Scoffing, he shakes his head before turning to bow to Rooke with an apology for speaking so crassly in front of her. She inclines her head back to him politely with the quirk of her own eyebrow, a murmured reply in the goblin tongue that has Prince Gage smirking back at her. A ripple of irritation runs down my spine at their camaraderie, but the doors to the King’s Chambers open, and a far greater issue forms.
Lord Vyrain Mistheart leads a group of the regent’s guards to meet us, his eyes fixed on me with loathing roiling in the depths of their muddy blue hue. I had no doubt I’d be forced to endure this male’s presence again in my lifetime, but when he sidesteps to stand before Rooke, I send a silent prayer to the Fates that whoever Prince Gage’s mate is, she’s somewhere else in the castle, because blood will be shed here. Gallons and gallons of blood.
Rooke takes note of the rows of medals lined neatly across his chest, far more than any of the other guards, and her shoulders roll back reflexively now that she knows they’re not just for show. She stares at him as though he's not a dangerous male but merely an obstacle in her path that will be easily dealt with, but Vyrain ignore her as he stares me down.
“Hand over your weapons. You cannot go before His Majesty the Regent armed and posing a threat.”
Prince Gage doesn't look at Vyrain’s medals, crossing his arms. “No.”
Still Vyrain stares only at me, bloodthirsty excitement gleaming his eyes, as though he's imagining peeling the flesh from my bones, a task he’s not unfamiliar with, thanks to hisservice as my uncle’s right hand. “Refusal is an admission of treason, and all of you will face the consequences.”
Rooke glances at me but, when I refuse to look away from the male threatening her, she murmurs in the goblin tongue with Prince Gage as though none of the guards around us are a concern to her. I know each of the males here; the only one who would last longer than a single strike of her sword is Vyrain, and she has no reason to be wary of him, not when I’m ready to cleave the head from his shoulders the second he so much as flinches at her.
The longer Rooke ignores his demands, the greater the tension grows around us and, when the muscle in Vyrain’s cheek twitches, I smirk at the ashes-cursed male. He scorns any who are loyal to me, he doesn't like females who give their opinions freely, he loathes magic and the fae folk who cast it, and the witch standing before him has every one of those qualities. The smirk on my face is more teeth than humor, sharp enough to rip out his throat if he threatens her once more, but I’ve been trapped under the pretenses of the Unseelie Court for too long to keep my scathing response to myself any longer.
“How exactly are you going to take the magic from their veins? Their swords are the very least of your concerns,” I say, my voice as cold as ice, and the twitch in Vyrain’s cheek grows more violent.
As the other guards shift uneasily, Ayron saunters forward. “Their veins? My, my, cousin, we’re not so eager to dismiss your little temper tantrum. It’s clear you’ve been playing with magic now that the Fates have cursed you with this… blessed mate of yours.”
The arrogant air he’s wrapped himself in might be more impressive if he wasn’t casting careful looks toward Vyrain as well, more than a little fear beading sweat along his forehead.My uncle’s antics have clearly pushed even his most loyal lapdogs to question their roles and safety within his household.
Gage, having ignored our interaction, finally gives Rooke a curt nod and reaches for his sword, unbuckling the sheath from his belt easily. The leather scabbard is etched with the Briarfrost crest, but the vines that trail down the length are of goblin design. The grip of his sword is the same design as mine, with a large sapphire embedded in the pommel, but a string of misshapen pearls is wrapped around the cross-guard. The small trinket is secured tightly enough that it doesn’t move as he holds out the weapon, shifting at the last moment to hand it to Rooke instead of the waiting guards.
With a pop of light, it disappears from sight.
Shouts ring out around the courtyard as the soldiers act immediately, hands reaching to grasp our arms. I ignore their grips entirely as Vyrain lunges toward Rooke with his fist raised. Dragging the three males holding me forward, I throw myself in front of her, taking the blow. My head snaps back with little more than a grunt.
Rooke doesn't attempt to fight the hands grabbing her, and neither does Prince Gage, both planting their feet on the marble securely and ready to move if they need to. The guards holding me readjust their grips, as if it's possible for them to restrain me, but my focus stays on Vyrain and the brutal expression on his face. When he cocks his arm back again, though my magic stays firmly within my grip, the air around us comes alive.
The mountain that holds the greatest castle of the Southern Lands, standing tall for centuries unnumbered, trembles.
It writhes beneath our feet, shaking so hard that the glass ceiling above us makes an ear-splittingcrackand the marble at our feet screeches as it's forced to move in ways it never has before. Cries of terror sound throughout the sprawling, unfathomably large castle. We don’t have earthquakes in ourkingdom, we’ve only ever heard tales from Elfenden of the acts of the Fates that can shake entire civilizations at their foundations, and my heart thumps violently in my chest.
Vyrain stumbles back and away from me, his gaze finally shifting from me to gape at my side, and it’s only when I glance at Rooke that I realize the shaking is an act of magic. Her eyes are alight, the blank mask over her face turning fearsome, enraged, the patience of an altruistic Mother pushed to the limit, and she stares at Vyrain with a fury that would scorch the earth.
“You will not touch him again.”
Her voice vibrates with the power of the trees, ancient in the way that only the forests of my kingdom can be. I felt the truth in Rooke’s words when the Brindlewyrd took over my mind; the forests were here long before the First Fae arrived, and the Favored Children are older than the Fates themselves. They may have accepted us into their lands, but now they’re holding us accountable for the destruction we have wrought.
After a heartbeat of silence, her face shifts back into its cold mask before she speaks again. “Prince Gage, son of King Galen of the Briarfrost bloodlines, has entrusted me with his sword, a vestige of the First Fae passed down through his family. This is an act of good faith, one that none of you have earned, and if you chose answer with scorn, I’ll be forced to intervene.”
Vyrain finally shakes himself free of his shock, cursing before he spits on the ground at her feet and turns to walk away from us all. A growl rips from my chest and I stalk after him, dragging the guards with me as they scramble to gain control of me and fail. They might have an easier time if their hands weren’t shaking quite so hard.
I glance back to find Rooke’s treatment isn’t as callous as mine. The males who hold her look as hesitant as ever but, as the doors open to reveal extravagant chandeliers still swinging from the force of her magic, it’s no longer distaste that causes themto falter but fear. Gage walks behind her, watching the guards’ hands as though his own body isn’t being wrenched around, and even as we step into the Unseelie Court’s midst, he doesn’t look away.
The King’s Chambers are large enough to entertain five thousand royals and nobility with room for banquet tables overflowing with food, servants waiting on their every need, and a grand marble floor to dance on. There’s an orchestra pit carved out at the far end, the acoustics of the room thoughtfully designed for the most joyous of festivities, but the only noise that can be heard now is our footsteps.
The room is far from empty, hundreds of high fae in attendance in all their finery, but none dares to make a sound, and none wear the true Celestial blue.
The tables are laden with enough to food to keep Yregar fed through a full winter, dozens of servants moving through the room with large serving trays to keep their masters' cups overflowing with fairy wine, and honeyed scents of fae elixir fill my lungs with every breath. No expense has been spared for this display of power; the males all dripping with their families' riches while the females all wear silver coronets with sapphires and white diamonds nestled into their hair, their eyes lined with white kohl to draw the hues of their irises out further.
They all track our path as if taken by a compulsion, the sound of their heartbeats thunderous in my ears because, while most here are as calm as they've ever been, others are struggling to hide their reactions as they stare. With every step, my jaw tightens until I’m sure my teeth will crack under the pressure. The last time I stood in this room, my father sat on his throne as he listened to fae folk who’d lost their villages. They spoke of violent attacks by rabid and raving witches, their witch marks black and their eyes manic as they pillaged their way through the kingdom.
When the last of the crowd parts and my father’s throne is revealed, I'm almost brought to my knees by the strength of the fury within me. Blood rushing through my ears drowns out the other sounds, my vision blurring no matter how I blink to clear it, and my chest tightens until my ribs are immovable cages.
The bodies of dozens of fae folk lie in pieces on the floor, laid out with precision to mimic my parents' corpses and those of their slain household. A sheen of sweat breaks out over my forehead. My uncle has been waiting for a confrontation with me like this for a long time and, by the triumphant tilt to his eyebrows, it's going exactly the way he wants it to.
Sari smiles at me brightly from her seat at his side, and I spare my cousin a cursory glance. The tiara nestled carefully on her head is surrounded by perfectly curled tresses, a kingdom’s riches of jewels shining from her head, so much time and effort put into her appearance today only for the hemline of her dress to be heavy with blood, her shoes ruined by the stain that covers everything between us.
