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“She’smylowly human,” Amell says quietly as he stops at the edge of the table across from us. “Let her go now, or I’ll make you let her go.”
Jago engages in a staring contest with Amell that lasts all of three seconds. When Amell’s eyes turn a glowing red, Jago slings me away from him.
I stumble and slosh more wine out of the pitcher before catching myself. Scurrying backward, I press against the wall.
All the fae have their eyes on Amell, a muscle ticking in his jaw. The fire in his eyes finally subsides, but his gaze doesn’t waver from Jago. It’s to the whole room he speaks. “This human is off-limits to everyone. No one is to touch her, and no one is to harm her. Anyone who does will earn a ticket straight to the Crimson River by my own hand.”
There’s a lot of coughing and nervous shifting as Amell’s eyes come to me. “Continue to serve the wine.”
I nod, and to show I’m not scared—even though I am—I move right back to Jago and fill his cup first. I expect anger, but when I glance at him, he’s only staring at me with keen interest.
As if I’m a bug under a microscope.
Amell moves to an empty seat—interesting there’s not a throne or a bigger chair for him that screams he’s in charge—and settles into it. I move directly to him rather than the fae next to Jago and fill his cup. He doesn’t so much as glance at me as he ignores the wine and clasps his hands on the table.
“I called this meeting because I’ve heard some disturbing rumors,” he says, and the air turns electric with apprehension. It feels like violence could erupt at any moment.
I move to the next fae, a beautiful woman with magenta hair and matching eyes. My hand is shaking as I pour her wine, but she doesn’t look at me either. I move on to the next.
“It seems some of you may not be happy with my rule here in the Underworld and are thinking to unseat me.”
I freeze where I’m standing, behind a fae’s chair as I’d been making my way to the next cup.
“I’m opening this table for discussion,” Amell continues. “If anyone disapproves of my rule, now is the time to talk about it.”
He waits, looking around the table. To everyone’s credit, not one fae drops their gaze from his.
A man sitting next to Jago answers. “Your Highness.”
“Yes, Ariman,” Amell says, sweeping his hand slightly to indicate he has the floor.
The man stands, and I hadn’t paid him much mind before, but now that I’m getting a good look, I can tell he’s not fae. I’m not sure what exactly a daemon looks like, but his appearance is too ordinary. He’s not unpleasant to look at—he’s handsome enough with wavy brown hair that reaches his shoulders, a well-muscled body though not as big as the others, and pretty blue eyes.
“I believe we should reinstate the practice of twisting demons,” Ariman says, and I can tell by Amell’s face that it’s a disastrous idea.
Amell’s tone is unimpressed. Almost lazy. “And why would I do that?”
“Because we have an abundance of evil souls being sent to us every day. Kymaris knew the value in them. You’re wasting them in the Crimson River.”
“Kymaris is no longer queen,” Amell says in a low voice.
Ariman inclines his head, a silent admission he understands who is in power. “We could make another play for the First Dimension. Zora gave you additional powers, and with my stone magic, we could finish what Kymaris started.”
“Zora would not care for such an idea.”
Scoffing, Ariman drawls with exaggeration, “Zora doesn’t control us. The gods don’t interfere in how the dimensions are run.” He looks around at the other fae, and I note some are nodding. “The gods cook up their little prophecies, and then they sit back and watch them unfold. They send their demigods in to fight if necessary. But they wouldn’t stop us from carrying on Kymaris’s vision. They didn’t stop her from trying, and they won’t stop us.”
“Us?” Amell asks, cocking an eyebrow. “There is nous. There is only me. I am the king, and my rule is absolute.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re hearing rumors,” Ariman hisses.
There’s no doubt in my mind that whatever rumors Amell is referring to, it’s Ariman who is at their origin. It’s clear this little speech of his was designed solely to float out his ambitions to the important nobles in this realm.
He looks around at the other fae, eagerly searching for someone to take up with him.
The room remains silent.
“Sit, Ariman,” Amell says sharply and the man obeys. “It appears no one thinks your idea has merit.”
