The cloying sound of his voice pours over me like honey, a saccharine tone that sets an ache in my teeth. Even without high fae hearing, I know there’s total silence across the gatheredcrowd. Tension lies heavy in the room as they all stare at the Ancient in fear-soaked wonder.
I choose my words to him with care, slipping easily back into the Seelie tongue as I bow and the guards ease their grips to allow the respectful gesture. “Well met, Phaedra. I’m sorry you’ve taken such a long journey, so far from home, just to bear witness to the petty trials I face here.”
Phaedra moves suddenly, the guards holding me flinching as gasps ring out around us, but the Ancient only takes a step forward. “They’ve called me here to name you a traitor.”
I nod slowly, holding his gaze with my own. My breath catches in my chest until finally he turns to stare at the regent. His eyes hold nothing but that unsettling blankness.
Following his gaze, I find Sari staring at him with far less fear than the rest, and I reply to him in the Seelie tongue. “The Northern Lands may have learned many lessons of what power lies within the lower fae, but the Southern Lands still have far to journey on the path back to the ways of old.”
When Sari opens her mouth and begins to relay this to her father, Phaedra holds up a hand, and a pulse of power emanates from him. The air is sucked out of our lungs, the guards’ hands tightening on my arms as the room falls into panic only to freeze the moment he speaks again.
“If I wanted Solas Celestial to understand my words, little faeling, I’d speak them to him. The high fae might have the ability to hear what isn’t intended for them but, in the Courts of the First Fae, disrespect like this would cost you your life. I act now at the Sol King’s command alone.”
Her face red, as though she’s struggling for air, Sari jerks her head into a nod, and the power eases. She coughs for a moment before clearing her throat and smoothing a hand over the front of her dress like she can make up for the misstep. No one else in the room dares to speak, barely a breath to be heard.
After another pause, Phaedra turns back to me and returns to the Seelie tongue with ease. “Have you found the path to your fate? Months have passed since King Rylle granted your discharge. There are many who wait on your action.”
A stab of guilt spears my heart, and I swallow roughly, nodding to him when words would give away far too much of the heartache and longing that fills me. Satisfied, he turns back to the regent as he ignores the thousands of eyes drinking in every inch of his image gluttonously. He’s long since grown accustomed to such scrutiny.
“At his discretion, King Rylle released a small number of soldiers from the ranks of the Sol Army after the Fates War ended. The Ravenswyrd witch was one of the fae granted a dismissal, as an act of gratitude for her honorable service to the Seelie Court and to ensure her fate is fulfilled.”
He doesn't gesture in my direction, but I feel the tidal wave of gazes crashing over me as the attention of the hall fixates of me. Just as significant, I feel the shift in the room as my value within the Unseelie Court suddenly skyrockets. The regent must be writhing in fury.
No sign of it shows on his face, a sedate look fixed carefully in place as he inclines his head at the soldier. “As I'm sure the Sol King is aware, my kingdom is in the midst of a war, bloody and violent enough that we were unable to send aid during your own turmoil. I think only of my kingdom and the safety of my people, and to know that my nephew’s Fates-blessed mate is held in such esteem by the Sol King is heartening after so much devastation within our court.”
A subtle shift in his words, he’s meticulously picked over the interaction between Phaedra and his daughter and adjusted his position. It’s the sort of cunning that makes my teeth ache, the type that makes me want to run screaming from any sort of high fae court. No one speaks the truth, and every interaction is ashollow and empty as the cavernous void I carry within me, the never-healing wound of the Fates War.
Phaedra studies the throne and the regent more thoroughly. “A warning to you all, and one youwillheed; No fate shall ever be broken again. Rylle won’t hesitate, nor submit to the courtly manners. Any attempt to harm the witch will be met with the full force of the Sol Army.”
His declaration is met with silence, not a whisper to be heard.
Soren’s mouth tightens at the twitch of the regent’s eyebrow, but after a heated pause, another honeyed smile stretches across the man’s lips. “What a sorry state of affairs we’ve fallen into. My nephew might have thrown her into a dungeon but, rest assured, Rooke is a welcome guest of Yris, and I intend on seeing her fate through to the very end.”
The hands clutching my arms drop hastily, and both guards step away from me to stand closer to Soren and Gage, as though the Ancient would forget their earlier actions so swiftly. I roll my shoulders back carefully, testing how much movement they’ll allow before caging me once more, but even Vyrain has stopped sneering in my direction, thanks to the regent’s statement.
Soren’s relief at my sound mind and the hands no longer grasping roughly at me tumbles through the mind connection when I ease the wall down a fraction, but I have no doubt it won’t last long as I send through to him,finding Gage’s mate and offering her aid will be far easier if I’m not interred in the dungeons. Whatever games the regent intends on playing with me, enduring them may get us out of here faster.
He shows no outward reaction but his ire and frustration is a seething heat.Absolutely not, Rooke. I won’t leave you scour this monstrosity of a castle alone and unprotected. The regent will have a blade already sharpened for you back, no matter his empty words to the Ancient.
Good thing I’m well-adept at such games. Trust that I’ll see us through this safely, Donn.
The name slips out of me unbidden and I’m quick to move the wall back into place before he can react, both to it and my plan.
At my prolonged silence, the regent smiles so widely at me that the sharp points of his teeth are bared in a garish facade of charm that makes my skin crawl. “I fear after the treatment you’ve received from Prince Soren, there’s no hope of seeing my nephew happily married and on the throne of the Southern Lands. Why would such a noble witch choose to stay with this savage prince? I’m offering you the aid of the Unseelie Court to complete your fate; to wed Soren in name alone and then to kill Kharl Balzog. Once the kingdom is safe once more, I’ll see you safely back to the Northern Lands. Surely you long for the life you left behind there.”
My heart clenches in my chest and I raise my chin, aware of the eyes greedily drinking in this display. I refuse to accept or bow to this vile male. Every breath I take is weighed down by the blood he’s spilled, the fae folk he’s murdered lie butchered between us, and with every passing heartbeat the grin on his face grows wider.
Finally, Sari pastes a smile back onto her face and says to the Ancient in a sweet tone, “My father’s guards can see Rooke to the guest wing alongside your own, Your Highness, you must be anxious to see to her safety.”
Phaedra doesn’t look in her direction as he answers, his tone the same bone-chilling monotone he used with her father. “I have no intention of spending my time with the lower fae, especially after centuries of enduring it. Treat her with respect somewhere else.”
Soren shifts on his feet, a small movement, but it draws my gaze to the same door Phaedra came through as it opens, Soren’sear no doubt having picked up on approaching footsteps long before mine ever could. My blood burns with magic in response to the fae arriving before any make it within my eye line.
The regent doesn’t look toward the footsteps or the pulse of magic that washes over us. “Not to worry, I have plenty of allies housed within the castle who are willing to take you into their care. Some would even say they’re eager to spend time with the Ravenswyrd Mother.”
The crowd parts to allow the newcomers through, and my heart clenches violently in my chest as Soren hits the marble with a sickening thud, then Gage does the same, the coven’s magic knocking them both out cold. My own magic floods me, shielding me from the attack, but their magic doesn’t reach for me; instead it skirts my body as though wary to touch me.
There are no signs of Soren or Gage being wounded by their falls, but my gut churns regardless as one of the witches steps forward with smirk. “I never thought I’d see the day—a Ravenswyrd witch who’s left the woods. No wonder you’ve found yourself at the mercy of this pathetic prince, you’re too weak-minded to fend for yourself.”
