Each time a court changes hands–when a duke or duchess dies, or is deposed–the mantle of High King or High Queen is reevaluated. I’ve held the title for over a century now, longer than many expected. I was the youngest to ever claim the position, but the power within me is undeniable, and by fae law, the strongest must lead.
“Report,” I say, settling back slightly in the high-backed chair.
Baron Ravik of Autumn leans forward first, his amber eyes flicking toward the map as it shifts to display the western coast in motion. Ships still hover there, frozen mid-passage.
“The ice barriers held,” he says. “The humans didn’t anticipate our magical reach and the Winter fae have reinforced the layers every two hours.”
“Casualties?” I ask instinctively, though I already know the answer from general Grayson.
“None,” my own court baroness, Lysira, confirms. “They were stalled at sea, too far for archers or combustion weapons to reach us.”
The map pulses softly as it updates itself, yet nothing moves.
Good.
“They sent six ships,” murmurs Baron Elion of Spring, his tone dry. “Aggressive for a test incursion. Desperate, perhaps, to show the rest of the world they are capable of defeating a magical faction.”
“Or pure arrogance,” mutters Baroness Cirelle of Summer, flicking her golden braid back over one shoulder.
A beat passes in the silence before I speak again.
“Do any of you sense…interference right now?”
They glance at one another.
“Magical interference?” Elion clarifies.
I incline my head. “A glamour, perhaps. Subtle, but layered. I can’t place my finger on it, but it feels like we aren’t seeing all that we should.”
Lysira frowns. “I’ve felt no such thing, my king. Our barrier enchantments around our court remain undisturbed.”
Cirelle and Ravik both shake their heads.
Elion hesitates, then exhales. “Perhaps the nerves of hosting our new guest has unsettled you.”
It’s bold of him to say it out loud, as it practicallyannounces that I have a weakness in her, but I respect his candor.
I lift one brow. “Perhaps.”
But I don’t believe that’s the source.
“We portaled back to our respective territories after the initial alert,” Ravik offers, his voice as composed as ever. “There were no incursions near the Autumn Court, though our only human border is from Canada, which as you know, remains the most peaceful of countries, for now.”
Cirelle nods. “The Summer Court remains undisturbed in California. Our sea routes are quiet, despite the humans occupying Alaska and Hawaii.”
Elion stretches slightly in his seat, his green-trimmed coat perfectly crisp despite the late hour. “Spring is calm as well.”
“Very well,” I say, voice as smooth as a blade sheathed in velvet. “Then this threat belongs to Winter to handle.”
A sharp knock raps against the chamber doors.
Lysira lifts one brow as if questioning if she should let them enter, but I’ve already turned and given the command. “Enter.”
The scout who steps inside is dusted with frost, his breath still visible in the air from whatever portal he came through. He bows low, respectfully, but not without urgency.
“My king,” he says, voice clipped. “A new report from the northern watch.”
I nod for him to continue.
