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He had uttered that sentence before, whether he meant to harken back to the day he had me on my knees in the throne room begging for the life of my family, there I was, exhausted from battle, with my armor still crusted in the blood of the House of Magic. The great hammer I wielded against his enemies, shattered across the stonework in symbolic recrimination for my crimes.

“No, my lord.”

I tried not to let the emotion of the memory, crisp and clear, as if it had happened but moments ago, take hold of my voice.

“Then, who else?”

“We don’t know yet. But there is no evidence the human was involved.”

The soft light reflected off the darker veins in the sea of nearly black-green of his eyes as he looked up. “Duty it is, then, my Raven. See it through.”

I gritted my teeth and grunted in response, assuming he was finished, rising to leave.

“Your king is not done with you yet, Raven of the Dawn.”

A nerve under my eye began ticking along with one in my jaw as I turned to him.

“Your betrothal to my sister.” I opened my mouth to interrupt him, and he held up his hand to stop me. “I know I dissolved it long ago as punishment. You have served your penance in that arena, Raven. I grant you leave to return to her side as her betrothed. You will be wed when the milúll trees bloom again.”

“Your generosity knows no bounds, my lord, but I am no more worthy of The Lady Oaken Rose’s hand today, as I was then. I cannot accept this gift.”

Every muscle in my body was straining with the hold I had on it to keep from lashing out. How fucking dare he? Now? Of all times? Now he decides to reinstate that shitty betrothal I had never wanted to begin with?

“You will accept it, Raven of the Dawn.”

“Your Highness, I am too low of station to be worthy of a Banfhlaith’s hand in marriage.”

“On the day of your wedding, I will cleanse Breacadh an Lae of the stain of your crime against magic and reinstate you as Ard Tiarna of the Dawn,” he stated simply.

My eyes darted between his, trying to find the threads of his logic to chase it down and with it my next move, but none of it made sense. He had kept me under his thumb by the sheer grace of my diminished status. He had disgraced me and my court so thoroughly that even my station within the palace itself was seen as a charity and earned him beneficence with the other courts. So, what had changed? Why now?

Did he know about Cricket? He had to. This had to be his gambit to keep me from her, even if it was not unheard of for Fae, once married, to have honored companions that they spent their lives with instead of their married partner. Outside of procreation, in a marriage of political import, there was no true reason for two Fae to even see each other let alone love each other. But it was different for humans. Humans did not tend to enjoy being shared or sharing their partners. Many a Fae had lost their beloved human to this folly. There were countless songs and poems about the singularity that was a human’s love. She would never tolerate my affections should I be forced into marrying The Oaken Rose.

“No.”

There was no logic, no move I could make that would not reveal my hand if he didn’t already know of my feelings for Cricket.

“It was not a request, Raven of the Dawn.” His eyes leveled on me, and he examined his nails. “I lay here, in this infirmary bed, unable to rule my kingdom. My sister reigns in my stead until such time as I can retake my throne. But she is . . .”

“Hated?”

“—Not well respected by the court. Through whatever chicanery you hold, you have gained allies even in your disgrace. The Lady Oaken Rose will need those allies to balance her rule while I am abed. You will do this. Whether you wish it or not, my sister announces it this very evening at the evening feast, my gift of your returned betrothal. You will act as her intended in good faith.”

“Or else?”

“There is no or else. You will do this.”

“I know you better than this, Daróg. There has never not been an ‘or else.’ So, say it. I do not wish to have the unknown threat hanging over my head.”

He rolled his eyes lazily up to meet mine. “Spideog was recently spotted.”

Every drop of my blood froze within my veins. Spideog. Robin. My youngest of ten siblings. She was still in the nursery when they raided Breacadh an Lae. Her nursemaid, a human named Burning Heart, was found in the Night Market ten years later and was slain or sold before I could get to her. But the hope that she had lived and maybe spirited Spideog clear of the slaughter had lived in the garden of my heart ever since.

And he knew it.

“You lie.”

“Do I?”