"He's going to try to kill us both the moment our fates are fulfilled, or do something that would force me to abdicate. If my suspicions are correct, he's more involved in the war than merely ignoring the kingdom and leaving the aid efforts to the rest of us."
It's very careful wording but the meaning is clear, resounding around the room like the clash of swords. The regent is under suspicion of colluding with Kharl Balzog, and his nephew is planning to deal with his treason in the chance that the Unseelie Court dismiss it.
My own simmering rage at the male grows hotter in my belly, my magic writhing within me as though called on by my fury. Hundreds of thousands of people have died here for the sake of a throne.
I've never understood the desire for power that grows inside people like that. I heard my fate to marry this male before mefrom the Seer, and I ran from that path before the words even had a chance to settle in the temple around me. The prospect of a crown was like a shot of ice straight into my veins and, even now, I want to lash out at the Fates as the walls begin to close around me, a strangled scream trapped within my throat.
Soren watches my no doubt changing expression but his own stays fixed in that same stern mask, heartbreakingly beautiful even as the white slash of the scar runs across his otherwise unmarred skin. It’s a constant reminder that he’s not the same as his uncle, a spoiled prince intent on a kingdom and a throne won through deviousness and the bloodshed of others.
I nod at him again, slowly letting out a breath, and I force my tone to stay even. “Did you come here for answers to your questions alone, or are you open to my input? I have a few suggestions.”
He doesn’t react or move for a moment, his gaze unwavering, and then finally he nods. “I have more questions, but I’ll hear you out.”
How kind of him. My hackles rise but I push them back down. He’s clearly making an attempt; I can point out his terrible approach another time.
“You should focus on the other issues and leave the regent to his games. You have nothing to be concerned about when it comes to the Sol King. The regent is outmatched, both in cunning and resources, and in a short amount of time he’ll find himself at a dead end.”
He doesn’t like this suggestion, but he doesn’t immediately bite back either, instead he seems to take measured breaths until he can speak civilly.
“The Sol King offered him a place at the Royal Courts.”
I tilt my head at him, my eyes narrowing. “He sent his messenger to Yris. As far as the Seelie Courts are concerned,that’s the home of the Celestial royal line. Your uncle has twisted this to his advantage, there’s nothing truly in it.”
He mirrors my actions, the narrowing of his eyes like a taunt. “He sent an Ancient, surely that’s cause for concern. Just how much do you know of the Seelie Court and the allegiances of the royals?”
I raise a shoulder at him in a half-shrug. “Enough.”
“Enough to see us through my uncle’s twisted plots,” His tone is scathing, derisive, like he assumes what he’s asking is impossible, so very little faith he has in me thanks to his deeply rooted prejudices.
I hold his unforgiving gaze with a cold look of my own. “Perhaps. Certainly enough to advise you on this. What you choose to do with that knowledge is up to you.”
When he has no reply, I turn away from his ire and get back to the important work before me. If he isn’t going to accept my advice even after everything I’ve done for Yregar and those within, I won’t waste my time here. Scooping up piles of the chopped plants before me, I add them to the water and fuss over the mixture until I’m confident everything is in order.
When I turn back to the chopping board and my knife, Soren is still stretched out in his seat, studying my every move. “I have watched hundreds of my father’s loyal supporters be swayed by the regent and his silver tongue. I’ve been forced to endure centuries of his games as they eroded the Unseelie Court and poisoned this kingdom, and I’ve been forced into the role he designed for me.”
When I begin chopping again, unwilling to speak to him despite the admission, he continues. “No witch could ever know the inner workings of the Unseelie Court, even before Kharl Balzog brought his war to our kingdom. I was unaware that the Seelie Court was so different to ours in this regard.”
He’s closer to a real apology for his contentious dismissals, and I reward his efforts with the slight incline of my head. “The Seelie Court was the once same—the Fates War changed that. It changed a lot of things in the Northern Lands.”
He nods slowly, his jaw moving as he clenches it. “If I sent one of my messengers to the Northern Lands on your behalf, is there someone in the Seelie Court they could seek out to be sure of the Sol King’s intentions? Your life is at risk if the Sol King chooses to back my uncle, just as surely as mine is; are there any fae your trust, with good standing amongst the royal high fae, who would choose your safety above all else?”
He’s trying very hard not to say Pemba’s name, I can read that on the male as clearly as I can read winter’s approach in the air of my garden. With a wry look, I nod to him again. “I sent word to the Northern Lands weeks ago, rest assured that I speak now with certainty. There were a dozen different signs in your messenger’s report that proved that to me.”
His eyebrows twitch downwards before he can smother the reaction, and I send him a scathing smile. “Prince Soren, if you think I need a horse and a willing rider to speak to those I’ve left in the Northern Lands, then you really have no idea just how badly you’ve underestimated me. I was dragged here behind your horse willingly. I sat in that dungeon willingly. Every single action taken upon me here has happened because I allowed it to. Your opinions of me and my motives are irrelevant to me—I’m here because the Fates command it, and I won’t stray from the path they have designed. The scars I carry are reminder enough of what will come if I fail.”
His eyes flick down to my waist, and a curse falls from his lips in the old language, vicious and irreverent to the Fates in a way I’ve never dared to be. I could certainly utter some curses of my own for his reaction though, that someone has told him of the damage that lies underneath my robes. With the high fae’sobsession with beauty and perfection, there’s no chance of this prince ever finding something appealing in me.
The same can’t be said of me for him, and whether that’s a blessing or a curse is debatable. If I had any question of the Fates misspeaking, or perhaps if there’s another Prince Soren out there waiting, the way that I find myself turning toward him no matter how desperately I want to shun the male ruthlessly answers me.
The Fates picked out this male perfectly for me, somehow knowing that his face alone could tempt me from my long-held fury at the Unseelie royals, and no matter how many weeks I've been in his presence, still my chest constricts at the mere sight of him.
It's a shame the Fates didn't give him such weaknesses for me.
I turn back to the stove to fuss with the pot in a distraction from the bleak turn of my thoughts, and the despair surely in his. "I suppose we have to ensure that your relations with the Goblin King continue to improve. You might want to speak to your household to treat him appropriately and with great respect at the winter solstice."
He huffs out a breath and I turn back to see his eyes sharp on the planters outside, his shoulders tense as he holds himself carefully in check once more. "Centuries of conflict can't be forgotten with a single banquet. The distrust of the goblins runs far too deep within the high fae, too many conflicts and ignored calls for aid. The Unseelie Court could finally shift out of the stalemate if I show that male any deference, only to my detriment. His presence at Yregar will be suspicious enough."
I move the pot from the heat entirely, watching as the steam curls into the air, fragrant but not entirely pleasant, the perfect potency for the small batch of tincture I've successfully brewed.
