Page 5 of Fate of the Sun King

APHELION: THE UMBRA

I slam the glass onto the filthy countertop, a slug of fire whisky burning down my throat. A random elbow digs into my spine, and I toss a glare over my shoulder. It goes entirely unnoticed. Far too many people are stuffed within these rickety walls, and it’s so crowded that I can barely move or hear myself think. But the seedy, worn-out taverns of The Umbra are ideal for picking up the snippets of gossip and possible information we so desperately need.

A loose-knit cap disguises my hair, and generous clothing hides any hint of my curves. At a quick glance, I appear like a man barely old enough to grow a beard.

This place is a dump. A row of grimy windows filter in weak sunlight while a few feeble sconces attempt to make up the difference. The floor is so sticky that I’m considering burning these boots.

I signal to the bartender for another drink. He’s low fae with silvery skin, a thatch of bright green hair, and a cocky smile. He wears nothing on top but a scant leather vest, revealing a chest stacked with glistening muscles. The view, at least, isn’t the worst.

“Same again?” he asks with a lazy half smile, and I nod, feeling a set of eyes burn into the back of my neck from across the room. Looking over my shoulder, I glimpse Nadir sitting in the corner with his arms crossed so tightly I’m surprised he hasn’t crushed a rib. Even under his hood, I sense the disapproving scowl on his too-beautiful face.

He’s pissed the bartender is flirting with me, even though he’s flirting with everyone, and I wish this High Fae prince would just calm the fuck down.

Has he become more possessive since that fateful night in the Heart Castle when I lost my calm and screamed that I’d never belong to him? The memory makes me wince every time it leaks into my thoughts. Which is a lot.

My magic lurches under my skin, reminding me of what it wants. Like I need the hint. Like Nadir doesn’t already occupy my head and my heart and spirit, and I can’t shake him loose. But I refuse to let on how much he continues to affect me.

Nor can I admit that maybe I regret drawing that line in the sand.

But I can’t lose sight of my purpose, and I refuse to put up with his territorial Fae bullshit.

Under his cloak, he’s dressed in his usual black, though he’s opted for something a little less polished than his standard suits, with a tunic and casual pants. It doesn’t do anything to make him look any less devastating.

I sigh, accepting the glass the bartender lays in front of me and tossing the contents back as I attempt to tune out Nadir’s presence and tune into the surrounding conversations.

We all arrived in the city about a week ago and have been piecing together the current landscape in Aphelion, intending to infiltrate the Sun Palace without attracting attention from Atlas. While we expected this to be a simple matter of sneaking inside—relatively speaking, of course—it seems we’ve landed in a roiling pot thanks to the upcoming bonding ceremony combined with the unrest stirring in The Umbra. Nadir wants us to be careful and take our time before making any moves we can’t take back.

Amya has eyes and ears everywhere, and they all confirm Atlas still has scouts and spies searching for something. Or someone, in this case. And that he’s doing so with increasing regularity, becoming less and less discreet, suggesting he’s growing more desperate. That knowledge could work for or against us, but we’ve yet to determine which. The one positive is that he appears so confident about his dominion over Aphelion that he isn’t searching within its walls. Still, I tug down on my hat because I’m not taking any chances.

How I wish I could storm up to the palace and demand an explanation, but the Mirror has to be my first priority. That and getting my magic back.

My glass is empty again, and I stare at it. The tavern’s conversation focuses on increasing worries about the low haul counts from The Umbra’s fishing nets and traps. Catching sea life is one of the few ways the low fae can pay for their needs, and their concern throbs through the atmosphere like a gathering storm.

Amya’s spies have also determined that Atlas postponed the bonding ceremony yet again, but that news has little impact on The Umbra. I understand why. What difference does Atlas’s bonding to Apricia make to any of them? The citizens of The Umbra’s interests are centered on finding food and supplies while working around Atlas’s oppressive laws.

As I wait for the bartender to notice my empty drink, warmth at the back of my neck has me casting another quick glance at Nadir. I try to resist but can’t help how he draws me in. My locked magic has been going wild since I denied him, and it’s furious with me.

He’s watching me and doesn’t try to hide it. Leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed, he’s glaring at everyone around him while somehow making it feel like I’m the only one in the room he sees.

While no one appears to recognize him as the Aurora Prince, he carries himself in a way that definitely draws attention. This is no downtrodden citizen of The Umbra.

Thankfully, he’s not the only noble who darkens these corners. Dozens of Aphelion High Fae nobles traverse the streets, eating at the restaurants, drinking at the bars, and frequenting the brothels.

I’ve heard that elves and pixies are an especially alluring delicacy for the High Fae, and it’s not hard to see why. They’re all stunning with their soft, pearlescent skin and curvaceous bodies. I’m not sure what their treatment is like, but I’ve been assured they’re at least paid well for their services. Not that it matters when you’re low fae in Aphelion, since living in one of the nicer, more affluent districts is forbidden for their kind.

I’ve thought constantly about the low fae I saw in The Aurora. Which is worse? Being conscripted to Rion’s mines or living under an illusion of freedom, confined by Atlas’s rules? I fume at the way Atlas lied to my face about this, too. He’d outright said the people of The Umbra were free to leave at any time, but conveniently failed to mention they aren’t actually allowed to buy a house or property anywhere else in Aphelion.

Was anything he said to me real? What I wouldn’t do to get in a room alone with him and force him to reveal every scheming, lying thought in his head.

I scan the bar, finding Tristan in another far corner, conversing with a group of dwarves. Amya and Willow are in another quarter of The Umbra, seeing what else they can pick up. I don’t like Willow being so far away from us, but I know Amya will protect her.

“Lor?” comes a voice, and I flinch, my gaze sliding to the corner of my eye.

Callias, Aphelion’s most-coveted-stylist-with-a-very-long-cock, stands a few feet away with his hand on the bar. “Is that you?”

Keeping my focus on the glass between my hands, I pretend to ignore him, hoping he’ll think he’s mistaken me for someone else.

“I know it’s you,” he says, coming closer. “That silly hat doesn’t fool me.”