That's a witch rune, Soren. Old and long forgotten—as it should stay.
I still don't have control of myself, and Ayron reaches us, a frown on his face, but my gaze stays glued on that silver disc. The symbol is the one I found carved into the flesh of one of my father's guards, the first clue of who helped orchestrate the murder of my parents and their household, my theory spurred on by the impression of that same symbol on my uncle's skin that he dismissed as a scar.
My suspicions were all but confirmed by the glow of that same archaic design on one of Kharl Balzog’s raving soldiers.
Ayron finally rides back through the group to take the lead once more, pausing to gloat at me and egg my anger on. “They haven't had the chance to clean the hall yet from the last executions. They weren't expecting us back so soon—we thought you’d at least attempt to evade us after such blatant treason!”
When I ignore his jibe, he looks over to Prince Gage, smirking, before his eyes flick back toward the wall. “Do you see any of your family up there? All of them are traitors to the throne, so I suppose you must.”
Rooke murmurs a quiet prayer under her breath in the old language, a promise to restore the kingdom and return to the traditions of old, and I silently send my own prayers along with hers.
Gage’s gaze finally leaves the wall, his movements slow, with the arrogance only a prince could have, and he meets Ayron’s gaze with an unrepentant look, not cowering an inch.
He speaks in the common tongue, slowly, as though Ayron might struggle to understand him despite the clarity of his tone, no accent to be found. “May the Fates have mercy on you all when you reach the gates of Elysium, because I have none to give you.”
His tone is that of his father, a king’s command that a male like Ayron could only dream of producing. He doesn’t like it either, some of the gloating arrogance slipping as his lip curls again.
As the doors of Yris swing open, Ayron tries desperately to claw back the upper hand from the part-blood prince who’s dug under his skin. “There’s plenty more of them inside, goblin. With any luck you'll be up there too by the end of the week, and we’ll be saved from having to look at such a vile creature.”
He turns his horse and kicks it sharply, calling out orders to the guards and taking the lead once more. When he rides into the castle, Rooke scowls at the rest of the soldiers as they follow him through on their horses, but Northern Star follows Nightspark easily, the two of them a perfect pairing.
The castle is five times the size of the city below, so large it’s impossible for me to navigate it even after a childhood here. You could walk on horses for days on end and still not reach the other side. Thankfully, the wisdom of the First Fae is unquestionably sound, and when we get to the main chambers, we find yet another fae door waiting, as finely crafted as the last.
One of the guards riding at Rooke’s side hisses at her, “I can see tremble of fear in you, witch, now you know the true power you're up against… thegloryof the Unseelie high fae.”
Gage snorts, but Rooke looks down at her hand slowly before holding it up, cocking her head as though confused. “It looks perfectly steady to me. Are you mistaking my disgust for fear? For people who've lost their magic, you’re quick to drain the earth of its power. No wonder the trees are so quick to heed my call and hunt you, thirsty for your blood.”
A ripple works through our escort, and the guard’s gaze flicks to mine for just a second, a twitch at the edge of his brow. A chuckle falls from my lips. “A testament to how the Fates have been angered by the high fae, that the forest woke up for my Fates-blessed mate and tore her enemies apart with little more than a suggestion.”
He grimaces, and his heel digs into his horse’s side viciously as he snaps, “Don't be ridiculous. I'm not afraid of a witch who talks to fuckingtrees.”
A snarl tears out of my chest unbidden at his tone, but Prince Gage laughs, a dangerous sound. “You should be afraid. The Favored Child has returned, and all will face her justice.”
The guards break away to clear a path for us to the fae door, only handful staying closely at our sides as we approach Ayron. The guard who questioned Rooke leans forward to take her reins as if to lead her through the fae door but, as his hand almost touches her, my magic lashes out, taking us both by surprise as it slams into his body with the force of a battering ram. He lands with a hoarse gasp, his bones crunching, but I level a glare at Ayron alone as the rest of the males gape at me.
“The next male to touch my Fates-blessed mate dies. By the Fates command, I won’t hesitate.Back off.”
My voice trembles with power, my eyes flashing so bright with magic that the glow of them reflects in Ayron’s widenedgaze. Shock, fear, and disbelief move like a wave through my uncle’s guards, gasps wrenched from the male’s quickly devolving into panicked muttering.
Finally my idiot cousin recovers, cursing under his breath as he fights to regain the advantage he assumes he has. “The regent waits on us all, get moving and leave the filthy creature to her Savage Prince. They’ll both die at the true king’s feet regardless.”
Ignoring him, I push Nightspark forward and send to Rooke,Wait at least three heartbeats before you follow me through; I’ll kill any fae stupid enough to try an ambush before you get there, and Prince Gage will cover you here.
I feel her disgruntled reaction before she answers me,I’ll follow straight away and cover you rather than leave the obstacle in the way of the regent's plans without cover. I’m just as capable as Prince Gage is.
As the power of the fae door envelops me, I send back to her,You’re infinitely more important to me, croí. This isn't about ability, there’s no doubt of that. This is about value. I've lost nearly everyone I've ever loved to this male. I won’t lose another.
The castle holdschambers for every royal and noble household of the Unseelie high fae, each larger than the entirety of Yregar, as well as spacious guest wings, dozens of barracks, and no less than thirty grand halls, one for each seat of the Unseelie Court. The King’s Chambers is the largest, far grander than the others, and crafted with the most ornate riches of the Celestial bloodlines. Though the regent holds the throne in mystead, by Unseelie law the King’s Chambers have been mine since my father’s death.
One of the very first acts of aggression against my claim to the throne was my uncle seizing them.
I step through the fae door into a courtyard covered by a glass dome, the sky above bright blue. The top level of the castle is so far above the cloud line that even I take a moment to get my footing, long centuries since I was last forced here. There’s a fountain carved out of the rock, the sounds of the moving water falsely peaceful, but the fish and water sprites that once lived there are long gone. Everything about this castle is beauty frozen in ice; perfectly stunning, and dead inside.
Stables are set off to one side, immeasurably larger than those at Yregar, and I pity any of the beasts stuck up here for any length of time. The stable hand grimaces as Nightspark snaps his teeth at the male, almost losing a finger as he takes the reins from me. Any sympathies I was tempted to feel for a part-blood male stuck under the regent’s command vanish when Rooke comes through the fae door behind me and he sneers in her direction, snapping out a command for one of his workers to see to Northern Star as though tending to her horse is a task below his standing.
The fae door flashes behind us and Prince Gage rides through, but my attention stays on Rooke as she stares down at the male with a carefully apathetic expression, one that sets my teeth on edge when she directs it at me. The male doesn’t notice, or care, and he huffs impatiently while I step around to help my Fates-blessed mate from her saddle.
When Ayron grimaces at the action, Prince Gage snaps, “If I hear one more word out of any of your mouths about howlowother fae folk are in comparison to the high fae, you’re going to lose that face of yours that you're so obsessed with. If a male treating his Fates-blessed mate with respect is acceptable onlyafter marriage, then we’ve stumbled on the reason everyone looks so fucking miserable here. Have you all forgotten what it means to be decent and found yourselves barred from your wives' chambers because you're too busy trying to fuck your own reflection?”
