Page 4 of The Fallen Fae King

“Come here.” To my surprise, Da pulls me down to kiss my forehead. “You’ll be all right, Thorn. Pain can be survived. The important thing is to be alive. Everything can be survived, as long as you’re bloody alive.”

My eyes mist with tears. “But will you be alive?”

Da draws back.

His back straightens. Wearing his crown and sitting on his throne, he suddenly looks primal, ancient, the feathered god that I have been taught we are.

“You’ll survive,” Da repeats. “Life is a cycle. Spring follows the cold. Your ma insisted on this celebration because our court needs hope. You need it too. Remember that no one owns this land. It’s not property, and the dragons don’t understand that because they try to possess everything. But the land is alive. Magic is eternal. It has a long memory.”

“But it can’t save us.”

“Can’t it?” Da fiddles with the heavy, warped bronze and emerald ring on his finger. “The Shadow Dragon, King Tarquin, believes that he can force everyone to kneel or else he will wipe them from existence. Some idiot kingdoms choose to serve him. We’re choosing to resist, even if it means the end of our people.”

“The end of you?” I whisper.

Da’s expression is grim. “Freedom is worth any price, including my life. Now, snatch the joy like melting snow. It’s precious.”

“Da…” I whisper, brokenly.

He shoves me in the back. “Go.”

I steel myself, shaking.

I clench my hands into fists, before I run from Da.

I run and pretend that I am not crying as I wipe at my eyes. My ravens caw, swarming around me protectively.

I stumble toward the highest point of the Mound.

The ancient Sacred Blossom Tree’s branches arc over the Mound; they have been decorated with ribbons. The tree trunk is so wide that even when I tried with the help of my two best Alpha friends, Ciara and Elatha, I couldn’t reach my arms around it.

The bark shimmers with the runes carved into it by the elders, and the flowers are the same lavender as eyes of royal fae.

Petals drift down like snow.

I grin at the sight of Elatha chasing Ciara around the trunk.

“Go to hell and help your ma make bitch stew.” Ciara cackles with laughter, tossing her red hair, as she throws petals down the back of Elatha’s wool robe.

Elatha flaps her eagle wings in outrage, before grabbing up her own handful of blossoms like a snowball and hurling it into Ciara’s face. “May the first cats to find you in the morning flee in terror at the gruesome sight of how horribly you died overnight.”

Elatha always has the best curses. She learns them from her ma.

I lean against the trunk of the tree, watching them.

Maybe they are disreputable.

It’s probably why we’re friends.

“Hey, your soon-to-be crowned prince is here.” I tilt up my chin. “Going to show me some respect, aye?”

They freeze, before turning to me.

When they exchange a glance, I straighten.

Wait, that was a mistake.

“Hold on a bloody minute…” I press my back against the hard trunk.