you want to watch as your people die around you, then throw me back in that cell and leave me there. I’ll return to my connection to the land and leave you all up here to wither, riding your pride and baseless thoughts of grandeur all the way to the oblivion of Elysium. I hope your bloodline judges you harshly there.”
I jerk my head at Reed and motion toward the doors. “Take her to the dungeon and keep her from casting her magic, with whatever force is necessary. There's no point listening to her rambling any more than we have to. The witch seeks to sow terror amongst the high fae, to weaken our ranks and ensure we fall victim to the stinking, worthless hordes of her people as they advance on Yregar.”
When Reed reaches for her arm once more, the witch pulls it away from him and steps toward the door without fighting, and it's only when she reaches the soldiers standing guard in front of them that she comes to an abrupt stop. Reed, following closely behind, almost walks into her as he halts as well, rocking on his feet to keep them steady under him.
She murmurs for my ears, though all the high fae in the room are privy to it, “Your people will wither and die, all while you're busy pouting about your fate. When you realize your mistake, you’ll have tobegme for my help, and still, I'll refuse to give it, because you're nothing but a useless, arrogant male. The regent might be drinking and dancing his way to ruin, but you're right alongside him, riding a horse with a sword into the very depths of darkness and taking your whole kingdom with you.”
Reed finally captures her arm and drags her out, hissing under his breath to censure her for her disrespect, but she walks peacefully enough alongside him. As the large doors shut behind them both, quiet overtakes the Grand Hall, and I nod at Tauron to join Roan and I as we figure out what our next tasks are, the simmering, indignant fury still heating my blood almost impossible to put aside but for my people I must.
Tauron stalks across the marble floor, flicking an angry look around the room as he dismisses the lords and ladies to go back to their conversations. The few hours of this paltry party are the only time any of them will spend outside of their rooms while the castle is on high alert.
“You and Tyton can swap out with Reed for guard duty. Someone needs to be down there at all times with her, and it has to be one of us.”
Tauron glances over his shoulder at his brother, who is smiling even with tight lines around his mouth and talking to one of the ladies, reassuring her that nothing untoward is going to happen this evening now that the witch is locked down in the dungeon. “He's still recovering from his ordeal with the witch stealing his magic. After everyone goes back to their rooms, I'll take over from Reed for the night shift and make sure she’s not powering herself up again.”
Roan glances between the two of us before he says, “I can take guard shifts as well.”
