The gazes of the court seem to burn my skin as I stare back at them all, unflinching. I hand the end of the chains to Tauron, ready to get the witch out of my presence and away from the prying, horrified eyes. He pulls on gloves before taking it, then walks the witch out of the Grand Hall without a word, followed by two of my most trusted guards. There's a deep frown on my cousin’s face as he turns from me, unhappy about leaving my side when there are so many vipers poised and ready to strike, but he's the best option to take charge of the witch right now.
Roan will not leave Airlie’s side, and Tyton is better at holding his temper than his brother is in these situations. He can also read the crowd better than anyone else, and we need all the insight we can get tonight; our options are running thin. The number of spies we’ve found thanks to the magic Tyton still can access is proof enough that he's needed in this situation.
There's also the small matter of the regent’s guards who also make excuses to follow Tauron and the witch out.
He's the best person to protect her all the way down to the dungeons. He’ll stay there and watch over her until we're sure that the guards won’t make it to the dungeons, slip her poison, or try some other nefarious means to keep my uncle squatting on my father's throne.
I turn back to the regent and leave the monitoring of the room to my cousin and my closest confidant, trusting them with more than just my life. My uncle stares back at me, his eyes edged with a malevolent sort of victory.
He thinks he's won.
Only a few short days ago, I was sure he had won as well, but the last of the fae flowers dying reminded me what we're truly here for. This isn’t about whether or not I can stand the sight of the mate the Fates have chosen for me. This is about my kingdom and my people. This is about who will make the best ruler, and I don’t need to look around the room at the wanton waste of our very finite resources to know that I’m a better choice than my uncle.
The regent is letting the land die.
He’s ignoring every last one of the signs that we’re teetering on the edge of survival, and his arrogance—or stupidity—has him truly believing that being high fae is enough to get us through it. Countless people will die if I do not marry the witch, and I have a handful of months left to come to terms with what that marriage is going to look like for me. Royal unions are traditionally held on the winter solstice—only exceptional circumstances have allowed another date to be chosen, and my uncle wouldn’t allow a majority vote to pass within the court to move mine. If the wedding is contested and we miss the solstice, I’ll have to wait another year, but we don’t have another year in us. Our provisions are gone, and the kingdom is at the breaking point. No amount of finery or wine can cover up that fact, despite what the high fae dancing around this room may think.
As the revelry starts up again, the regent smiles at me like a vulture circling an upcoming feast. “Such terrible news for us to return to Yregar for, Nephew. Tell me something positive, so that we might clear this terrible witch out of our minds. I suppose you'll be able to scrub her up and make her into something presentable by the time we see the two of you joining hands in marriage, though I'm not sure how.”
Tinkling bells of laughter ring through the air.
I don't need to look to know that Airlie is taking note of every last person joining in, preparing a list of families who shall never be trusted again. We can’t afford to lose any more favor, but letting poison into our midst is worse.
“It seems a shame that you have all come so far for bad news. I hate for you to return to Yris so let down but, rest assured, Regent, that I’ll do everything in my power to fulfill what the Fates require of me without risking the safety or wellbeing of my people. Your dutiful service to the kingdom will end soon.”
A hush falls again, a quiet in which everybody slowly turns toward the regent and readies themselves for the aftermath of my words.
I've always been so careful when dealing with my uncle and his fragile ego, so vigilant in the steps that I have taken in this little game of chess that we’re playing. Never letting the court know that I’m aware of his scheming against me, never drawing my own weapons of wit and cunning, doing everything possible to lull him into a false sense of security while I waited for the Fates to deliver me my mate.
This is my first public move against him.
I move back to watch as the court takes to the dance floor, spinning and twirling around in all of their finery. It’s easy to pick out those who are loyal to me—the colors of their clothing is the right shade of blue and trimmed with silver in tasteful and delicate ways.
Prince Meridian's voice rises above the crowd, jabbering on about irrelevant things, as always.
“Have you heard the latest news from the south? The Dragonriders have lost confidence in their king. They're attempting to dethrone him and place the prince in his stead. There isn’t an inch of the Dragon Lands that isn’t on fire or crushed beneath the beasts they ride—the entire kingdom is falling apart! If those soldiers are allowed to decide what happens within the court, they’re all doomed. That’s not the way the Fates would have it.”
It's a veiled threat, an easy way for the prince to voice his opinion of what's happening within the Unseelie Court without openly saying he thinks me nothing more than a brute, a soldier not capable of making decisions for the highborn. The lack of respect that he has for the males keeping him alive isn’t a surprise to me, but it is disgraceful. His brother holds Yrell and barely leaves the castle there but Meridian always did enjoy my uncle’s company too much to leave the Court and the endless parties that come with their travels.
His wife clutches his elbow, her tinkling laughter like the sharp point of a dagger to the eardrum. I want nothing more than to do away with them as well.
My aunt, Airlie’s mother, Princess Aura, stares at both disapprovingly, smoothing her dress carefully as she looks down her nose at the silver color of Prince Meridian’s suit jacket. She is my mother’s sister, but they spent their early years separated, due to their age gap and my mother’s fated union to the king. Aunt Aura’s loyalty to me has everything to do with her obsession with the Celestial bloodline and her own proximity to it and nothing to do with affection for me. The only thing she loved about my mother was that her marriage to the king gave Aura their family seat on the court, the marriage removing my mother’s claim to it.
Aunt Aura coveted the position and has fussed over it from the second it passed to her from my maternal grandparents.
She shrugs delicately, smiling at one of the ladies who crowd around and fawn over her. “I should think that the prince is the rightful heir to the throne, and if there are questions about his father's ability to rule, then they should be addressed, should they not? The Dragonriders have always been a reckless bunch—you’d have to be, to ride those beasts. We should hope they keep to their own kingdom and don’t ever step foot in the Southern Lands without invitation.”
Prince Meridian smirks at her, all teeth and pointed edges, and pushes his wife slowly to one side as he steps closer. “I doubt they’ll step foot anywhere. Rather, they'll climb on those beasts and fly here. Have you ever seen a dragon before, Princess Aura? I certainly haven't, but I don't doubt that it would be a whole new challenge for our good prince and his soldiers to fight.”
My aunt smiles back at him prettily, outmatching him on every front of this sparring match. “It’s a good thing we have such amicable relations with them then, isn't it? A good thing the regent spends so much of his time on peacekeeping efforts to be sure to hold the kingdom safely for his nephew.”
I lift my goblet to my lips to cover my smile.
My uncle's supporters have grimace-like smiles on their faces, sneering at the fact they’ve been forced to travel here to meet a filthy witch.
Aunt Aura may very well be a pain in the ass, but her loyalty is second to none, a trait she shares with her fierce daughter. My uncle doesn’t like Aura, her loyalty to me, or the followers she’s cultivated cunningly over the years.
He smiles at me, showing off a row of sharp white teeth. “We'll see how your marriage progresses. With your mate in chains, I'm not so sure how you’ll convince her to take part in the exalted high-fae ceremony, but I look forward to attending such aspectacularevent.”
