“It’s not an act of treason to defend my Fates-blessed mate. Even bought and paid for as it is, the Unseelie Court can’t argue that. Either they agree the law is upheld, or the court descends into chaos.”
Ayron chuckles under his breath, the soldiers surrounding him all doing the same, and it rankles me how relaxed they all are. Whether or not they see us as a danger, they’re supposed to be the kingdom’s defenders, the power of the Unseelie Court, but Ayron sits far too comfortably in his saddle for me to ever think of him as powerful. His horse ducks its head down to fuss at the grass like the spoiled creature it is, clearly not bred for war, and he doesn’t spare it a glance.
“I suppose you’re here to plead your case to the regent? I warn you, cousin, you won't find many sympathetic ears. Everyone knows your temper well, and bringing your pet witchhere to demand we put it on the throne… well, you’re losing supporters by the hour.”
Prince Gage cocks his head, staring around at the soldiers before he speaks in the goblin tongue again. I can make out a few of the words, but not enough to be sure of his meaning, only that he's unhappy with the way that they're speaking about my Fates-blessed mate. Rooke sits in her saddle, her heartbeat steady and her gaze unwavering, but I see the way it moves across the soldiers. Meeting my eyes with her mouth tight, the assessment she makes is close to mine. If their numbers were not so great, we would decimate them, but to fight against a thousand high fae soldiers without desperate cause risks more than just our own lives.
Ayron’s lip curls in Prince Gage’s direction, disgust dripping from him just as thick as his feelings for Rooke. “If you sold yourself out to the Goblin King, you'd think he'd give you more than a single soldier. No help to you here.”
One of the soldiers we dragged back here finally grows a spine and calls out. “This is Prince Gage, the goblin king's son. He wants an audience with the regent.”
Ayron stares at us for a moment, then looks at Prince Gage a little more closely now that his bloodline has been revealed. “I heard a rumor that one of the soldiers pants after your Fates-blessed mate. Do you share her? Is that how you bought the Goblin King’s loyalty, by passing around your witch?”
Whether she's sick of being spoken about like a piece of meat or trying to avoid the bloodshed the last male sparked by referring to her in that manner, Rooke tilts her head at the wall looming before us, the city beyond concealed entirely.
“The Fates wait on us, and I have no intention of standing here idly while you pile wood onto your own funeral pyre. Either escort us to an audience with the regent, or move so we can makethe journey alone. The ashes know how little I care which you choose, but do so now.”
It's a beautiful thing, watching the irreverence she throws at him with contempt on her face. Shock ripples through Ayron’s expression and quickly melts into rage, a sneer curling his lip until his face is a grotesque mask. He digs his heel into his horse until the beast steps closer to Northern Star, Nightspark snapping his teeth and bringing them to a halt before I can decide to kill the male.
His voice is shrill as he screams at her. “No filthy forest-born fuck commands me! No matter what the Fates have promised you, no crown placed on your head can change the hut your mother spat you out in or the weakness of you blood. You should ask this part-blood what happened when his great grandfather tried to bring a goblin into the court, panting after her just because the Fates commanded their union. Hundreds of thousands died because he bred with it and wanted to give the little creatures his titles. Now the Briarfrost bloodline is all but gone, watered down because he was weak.”
Gage doesn’t react, as immovable in his saddle as his soldiers had been, and that keeps my temper under control. I might not understand exactly what it means to be the Ravenswyrd Mother or a Favored Child, but my croí holds knowledge the Unseelie Court could never dream of, and she was unerring in her support of the goblin prince. Earning the loyalty of a male unaffected by this arrogantly baseless pageantry, even when its barbs are carved to dig into his flesh alone, is well worth the trip to Yris. The fact that Gage is so quick to come to Rooke’s defense, no matter which fae is threatening her, eases the task of stepping into the castle I’d rather never lay eyes on again.
Looking around slowly, her chin never lowering for a second, Rooke’s more beautiful and noble than any high-fae princess I’ve ever encountered. “The respect I hold for my Fates-blessedmate grows tenfold with every word out of your mouth. To think he’s spent centuries dealing with this… I wouldn’t last a week listening to such childish whining from weak males begging for my ire just to feel important.”
Ayron’s face slackens, and fury-fueled crimson climbs further up his neck as he sputters. A slow smile stretches across Rooke’s lips, as she watches him flounder. “A male who plays pretend on a throne can’t hold sovereignty over me, no matter his bloodline or how many royals are willing to side with him. If you’re continuing this pointless drivel to find us in contempt of your regent, then take my words to him. Just know that I submit to no one but the Fates, and even they were unable to best me.”
At her words, a ripple of unease moves through the guards, and I feel it as well but due only to the way she paints the target on herself, deflecting their blows from Gage and me. Her censure is a greater weapon than any I could wield, their indignation igniting easily at her irreverent nature. Gage rolls his shoulders back, the first movement he’s made and a calculated one, gazes shifting to him and seeing how effortlessly he’s prepared himself to fight at her side. My own glare at Ayron hasn’t faltered, and the male figures out that we’re not afraid of him—that his intimidation tactics are only fueling the burning fury within.
“I’ll be the first to spit on your corpse, cousin. Hopefully, your dear uncle Solas kills you the moment you set foot before the throne to face him and this farce will finally end,” he mutters, low enough that Rooke won’t hear it, but the slight catch in Gage’s breathing says he certainly does.
Ayron lifts a hand, and the guards move into formation, the twenty males who survived my bloodshed melting into the battalion as it moves to surround us. Riding this close, I’m able to pick out more familiar faces, and I move closer to Rooke instinctively. Despite my derision, there are dozens of maleswithin the ranks who are skilled with their swords, and Ayron is smart enough to place them alongside my Fates-blessed mate in warning.
Prince Gage murmurs again, his voice vibrating with a rage that crosses the language divide, and Rooke shrugs as she answers him. He’s unhappy with her answer and moves closer to her, his leg brushing hers with every stride. She doesn’t react at first, but as the tension around us grows, she murmurs to him again, glancing over at me.
When the goblin prince glances to me, I speak plainly to him, unconcerned with the thousand high-fae ears listening. “By the conditions signed within them, any who dare an attempt to harm Rooke forfeit their protections under the accords, and your defense of my Fates-blessed mate no matter the consequences speaks volumes of the Briarfrost bloodline. King Galen and Queen Khya are clearly far more adept at rearing sons than any royals or nobles of Yris.”
Some of the regent’s guard are visibly deterred by my warning, while others light up as though challenged. The goblin prince stares back at them, a taunting edge to his gaze that says he’s prepared for whatever lies ahead.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Rooke
My heart flutters and my stomach is a tumultuous mess as the gates of Yris open to reveal the fabled high-fae city. My breath catches in my chest, the gasp soundless to me, but Soren’s eyes flick briefly in my direction as though he’s checking for a wound. Gage stays by my side, seeming unaffected by the sight, and he ignores the ire rolling from Soren at his proximity to me. How they can both act this way without regard for the beauty of the city is beyond me—my mind has been rendered useless by Yris.
My father often described the sprawling cities of the Southern Lands, and the magnificent castles at the center of them, to me and my siblings as we grew up. He described their transcendental beauty with such detail it was hard to believe his time traveling was centuries prior, a testament to how deeply their visage was etched into his memory. Though many of his descriptions were difficult for me to grasp, a little Witch of the Woods who’d never left my beloved forest, he wove his tales with such skill that part of me always longed to see those castles carved out of unforgiving stone, balanced on edges of cliffs inways that defied the order of nature, and filled with high fae of unspeakable beauty.
Almost two hundred years in the Northern Lands, and yet I never saw a Seelie city in its full glory. Pemba and I arrived at the ports to find Sol City overrun with fae folk fleeing the Ureen attacking in the northern territories. The south marketplace was almost impossible to walk through on your own, and soldiers lined the path from the docks to the Golden Palace, a necessity to move imported supplies. The palace itself was always overflowing, with millions of fae folk from every kingdom answering the call of the Sol King in his most desperate hour and joining the Sol Army. No matter how many battalions were deployed, it was common for soldiers to be forced to sleep in the castle’s entry hall, beds stacked closely together and no privacy.
Every city my battalion was deployed to had already fallen victim to the chaotic ruin of the Fate’s monsters when we arrived; buildings shattered, bodies strewn everywhere, all the ancient glory of the First Fae’s legacies blown apart by the consuming those beasts did. Immeasurable death and destruction, there was no beauty to be found and never the disposition to find it. The Golden Palace itself was partially destroyed in the final battle, and an entire section of the outer city wall was reduced to rubble. By the time I left to seek out my fate, repairs were underway to restore the majesty that once existed there.
Staring upon the beauty of what the First Fae built for the Unseelie Court and the fae folk who followed them here, there's no sign that a blood-soaked war has waged in this kingdom for over a thousand years. The cobblestones leading into the city show no signs of wear, no weeds grow through the cracks between each cut stone, but the grass on either side is green and lush. Trees line the path, swaying gently in the breeze, andthough there’s a chill in the air, it’s clear winter hasn’t yet taken hold this far north.
Like Yrell, houses are built all the way to the wall, but that’s the only comparison I can draw. Marble and white stone form the walls, slate tiles top the roofs, and large oak doors grace every building, no luxury spared for the inhabitants even so far from the castle itself. Every window is lined with boxes filled with fae flowers, and the front gardens are overflowing with abundance, fenced neatly in that orderly way the high fae covet. Though the rows of houses are dense, the streets are immaculate as far as I can see, and fae folk go about their business, unfazed by the gates opening and the soldiers arriving.
This place is untouched by the devastation of the rest of the kingdom.
Ayron barks out an order, his voice harsh in the face of such splendor, and the sun seems to shine brighter on us all as the horses walk forward. As if heeding his call, the city folk move off the streets with their eyes cast downward, but they're not afraid, not in the way they have been everywhere else. Hope blooms in my chest, hope that this is the future of the Southern Lands when Soren is crowned and Kharl Balzog’s war is put to an end. This is the peace and beauty that all fae folk deserve, the dignity of a quiet life without pain and wanton violence, the driving force that compelled me to seek out my fate.
