Page 84 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

“Does it matter? Longer than you will live, witch.” Aodhan snarls again and turns for the door.

A question strikes me. Something that has been niggling at me for the past two days.

“Wait! Who ruled before the last king and queen?”

Aodhan pauses mid-step. “What?”

“Who ruled before them? Seelie or Unseelie? Who were they?”

He peers back at me. “I—” Aodhan frowns. Does he not know? “It does not matter,” he says finally and sweeps out of the room.

I stumble back from the bars, my legs as weak as they were when I climbed from the wagon a few minutes ago.

“What was that?” Ophelia asks.

I shake my head. I don’t know. I don’t know. But something isn’t right here, and it looks like I might have some time to figure out how to fix it.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lark

The celebrations are… fine. I feel none of the giddiness, or even the relief, that suffuses amongst the other fae. Even Oisin seems lighter, despite his concern and disappointment in me, and despite the fact that Ophelia, Dante, and Grant have left.

I spend most of the night dwelling on that. The crown is heavier, and the impact it has is heavier still. Fae who would have approached me even a few hours ago give both Oisin and me a wide berth now. There are eager glances, of course. Those desperate to be added to our new court, because it is apparent that with an Unseelie and a Seelie sitting on the throne, everything will change.

Zomo stays close. Veles too, and his eyes are sharp. I have no doubt he knows that something happened during the ceremony, but he will not mention it until he has the measure of what is wrong.

I beg off once the moon is high. The sky is full of stars again, glittering in the blackness, and I meander back up to the castle and then to my room.

I do not step into the greenhouse. I cannot. Instead, I go to my room, where I do not even undress before I fall onto the bed. Well, with the exception of the crown. That, I set aside, feeling as though it somehow has eyes upon me.

This is to be the rest of my existence, I suppose, though I am uncertain how long I will endure it. I sigh and close my eyes. Perhaps I should approach Veles first instead. He should have known better than to grant me a crown. He would have been able to tell that I am not strong enough.

I fall asleep that way and wake up to sunlight streaming through the windows and someone hammering on the door to my rooms. I groan and sit up, uncaring that I am wearing yesterday’s clothes and have clearly not groomed myself as I head over to the door.

My joints ache. Muscles pull over bone in a way I have never experienced before. And beyond it all, my head pounds, the feel as though someone has reached a hand inside my skull and decided to squeeze.

Oisin glares at me when I open the door, taking me in with a glance. He pushes past me and I close the door behind him.

Our first day as co-rulers is going well, it seems.

“We need to talk about this,” he says, standing in the centre of the room. “Wards?”

I feel for them. They are intact, but I feed them a meagre amount of power all the same, ensuring that even if someone had their ear pressed up against the door, they would not hear us. “Set.”

“You’re Seelie.”

I blink at him. “Yes. We established this yesterday.”

Oisin shakes his head and drops onto the sofa, staring straight ahead. He wears his crown askew. Mine still sits in the bedroom, faintly pulsing in time with my headache.

“I know. I simply… How does no one else know? How did nobody notice?”

“Why would they suspect it?” I say with a shrug. I lower myself, with a wince, into one of the armchairs. “No fae would test the magic of one of their princes. And besides that, Ronan was the only one of us anyone saw, while he still lived. If they needed information, they ran off to Iagan. I was unnoticed.”

I am beginning to suspect that was entirely the point. And I am beginning to understand, too, just how desperate my mother was as my father began to fade. To risk centuries of secrets in order to sit me on the throne… I frown, turning my head to glance at the window. She knew the oak was dying. Of that, I have no doubt.

“Is that why you left?” Oisin asks.