I rise before dawn after a restless night, the bodies we cut down from the walls of Havers Run still haunting me. I barely touched the wine in the Grand Hall, my stomach already soured, and the testimonies of my people only making the revolt worse. The display worked better than I had hoped though, the seething antagonism in the witch growing quieter with every horror woven around her. By the time the guards dragged her away to return her to the cell, she was an empty shell once more, the same blank look on her face as when she walked into Yregar.
She doesn’t seem like the naïve type, not with the way she holds herself or the vitriol in her tone when her temper flares, and yet she listened to the survivors as though the reality of the war just hit her as hard as one of the Ureen that once plagued the kingdom she ran off to. There’s no way she didn’t know about the attacks and the victims left behind in the ashy wake of her people and yet as the evening went on she paled further as the bleak stories wove around the Grand Hall until we were all suffocated by the grim outcomes.
The cacophony of the village outside the inner walls is loud enough that I hear it the moment I step into the courtyard. The survivors of the witches’ attack were settled into the Grand Hall once the audience there was over with, but a stream of refugees from other towns that were hit farther away started trickling in the following day and night.
In years past, they would have traveled to the closest castle to seek refuge and gain support to rebuild their villages. Some would choose to secure what was left from the ashes, comfortable with the familiar, while others would relocate and start a new life, hoping to leave the war behind.
They no longer turn to my uncle or any of the high fae royals who back his claim to the throne.
It’s been a long time since I last traveled to Yris Castle and the village that surrounds it. It doesn’t matter that it was once my home, it’s now nothing but a place of pain and heartache for me. A blood-soaked reminder of the betrayal that took my parents’ lives.
Tauron and Tyton have both been to Yris in the past few decades at my uncle's request, and both have said that there's no sign of the refugees who originally migrated there. Whether they’ve been relocated or disposed of, we don't know, but as my cousins walked through the perfect village, there was no sign of the desperation, death and decay that surrounds Yregar. The villagers are those who've lived there for generations, and they looked well taken care of, though they averted their eyes the moment my cousins passed.
Rumors about Yris, some secrets about the missing lower fae, have reached the ears of the rest. They would rather join the desperation of Yregar than take a chance anywhere else. The laws that protect the fae folk from abuse by the high fae are limited, to say the least, but although the Unseelie Court has never overtly allowed blatant tyranny from the royals, without going to Yris myself, there’s no holding my uncle accountable. Even if I did, his sway within the court would spare him.
I leave Tauron in the castle to watch the witch. He accepts the duty without a peep for the first time since we brought her home, but only because he’d rather watch her in silence than entertain Sari and her every whim. Tyton stays with Airlie, keeping her company and encouraging her to rest. Firna had brought concerns to me about the baby lying low in her belly far too soon for the keeper’s liking.
The roles within my family at this castle aren’t as strict as they are within other households. Each of my inner circle have risen to whatever occasion has been sprung on us over the long centuries, always with our kingdom’s welfare in mind. Tauron, Tyton, Roan, and I spend most of our time with our soldiers out in the kingdom, leaving Airlie here at Yregar in the relative safety of the castle's heavily guarded walls, where she oversees the running of the household in my stead.
She’s never been interested in fighting hand to hand; though a rare occurrence amongst the high fae, there are still some females who take up arms.
Duties that were once straightforward—consulting with Firna as the Keeper manages the many servants and workers, hearing disagreements, and sourcing provisions for the wellbeing of all—have grown far more complex during the war. Airlie has spent years rationing the meager produce that we’ve been able to cultivate on the dying lands and desperately searching for supplies to improve the homes of those we shelter. Airlie would oversee and give approval as Firna moved workers throughout the castle, employing at least one member of each household from the village to ensure no one slips through the cracks, sending food to the orphanage. Airlie would tend to the wounded as best she’s able—it hasn’t been an easy job, but Airlie has always done it with grace and a clear head.
Now that she is so far along in her pregnancy, and without Roan here to watch over her, I choose to go to the village and take stock of the situation instead. This morning, soldiers have escorted some of the maids down to hand out food at the temple, and another group have taken crates of bread to the orphanage for the children there. On days with such a large increase in refugees, I keep more of a presence in the village to be sure that riots don’t break out. The villagers might be meek around the high fae, but they're outright terrified of me, especially those who are new to the area.
Desperation gets the best of even the calmest men.
The first obstacle of the day is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, despite the early hour.
Sari, Malia, and her bodyguard, the sneer still fixed on his mouth, all watch as I stomp toward them, fastening my thick cloak over my shoulders. They’re dressed in riding clothes, which offer a far more sedate version of my cousin than I’ve seen for her entire stay, and I shake my head at her before that wheedling smile of hers stretches over her rosy cheeks.
“I can't take you for a walk today, Sari, but Tyton is upstairs, and I'm sure he would love to.”
Sari bats her eyelashes at me and runs a hand dramatically down her charcoal-colored skirt. “I heard you were going into the village. I thought I would come to you and see what wares are down there. I like collecting pretty little things.”
I’d like a stern word with whoever is informing Sari about my plans, and I smother the grimace and the sigh warring within me. I have no doubt she has a large collection of pretty little things, likely gifts from those around her to distract her from what’s really going on.
“There aren't going to bewaresfor sale, Sari. There hasn't been anything for sale for averylong time in Yregar. It’s much safer for you to stay in the castle.”
Her eyebrows pinch in just a little, her head cocking as it always does when she's focusing every ounce of her mental ability on a problem. “How do people make money if they don't sell wares? Never mind—I’ve found myself bored of the sourdough and cheeses here. We can go to the food market, and I can find something else. I like the foods of the lower fae. It's interesting to see what they do with such few resources.”
Clenching my teeth, I walk down the last of the stairs. Malia cringes away from me, tucking behind her mistress as though she’s hiding. I don't know whether it's me specifically that she's cowering from or just the idea of a high-fae prince being near her. I share as much blood with her as I share with Sari, and yet propriety and royal etiquette say I am to ignore her entirely. While the regent holds the throne, there’s nothing I can do to change this either, no matter how badly I may wish to.
The guard shifts forward the closer I get, as though I'm going to lay hands on a female, let alone my sweetest little cousin who couldn't hurt a fly if she tried, and I stare him down until his gaze finally averts and he gulps at the savage gleam in my eyes. It’s a shame—nothing would make me happier than taking a swing at him right now. Even better if my sword were in my hand too.
It’s hard to sneer when your throat has been slit open.
I turn back to my cousin. “Sari, there isn't a food market in the village either. There’s nothing but refugees, poverty, and danger for someone like you, wandering around without protection. I’m riding to the outer wall to check in there as well—this isn’t a little walk to stretch my legs. Please stay in the castle.”
The pinch between her eyebrows grows deeper, and she stomps her foot, clad in a silk slipper. She didn’t even bother with proper riding boots, another strike against her plans for the morning.
“Soren, I’m bored, and I’m about to make myself a problem for the whole castle to deal with if you don’t let me out of these gloomy walls for a little while. I have a guard for a reason, and I’ll be perfectly safe going down there with you! I travel with Father all the time, and I’m a high-fae princess of the kingdom. If I want to go down, I can. Either you bring me with you, or Malia and I will just follow along after you until you speak to us.”
My eyes flick toward Malia, though I doubt the handmaiden has anything to say to me. The more I consider it, the more certain I am that I've never heard the female's voice, much less seen the color of her eyes. Her eyelids are always covering them as she stares at the floor in my presence.
An idea strikes me, cruel but safe enough. “Fine. You may come. But you willlistento me down there and always do as I say—none of this acting up—because if it gets dangerous, your safety will trump your wishes.”
The sneer on the guard's lips only grows wider as I back down to her tantrum, but Sari smiles at me, her shoulders wriggling a little with excitement that is entirely misplaced.
