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“Yes, you can,” she said, ignoring my hand in front of her. She gripped my shoulder, my neck tensed as her thumb pressed against one of my scars. “This will help you, Keera. Help you end the Shadow and save the initiates from a fate worse than the ones already written for them. Take it. Use it. And come back with your mission complete.”
My mouth hung open. No words escaped my lips because I couldn’t think of any that meant as much as the potion she had given me. I pulled her into my arms, wrapping them tightly against her back. She looked at me with wide eyes before settling into the embrace.
“I won’t fail them,” I said with one last look at the white walls of the place that had once been my home.
Not again.
THE PALACE GROUNDS WEREFull. Not of people, but tables and food. Ribbons hung in limp strips from the garden trees. One drifted down and landed on my shoulder as I stalked toward the east entrance of the palace. I walked around broken glass that lined the path and stepped in rotten pieces of crushed fruit. I sighed and rubbed the red berries off on the grass.
“Keera, you missed the festivities.” My back stiffened as Prince Damien stepped in front of me.
“I didn’t realize the king was holding a celebration,” I said, straightening to my full height. Damien was leaning against the stone wall, his wrinkled shirt untied at the neck.
He pointed at me with one finger while holding a goblet. Dark liquid splashed over the edge. “We both know the only party my father is interested in throwing is his Crowning.” His words slurred and his eyes refocused each time he blinked. I doubted the prince had gone to bed at all.
“Of course, Your Highness,” I said, bowing my head. Every ten years the king would celebrate the inauguration of his kingdom with an entire summer of events. For weeks the palace would be bursting with excitement over the tourneys, feasts, and music. Thankfully, I didn’t have to suffer through that again until the summer after next.
Damien hiccupped and stood up with a jolt. “This party was all me,” he said, swaying as he took a step toward me. “I planned it for my baby brother. He wasdelighted, I’m sure.” Even drunk, Damien couldn’t keep that smug grin off his face. His brother hated parties more than Damien liked throwing them.
He gripped my shoulder with his hand and my teeth gritted together. I knew he could feel the ridges of his marks stretching over my back. He stroked my face with a sticky finger, still clutching his cup of wine. “You would’ve looked lovely in one of those backless dresses,” he whispered, his fingers tracing down my spine. I bit my tongue until I could taste blood.
“You would have all the lords drooling at the sight of you. The forbidden fruit,” he said, his face folded into my hood so that I felt the flick of his tongue on my ear. “Such a beautiful piece of fruit at that but”—he clawed at the widest scars—“rotten.”
My skin seared like it was being split again under Damien’s touch. I closed my eyes and held my breath, hoping that would douse the fiery rage pulsing through my veins. My hand fisted around the hilt of my dagger, but I didn’t pull it from its guard. I refused to play into Damien’s game.
“I’m sorry to have missed it, sire,” I answered coolly.
Damien’s head reared back, his wide eyes studying me. I kept my face flat knowing the slightest hint of a smirk could send him into a brutal rage. One that he wouldn’t take out on me, but Gwyn. His cold eyes stayed on mine, squinting as if he watched the suns. After a moment, his lips cut into a grin.
“Yes, it is a shame,” he said, stepping back and taking a large swig of his wine. “That mouth would have been a delight at theBastard Ball.”
I couldn’t help tilting my head, brows stitching together.
“You haven’t heard?” Damien said, sliding against the wall once again. “It started as a joke, but the name stuck. Maybe I’ll throw one again the next time my brother deigns to visit us.” His jaw pulsed before he took another gulp of wine.
I pasted a smile on my face. “Very clever, sire,” I said with a stiff nod. Damien waved his cup in front of his pursed lips. He hated that his brother had been born at all, let alone to a Fae. Damien had been at his mother’s bedside, the king’s first wife, when she died at the age of a hundred and seven. Three days later, Killian had been born by the king’s Fae mistress.
“I should’ve called it the Halfling Ball,” Damien mumbled into his cup, finishing the drink. I nodded, but Damien was no longer listening. Three ladies had appeared at the end of the hall. The prince’s hungry eyes stalked the sway of their skirts. He tossed his goblet to the ground and strode after them without another word.
I picked up the cup and placed it on the table. Damien had nothing but contempt for his brother. I didn’t understand. Killian showed no interest in the throne and spent years away from his father and brother. I stared down the hall where Damien had wandered.
Halfling.
Was that why he hated his brother? I shook my head and marched up the staircase toward my chambers. The king had sought to sire a child with the Fae to cement the peace with the Faeland. Or so he’d said. Regardless, Killian was born, and his mother died in childbirth.
While technically the second prince was a bastard, he was not a Halfling.
Killian had been born Mortal, no added strength or height. His ears were round, and his skin as pale his father’s. Even his blood ran red. Mortals and Fae had pure blood—red blood—and therefore made pure offspring. The only thing different about the prince was his lengthened lifespan, something he and his brother inherited from the king.
I collapsed onto my bed without bathing. I was too tired to draw a bath and I could feel a craving scraping at my throat. I pulled out the stopper of my elixir and tasted a drop, letting the sweetness carry me into a dreamless sleep.
The king waited a full day to call an audience with me. Two guards opened the grand doors to the throne room, sunlight from the large windows warmed the hood of my cloak. I stepped into the room and found each of the three chairs filled. The king sat in the middle on his throne, his sons flanking him on either side. My breath hitched. I hadn’t been expecting a full audience.
I lowered my hood and knelt before the throne. I could feel the king’s eyes staring through my skull and Damien’s down the linen blouse I wore under my cloak.
“Rise,” the king said in an unusual act of mercy for my knees. This was either going to go well or very, very poorly.
“What did you learn in Cereliath?” the king asked through clenched teeth.
