That's not what Prince Mercer is doing, but Lior isn't to know that. Better for all the kingdom not to know the depths of callousness that male has stooped to, lest panic overtake the lower folk and riots ensue.
Bracing myself, I ask, "How many in number ride to Yrell?"
Lior hesitates, as though keeping such information to himself might stop it from being true, but then words tumble out of him in a rush. "Ten full battalions, double what they used to take Yrmar, and each battalion is led by one of his generals, strong in magic and a powerful soldier in their own right. One of them is the male who led the charge at Yrebor, the one who parted the lake with his magic alone so the armies could breach the castle walls."
Rooke's eyes narrow, the slightest sign of discomfort with this information, before she leans away from Lior and the glow eases from her eyes, her work complete. She stands and, when Roan gestures at her to stay, she moves over by a wall, her gaze flicking toward the door. When I dismiss only Lior, she settles herself there without comment.
There's no telling when Kharl's armies began their march from the Witch Ward, but the move feels like the High Witch is trying to prove to himself, and perhaps the kingdom, that the battle at Yregar was nothing but a small anomaly in their long list of accomplishments.
We might lose Yrell in retaliation for the lives we saved at Yregar.
After centuries of slowly advancing the boundaries of their captured territories, such a concentrated effort feels far toopointed to be coincidence. Kharl Balzog has never been a male to move without being sure he can win, so this is either a slip—his first in centuries—or he's been preparing for it long enough to be confident in the attack.
Roan and Tyton both scowl, but Rooke's expression is unreadable as she stands with her back against the wall on the far side of the room. She’s still enough that one could almost overlook her, but the fury she held when she faced Kharl and the death that rang true in her words was anything but passive. She holds her emotions far deeper than most.
I turn to Fyr. "And your news?"
"Hopefully it can't get much worse than Lior's," Tyton mutters under his breath, but Fyr only cringes in return.
"The regent has accepted the invitation to your wedding and will bring the entire Unseelie Court in his retinue with him to Yregar. All will travel under his protection."
A frown pinches my eyebrows. I’m unsure why this news caused such a hurried arrival, and Fyr grimaces as he leans forward on the balls of his feet. "On my return, I met with an old friend. A loyal friend of great importance."
A spy, one of the very few we have, and Fyr's careful description includes no details, to prevent his friend's discovery. Tyton's magic still blankets the room, but Rooke's presence is obviously worrying Fyr enough to keep a careful tongue.
"The Sol King has replied to the regent’s requests for aid and sent an emissary to Yris to meet with him. Though nothing has been said of their meeting, the Sol King has now invited the Southern Lands to the summer solstice rites, a gathering of the Royal Courts once more.”
My scowl deepens. The idea of the Royal Courts being held again is both laughable and something I never thought I'd see in my lifetime. All of the high fae courts in power
today are descendants of the First Fae, and while the Unseelie high fae can all agree that the First Fae cametothe Southern Lands, where they camefromis still a widely debated topic. Many say Elysium or the Fates, others claim a land so far away it's been lost to our maps.
Long ago there were treaties of peace and prosperity shared amongst the high-fae courts, remnants of the bonds shared between our courts that formed in that unknown origin kingdom, and every hundred years or so there would be a gathering of the Royal Courts. Each kingdom would take their turn hosting an audience of all the courts to strengthen the bonds between the royal high fae bloodlines.
Generations have long passed since the last gathering.
“The Sol King has invited all the reigning royal high fae, including those of the Western Fyres, the Dragon Lands, and even as far as Elfenden at the human borders. He hopes to host the kings and their courts within the Golden Palace as an act of good faith, rekindling old loyalties and brokering new treaties."
Animosity and arrogance divided the courts, the Sol King must be truly ambitious if he thinks he can reforge the alliances of old. His victory against the Ureen might pale in comparison to this trial, should he succeed in gathering everyone.
Fyr's eyes are steady on mine. "Whatever treaties or riches the regent has offered, it appears the Sol King has accepted. The emissary has remained in Yris… an Ancient."
A ripple of disbelief sounds in reply, and I can’t blame any of my household for their reaction. Ancients are as fabled as the First Fae, the children of those who first came to the kingdoms. All fae folk have long lives, but to survive thousands of passing centuries and still walk the earth now is incomprehensible. An emissary of the Sol King who is an Ancient doesn’t bode well for us, nor for my claim to the throne.
If the Sol King backs the regent, the kingdom will fall.
Meeting Rooke's eyes across the room, I find nothing within them. No emotions or recognition, no opinions at the mention of the king she served under or the emissary I can barely believe exists. Just the same blank face she showed as she listened to the details of my uncle's deceptions.
He accepted the offer knowing I'll be married and by rights have the throne by the summer solstice.
Fyr continues, "The regent has campaigned for years to gain the ear of the Sol King. From the moment the Fates War ended, he began extolling the good work of those in the Southern Lands who fled our war to fight in the Northern Lands and made no secret of it to those who reside in Yris. He plans to use the invitation to the Royal Courts to form an alliance with the Sol King and, with his backing, claim the throne once and for all."
Finally, Rooke's stoic facade slips. She scoffs and ducks her head as her arms cross over her chest. Fyr glances at her, but she doesn't meet his questioning gaze, her own firmly fixed on the swirling silver spires of the plush rug underneath my desk. A small ripple of magic runs through the room, the smallest break of her control, and I feel the simmering power she holds within her once more.
Despite her derision, there’s no questioning the seriousness of this threat; if my uncle gains the Sol King's favor, there's very little I can do to win against their combined forces.
CHAPTER SIX
Rooke
