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Even Titan paused before he rebutted, “It’s naïve to think you shouldn’t iron out all the possibilities. We need to be prepared.”
Should I choose to let the witch live, was what he didn’t say but what the damn whole room was thinking, thanks to his manipulative persuasion.
No one seated around this table cared for me being in power. None of them liked me. All of them had sat back and watched as I was removed from the line of succession. I remembered the smug smiles on their faces, oh so well. Every inch of this space was still my parents’. Death may have passed the crown but loyalty never changed.
I wished Shavarra was here. She would agree with me. Or so I hoped. But even if she didn’t, I would know that at least one person in my court had a desire for me to be there. These Fae did not represent the Fae outside of the castle, the ones who had rioted just to have me back. I had to keep that in mind.
“I find that the witch is of value.” I smile like I’d seen my mother do when she meant to dazzle them. “If we live in Titan’s land of possibilities, should we also take a moment to consider that there could be more than just her? She could tell us where they are hiding.”
“If there is more, she could tell them how she made it into the castle so easily,” Titan countered.
“She could tell us what they can do. You can’t prepare for an enemy you know nothing about.”
‘Are you preparing us to be overcome by witches then?”
“No, but if I were, it sounds to me like you are preparing to roll over dead, ignorant to their magic.”
“Do you have a better argument as to why we should keep the witch, Prince Dace?” His condescending tone made my fingers curl into my palms. I strained to keep myself seated, to keep myself composed. I wanted to flip the fucking table. The thought of it was so vivid that I could see the scene playing out in my mind's eye. The table would lift over their heads and crash behind them. A long crack would form from the impact. Jesseline would have moved out of the way in time, not surprised by the outburst, but more amused.
Everyone else would stand, except Widyger, who would melt into his seat. Probably stewing in a puddle of his own piss. Ukrinsovo would touch his hand to his belt, muscle memory movement. Various expressions of concern, fear, and shock would fill their gazes as they drew them up to meet my face. But Titan, the wicked bastard, would smile.
I sighed. I couldn’t do that, no matter how much I wanted to.
“I wish,” I tilted my head, locking my gaze upon my main protester, “you would quit calling me that.”
“I beg your pardon?” Titan had the audacity to look confused. The man knew what he was doing.
The intelligent part of me, the part my parents had trained to do this job, tried to focus on the walls. Sea colored and white speckled walls surrounded us. There was supposed to be something calming in the color, our court’s colors. We apparently should hold a sense of peace in knowing what our futures held, but I had fucked up the future.
And killed both my parents.
No, don’t think about that.
It’s my fault.
I could feel the attention of everyone in the room on me like the hot rays of the Heathern Court sun. It burned me.
Gather yourself, Dace. Look at something else.
The window.
Snow fell in fat, dallying flakes. Tiny works of art, handcrafted by the gods, just drifting by the glass panels like there wasn’t anything amiss inside this disorderly castle. Ice crystals had fallen for the majority of the day, covering the ground in a solid coating of white. It covered the red-stained earth.
From the night I killed both my parents.
Which makes me the fucking King.
The King.
I’M THE FUCKING KING.
And every time Titan called me ‘prince’ it made me want to carve his eyeballs out of his skull with my pinky fingers.
Something must have shifted in my expression. Some break in my mentality was also apparent on my physical body, though I couldn’t feel a difference. Jesseline tensed and everyone else tilted away from me in their chairs. Even Titan. Because he knew he was wrong.
“Why do you insist on calling me ‘Prince Dace?’” My chair creaked as I shifted my weight to lean forward and filled the following seconds of silence.
“It’s your title.”
