For a moment, panic floods me, sure the vile magic has somehow dug its claws into him as well and whatever the regent has done to the fae folk down in that city, he’s cast on Soren. Without his full stores of magic, he's far easier prey, but then I hear Gage curse in the goblin tongue next to me with a thread of desperation in his tone that startles me. My gaze snaps away from Soren but, before it gets to Gage, I see exactly what caught their attention while mine was focused inward.
My blood turns to ice.
Yris’s castle looks exactly as my father once described, utterly breathtaking. With walls of pure white marble, veins of silver running through, it shines in the bright winter sun like a solstice moon. The stone walls are stacked in layers on top of one another with turrets and battlement dividing them, dozens of stories climbing even higher into the sky until there’s no chance of seeing the top level. Huge silver shields are fixed into the wall before us over the archway into the building, each larger than the tallest tree of the Ravenswyrd and bearing the crests of the Unseelie high-fae royal bloodlines that stretch back to the First Fae themselves: Mistheart, Snowsong, Briarfrost, and Celestial. The sheer, monumental scale of the castle is unfathomable to me, as are the thousands of high fae milling around in the courtyard as though nothing is wrong here.
The mist makes it difficult to see the pools of blood that cover the white stone path at first, but it can’t hide the bodies. Hundreds of dead fae folk hang from the first row of turrets, some beaten but whole while others have been torn to pieces with hooks piercing through the flesh to display the grisly results, their blood running down the marble and staining the water we stand in with their senseless murders.
Ayron smirks over his shoulder as he drawls, “Welcome back to Yris, Prince Soren.”
PART TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Soren
Almost a thousand years have passed since my parents were brutally murdered along with their entire household and, during that time, I've returned to Yris only twice. Both times were at my uncle's command, a wielding of the power he’s desperate to retain as he plays his devious games, and it was only ever the threat of violence and death to my household that could drag me back here.
Staring up at the gruesome symbol of my uncle’s tyranny, I take in the senseless bloodshed that appears to have become routine for the kingdom's most revered castle. Built by the unfathomable power of the First Fae on top of the largest mountain in the Southern Lands, the castle looms amongst the clouds. The sun reflects off the white marble walls and catches on the silver shields inlaid with sapphires proudly bearing the royal family crests; the Mistheart, the Snowsong, the Briarfrost, and the Celestial who rule over them all. It’s truly a sight to behold, the rumors of its’ majestic beauty so great that the other high fae courts sneer jealously at its’ mention, and yet noneof that matters as hundreds of fae folk hang from the walls in gruesome pieces.
We’re forced to remain at the entrance facing the horrifying statement while the last of the soldiers pass through the fae door behind us. Gage’s face is hiding none of the killing rage taking over the goblin prince, and when he growls something to Rooke I’m forced to intervene.
“There are those amongst Yris who speak the goblin tongue—ladies in waiting, servants, and maids. Their loyalty is to the households they serve, without hesitation, or else their own bloodlines are forfeit.”
Gage doesn't turn to look at me as he nods curtly, his gaze still fixed on the bodies, and after a brief pause, Rooke’s voice sounds in my mind.
He said this was what drove him here, only that, so his mate hasn’t been risked by his words. She isn't up there—I’d wager it was the strength of her terror and grief at this that she couldn’t hide from him.
A weight settles in my chest at her knowing tone; she couldn’t hide the pain and terror of her coven’s murder from me, either. Images flood my mind unbidden, fae flowers growing deep in the Ravenswyrd Forest that mark each of the fallen witches there, dark stain of blood on wood slats where the baby murdered was in his mother's arms, acts of bloodshed and horror that broke my Fates-blessed mate and reformed her into the witch here with me now.
Kharl Balzog thought to thwart the will of the Fates but he only succeeding in securing it by forcing a Favored Child from her forest—words that meant nothing to me only a few short months ago, and yet now I’m certain that my kingdom balances at the edge of them.
With one last look at the hanging bodies, I search for distinctive features that could aid us in identifying the victimslater, before turning away from the calculated spectacle entirely. There’s no good to come from showing weakness to the Unseelie Court. Those loyal to my uncle writhe with speculation, and any hesitation could condemn another household to this torture.
Prince Gage’s gaze lingers on the dead who show signs of goblin heritage, his ire at the murder of his people unsurprising, and as the regent’s guards all chuckle and murmur around us, it becomes clear to me that the regent intends on accusing me of colluding with the goblins against the Unseelie Court.
Roan’s contentious opinions of the Goblin King were passed down to him from his grandfather who fought the Briarfrost long before the accords were signed, and even he’s always begrudgingly admitted King Galen is good to his people. When Kharl Balzog began to wage war in the Southern Lands, King Galen opened his borders and sent out word that all goblins, part bloods, and allies to his people were welcome in the Briarfrost territories and urged them to seek refuge from the war under his protections.
Is there any language that isn't as widely spoken here? Do they speak the old language?
Rooke doesn’t glance in my direction, her face now carefully fixed into a cold mask like my own as she stares at the guards, one by one. She studies their faces, then the crests on their chests, before finally taking in the medals each bears. I know which of these males can swing a sword, but my Fates-blessed mate is making her own judgments in her usual considering way.
Only a few, but my cousin Sari is one of them. When we last spoke of her progress, she was learning her eleventh language and she often translates for her father. She took an interest in learning the Seelie tongue years ago and once she was fluent, she moved on to the goblin tongue, the old language, and so on.
Rooke’s gaze moves down to the marble beneath our feet to trace the Celestial seal carved there, the same crest splayedproudly over the chest of every royal of my bloodline. Ayron is taking his time moving the males under his command, arrogance in the rigid form he’s taken in his saddle as he forces us to wait here amongst the dead.
Why do you have a soft spot for Sari? She seems like a nice enough female, but you don't seem like the type of male who enjoys spending his time coddling naivety.
I certainly don’t, but my cousin has always been a precarious challenge for us all to navigate.Sari is spoiled and naive, but she’s willfully ignorant to her father’s true treachery, much like a child who choses not to grow up. I’d rather not get her mixed up in any of this—she has a tendency to meddle simply to try to find something fun to do.
Rooke's gaze flips down to Ayron’s chest as he approaches, and her expression doesn't change but as open as we are to one another right now, I feel a ripple within her as her power stirs. Before I can question what it’s reacting to, she reaches out to me again.Who gives out titles and medals here? Do any of them mean anything, or are they the regent’s way of showing favor to the bloodlines most willing to suck up?
Her tone is scathing, and it’s the first time since we walked through that cursed fae door that I find it difficult to keep the cold mask rather than a smirk on my face.If recognition for service to the kingdom and heroic acts of behalf of the throne were only bestowed at the regent’s pleasure, I’d have no medal but, as it is, I have quite a collection.
When he first took my father’s throne in my stead, it was Aura and Prince Roan who forced the regent to uphold the traditions while his grip on Yris and the Unseelie Court was still tenuous. He soon realized that the longer the traditions held, the longer he could keep the throne without contest and that time eroded my resources.
Curiosity claws at me when she doesn’t react to my words, or offer any insight to her own service, and from the corner of my eye I see her lips tighten.No Ravenswyrd witch would ever accept payment or reward for acts of service, the Favored Children always offer aid to any and all who require it.What feat is awarded with this medal?
She sends me a perfect image of one of the soldier’s chests further down the line, her control of our mind connection far beyond my own, but I forget my surprise at her abilities as a chill runs down my spine. Turning to seek out the soldier bearing the medal, my hands tighten reflexively on Nightspark’s reins and when he snorts at the tug, Rooke glances over.
