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“Let me help you,” his sister whispered as the Sapphire Speaker’s dress hit the floor.

The Oaken Rose’s hand reached for the golden brooch at the throat of my cape, and I snatched it back. Her skin touching what was meant to be Cricket’s dowry was profane, a violation that I would never allow. “I am not a child that needs undressing.”

“I seem to remember you enjoyed it when I ran that razor over your doublet and stripped you bare,” she huffed indignantly.

“That may have been true at one time, my Lady Oaken Rose, but my heart lays elsewhere now. And you know that as well as I do.”

“I did not ask for your heart, my dear Raven. Where you bury your heart is none of my concern. I want only your passion and your body. The other scraps can be tossed at anyone you wish.”

If I could crush her throat in my hand, I would—gladly. The muscle in my jaw ticked violently. “Those scraps are unfortunately tethered together. I am a sentimental Fae. One who has fallen into the old trap. Forgive me, my lady.”

She scowled and stepped aside, nonetheless.

I awkwardly undid the brass buttons that held the wide banded cuffs of my tunic to my wrists and rolled my sleeves up over my elbow. My eyes flicked over to where the Ard Rí and his betrothed had already started watering the tree. She was naked, save for the magic coursing through her, her wrists bound above her head by a living branch, and her thighs spread painfully wide as the Ard Rí walked around her, inspecting her. Another branch was slowly working its way into her ass as he murmured to her.

I only caught a few words. “I could leave you like this for all the court to use if I wanted to. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, my lord, I am your pet. Use me as you wish,” she moaned back, slowly rocking her hips against the intrusion of the branch.

“And my sister? Are you her pet too?”

“If it pleases, my lord.”

My eyes flicked over to The Oaken Rose who gave me a smug look as her brother beckoned her forward.

“Sup from her, sister. Get her wet enough to please me. I want her dripping like rain into the roots of my throne.”

“Yes, Majesty,” my betrothed purred as she kneeled before the spread thighs of her brother’s fiancée and began suckling.

Ages ago I would have joined them in their sport. Ages ago I’d have been rock-hard to fuck and be fucked. I’d have lost myself in their lust.

This was not ages ago though. And my lust and passion belonged to one woman now. And my focus was on another mission this morning.

Dawn was already breaking through the stained-glass windows, pouring light into the throne room and casting shifting colored shadows over the three who were lost to their own ritual.

I did not hesitate when the knife pressed against my flesh. I dragged the dagger edge from the crook of my elbow into the ball at the base of my palm, hissing as the blade bit in deep, careful not to nick the tendons I would need to execute the other slice. Before my hand could get too slick with blood and too weak to repeat the motion, I buried the knife in the other elbow and drew down.

Pain, my best friend and greatest foe of late, whispered its sweet nothings in my ear to the beat of my heart. It drowned out the slick sounds of The Oaken Rose suckling at the Lady Sapphire Speaker’s dripping cunt. Someone’s fingers were plunging into hot, wet depths, but it was all drowned out by the pounding of my own music. I focused my magic and let it pour free and molten, just like my blood, as I stared into the shifting branches of the tree.

The ritual was simple. A Fae need only open their veins and offer the tree both their blood and access to the magic that pumped it. The tree would drink as deep as it wished. Some Fae would die standing before the sacred throne of Magh Meall. Some Fae would fall to the roots before the tree had its fill. Some would never recover from the draining of their magic. Either way, that was all there was to the ritual. Water the tree with your offering until it blooms or you fall. The dishonor of crumbling under the weight of it was greater the more that was at stake.

I would see it bloom or die trying. There was nothing incredibly important for me to live for anymore. Nothing but the vengeance in my heart and soul.

Pools began to form at my feet, slowly seeping into the branches and roots as the sound of violent orgasms filled the chamber, echoing along with the pat pat pat of my blood. Moans, two feminine and one masculine, bloomed in the boughs, and I stared with determination into its branches as the cold seeped into my limbs.

Weakness was scrabbling at my muscles, my knees nearly shaking under the weight of my own body.

The scent of feminine skin and twin turquoise orbs filled my mind as golden hair brushed my cheek. “Bleed for me,” Cricket’s voice whispered in my ear. “Bleed and come find me. I will bloom for you if you come find me.”

A phantom hand slip inside my leather breeches and grip me firmly. I bit my lip as the ghost of my memory taunted me with twisted visions of her naked breasts, peaked hard with need, her head thrown back with passion as she rode me.

“Remember how my pussy gripped your glove. Remember how I came for you. Remember the sound of my love for you,” her imaginary voice whispered, the ghostly hand stroking me to the edge of orgasm, a whimpered plea for release falling on uncaring spectral ears. “Give me what I deserve. Come for me. Water me.”

I bit back a roar of ecstasy as hot streams of cum filled the tight grip of my breeches, and my eyes whipped up to an explosion of white blossoms erupting along every finger, arm, and bough of the hawthorn side of the throne. Pearl-like strands of green unfurled along the oak side, dripping down to kiss the floor. I drew deep gulps of air into straining lungs as the throne flowered for me.

I would have my name back. I would have my crown back.

It was too late to make Cricket my Banfhlaith, to have her sit as Lady of Breacadh an Lae, but I would rebuild it in her honor and build the grandest throne for her ghost to sit upon with me withering at her side for the rest of time. I would resurrect my house in her image and erect a great, crystalline statue in her likeness with all the fire and conviction she had shown.