Teaching the King (Witchling Academy Book 1)

by D. D. Chance

  No. There had to be another way, there would be another way, but perhaps for now…I urged Belle toward me again, my hand drifting up her back as she went rigid, her eyes focusing once again. At the gentle pressure of my hand against the back of her head, she resisted.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Taking another kiss,” I rumbled, but she shook her head slightly, biting the lip I wanted to claim for my own.

  “No, this is different. This is more.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed, and with her looking so perplexed, even exasperated, it was easy for me to regard her with real affection, not need, not even desire in the traditional sense, but with the beginning spark of a far deeper emotion, one I couldn’t fully comprehend.

  “How can you fake such a thing?” she gasped, but her head bent toward me, her breath coming fitfully on her lips.

  She thought this moment between us was a lie, a deception to manipulate magic—and I didn’t want the moment to end, so I allowed her to keep thinking whatever she needed to. “I am a Fae, the High King of the Fae. Deception is what we do best.”

  “Ohhhh,” she groaned as if that explained everything and swayed forward, this time not resisting as I pressed her down to meet my lips. This kiss was slow, languorous, exploring. I took my time with it, in direct opposition to what came before. When Belle finally sighed above me, her body finally relaxing, I rolled to the side, then stood, folding her into my embrace. I lifted her as if she weighed no more than a scant few pounds.

  Belle sighed indolently as I carried her—only I didn’t head for the bedroom, but to the glass doors that led out onto the wide deck that overlooked the lake.

  She blinked at me, confused. “What are you doing?” she asked again as I settled her feet on the deck, turning her to survey the small property with its terraced gardens and stairs down to the lake, where a small stone pier rested at the bottom of the softly pitched hill. For the first time, I could see a boat had been tied up at the edge of the rocks. Had it always been there? I had no idea, but it looked only large enough for a single person.

  “This is your great-grandmother’s home, though technically it is my property,” I said. Belle swiveled her gaze toward me, clearly confused.

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I now decree it yours. A gift.”

  She gasped, and her hands lifted slightly, fingers fluttering. All along the terraces, flowers sprang up, a spear of light from the setting sun illuminating the profusion. The water in the fountain burbled to life, and the maze of waterways quickly filled. Even the small pool at the base of the deck bubbled to life, whether fed by some underground aquifer or Belle’s own magic.

  “The books,” Belle said, pointing at the empty wall in the living room. It wasn’t empty any longer. A bookcase there now, its doors open, revealing an untidy jumble of books, cases, and even a couple of scrolls.

  “That’s how I remember it, from those few times I was in my great-grandmother’s house, when she was still alive,” she said quietly. “As if both times we’d visited her, we’d caught her in the midst of a flurry of study, even though she was as old as time by then. I’d forgotten that.”

  She glanced at me. “May I?” she asked, gesturing toward the bookcase. I nodded, and she stepped through the door once more, hurrying over to the bookcase as if it might disappear again. The sun slipped lower on the horizon, a hint of the night to come.

  “They’re so beautiful,” she breathed, taking two at seeming random. “And they’re filled with spells.”

  “We’ll need to take them, protect them,” I told her, and she nodded.

  “Of course,” she said, but I could tell she wasn’t really listening. She was buried in the books, and for a long moment, I let her indulge her joy. But I hadn’t given her this gift lightly, and I tested her scrying ability with my next words. “Who do we face next?” I asked very softly.

  She looked up, her eyes unfocused, favoring me with a small half smile as her eyes turned the color of a snow squall. “Jewel Point,” she said, her voice sounding otherworldly. “It will be overrun by your enemies this very night.”

  25

  Belle

  I walked beside the king back to the castle, the heaviness of my prediction effectively killing the sweet moment we’d forged between us. The portal he’d opened to the site I’d named—Jewel Point—had shown nothing but a sleepy ocean hamlet, not one buried in wraiths or any other enemy. Whatever danger was to befall these people, it hadn’t happened yet, but there was no doubt that time was running out. We’d left the cottage suddenly. Aiden became all business, while I was freaking reeling, trying to understand what had just happened between us.

  The books had gone into my illusion bag, but I’d given it to Aiden for safekeeping, along with my precious gold cup and the other artifacts of my family. Handing over that bag had taken a lot, but I understood Aiden’s worry over the priceless tomes, as well as his need for discretion. We didn’t even understand the significance of what we’d done together. Neither of us wanted to try to explain it to anyone else.

  We climbed the stairs to the castle. The doors opened before us by unseen hands.

  I peered at him. “Does that usually happen?”

  “It doesn’t,” he said, sounding as bemused as I felt. “I need to find Cyril, and we both need to eat. I have a feeling there will be no short days for a while.”

  He sounded terse, distracted. “Of course,” I said automatically. “So…should I go to your room? To mine? Do I have rooms of my own at this point?”

  The question was as guileless as I could make it. Aiden answered it honestly, apparently without assuming I was probing for information.

  “Your room is my room,” he confirmed, but he was preoccupied, and my hopes deflated ever so slightly. He’d granted me access to my great-grandmother’s cabin, and I knew there was more I could learn there, but I’d hoped his display of what only could be described as actual emotion was more telling than that. If he’d granted me my own space in the castle, that would have been a milestone. If he’d allowed me to stay in my great-grandmother’s cottage—or even the academy—it would have been a miracle. But that was too much to ask on the basis of a kiss, I supposed, even a kiss aided by enchanted mead.

  I was beginning to develop a profound respect for that beverage, and to understand why witches had been trained to fear it. Unlike wine, which tended to mute the effects of a spell enough to disarm the recipient, then let the spell take hold with gentle effectiveness, mead seemed to act as some sort of prism. In its thrall, spells sprang into being quickly, almost fiercely, creating results that were well outside expectations.

  At least that was what I was telling myself. The alternatives were impossible to work out. I might not have known my great-grandmother very well, but I knew what being a Hogan had meant to my mother and grandmother. Women of fierce individuality and independence, their motto had always been to heal and defend. Why would women with such a motto craft magic that bound her to a male’s whim? Especially a Fae king? The obvious answer was because it would give us more power, but at what cost?

  At what cost.

  I blinked to find the king peering at me with bemusement and clear affection.

  “You think too much,” he offered with a soft smile, and I flushed despite myself. I didn’t need him looking at me with eyes of love, because the magic spell of the cups still lingered, and I wasn’t sure what was him and what was due to the influence of magic. But I did want to keep his goodwill. That said, I was still me. I couldn’t help but push a little.

  “I can wait for you in your rooms, but could you ask Cyril about any documents he might have for when the deal between the Hogans and the Fae was first struck? Like, anything at all?”

  Instantly, the king’s goodwill vanished, and his eyes narrowed. Unaccountably, a winter scene shot across my mind, a castle accosted by a horrific ice storm and battering winds. “Why, beyond the obvious?” Aiden asked.

 
I blinked, trying to hold on to the image even as I focused on Aiden’s words. “Well, I mean, of course I want to understand how the Hogans got hooked up with you guys, but you were right there with me back in the cottage, Aiden. That was kind of intense.” I didn’t miss how my use of his given name made him blink. He shifted toward me, and a new wave of heat swirled through me.

  I had to be careful here. I wasn’t sure what Reagan Hogan had unleashed with her blasted cups, but I needed no help in wanting to fall into a puddle in front of this man, even if I tried to poke him in the shins on the way down. I gave Aiden my best smile.

  “So, you know, maybe there are more clues in the contract, or whatever. That was powerful binding magic there we just endured, and it was magic my great-grandmother created, not you. Why would you or any of your forebears consent to being bound to a witch?”

  It was a shot in the dark, me scrabbling around trying to come up with any plausible reason why he should expedite his search for my family’s records. But it seemed to hit the mark. Aiden stiffened, the heat in his eyes dimming, allowing me to breathe a little easier. I didn’t want the Fae king angry with me, but him liking me too much was far more dangerous. Hopefully, he wouldn’t figure that out.

  He definitely wasn’t worrying about it now.

  “Don’t try to deceive a Fae, witch,” he informed me tersely. “Speak plain.”

  I doubled down on my haphazard idea. “Well, think about it. I’ve been racking my brain trying to come up with a reason why Hogan witches would indenture not only ourselves, but our daughters to your house. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “We are the high family of the Fae, the most powerful in the realm,” he countered.

  “But it’s not our realm,” I pointed out, trying not to sound exasperated. “We’re simple witches, Aiden. We heal, we make magic, we fight when necessary for self defense, we learn. We protect people. We build small things of great beauty if we’re very lucky.”

  I barely kept from smiling at my ma’s often-used phrase. I hadn’t spoken those words in years. In her view, the old Hogan saying meant the creation of new life, the birth of a baby. But it could just as easily be interpreted as small, capsule spells, and having just experienced the effects of one of those, I was beginning to place my bets on that interpretation.

  “You save other witches too,” he rumbled, and I bit my lip. He’d been able to read me so easily in the human realm, while my guard was down—and other than that strange blip of a winter scene, I couldn’t read him at all. I didn’t like it, and that made my next words sharper than I intended.

  “Either way, maybe we’ve been looking at this question backward. Rather than trying to figure out why my family would have sacrificed so much, what if all those generations ago, a Hogan witch had the king by the short hairs?”

  Aiden blanched at my unfortunate use of words, but he took my meaning well enough.

  “Go to my rooms,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can with Cyril in tow. If there are papers, any records at all, I’ll bring them.”

  He turned just as another Fae chose that moment to stride into the foyer, one who made me stiffen with self-consciousness: Aiden’s beautiful cousin Lena, Alaric’s mother, her dark hair swept back from her face, her blue gown falling in a perfectly symmetrical drape around her lithe form. Even worse, Aiden smiled expansively at her, which made me want to roll my eyes—and bite back a hiss of dismay at his next words.

  “Lena, can you take Belle back to the royal apartments?” Aiden asked. “I’ve work that cannot wait.”

  “Yes, of course, King Aiden,” she said smoothly, bowing slightly in deference to him, which he seemed to take as his due. We turned and left, Aiden watching us all the way through the doors before he turned and strode off in the opposite direction.

  “Have you eaten?” Lena asked, gesturing me down the hallway.

  “Oh! Oh, yes,” I replied. Remembering the Fae female’s disdain for humans, I adopted a slightly overwhelmed tone that wasn’t hard to fake. “I think Aiden wants me to wait and eat like an actual meal with him, though.”

  “There are many things that King Aiden wants,” Lena said breezily. She favored me with a smile so bright, it made me blink. “Many things that are his due, in fact. The castle is already filling up with potential companions. And he’s only barely gotten here.”

  An image of the beautiful woman in the painting in Aiden’s room flashed through my mind. At this moment, Lena kind of looked like the woman in that picture, though their faces were totally different. Nevertheless, I’d been around catty women enough to know bait when I saw it. I kept my face carefully neutral as I responded.

  “Companions,” I echoed. “Why would he have a need for those? Why wouldn’t he just marry?”

  “Oh, he will in time. He has to produce an heir, and if you haven’t noticed, our kings have a habit of dying early in life. They have to secure the throne, but before then, they take what pleasure they wish from those who are more than willing.”

  I barely managed not to grimace. This Fae was Aiden’s cousin, and a mother—I didn’t actually sense jealousy from her, yet there was something in her voice I couldn’t quite nail down. True anger? Or merely an energy I couldn’t quite identify?

  She turned down another corridor, and I fixed her with a glance. “And you’re telling me this…why?”

  “Because above all else, you can’t fall in love with him, Witch Hogan,” she told me all in a rush, glancing quickly over her shoulder as she pushed me into Aiden’s chambers. “He is prophesied to kill you.”

  26

  Aiden

  “There is no agreement between the High King and the Hogan witches,” Cyril said, the flatly delivered announcement damned near taking my breath away.

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded. “Of course there are documents that dictate the arrangement. We are the Fae. Our words are inscribed in the royal archives the moment we speak them in any sort of binding agreement.”

  Cyril’s face remained rigid with disapproval, as if he’d been the one betrayed by his discovery, not me. “You’re not wrong. That has been the dictate of the High King since your family came to power. And how long ago was that, Aiden? How well have you been taught your history?”

  I scowled at my advisor, not liking his games. “I don’t have time for this,” I muttered, but the old Fae merely folded his arms and rocked back on his heels, settling his weight more deliberately. I rolled my eyes. I’d seen this move often enough. Mostly when I was still a boy, forced to learn history from him. History and statecraft and even warfare to a degree, at least the theory of it. The heavier lifting he’d left to my father’s warriors, who were as brutal as they were efficient in sharing their knowledge. The wraiths had already begun worrying our borders by the time I’d begun formal training, now nearly twenty years ago. The warriors who trained me knew what I would be facing, and they didn’t spare me any quarter.

  But Cyril had been worse. The endless classes and reading had made me crave the pain and bloodshed of the training ground. All those thoughts came flooding back as he posed this question now.

  “I know it as well as you’ve taught it,” I informed him tersely. “The line of the ocean king stretches back for three hundred years, and fully ten kings. Some who lasted decades, some generations, and some mere years. What’s your point, Cyril?”

  “Three hundred years,” Cyril echoed, his thin lips curving into a bitter smile. “A good run, yet not as good, arguably, as the line that came before, the Fae who fell to our clan.”

  “The mountain Fae were honorable in defeat, but they left themselves open to betrayal, or so you hammered into me. They cleaved too much to the old ways and weren’t willing to use the resources at their disposal.”

  Cyril didn’t answer that and, after a moment of silence, gestured at me impatiently. “Finish the tale,” he finally snapped.

  “That is the tale,” I countered. “The warriors of the ocean king drew out th
ose of the mountain king in direct battle, defeating them with magic and guile—and with the wits of the lesser Fae. In return for their aid, the ocean king pledged to protect the lesser Fae whenever needed, and he gifted them with riches beyond their expectation, solidifying their strength in the monster realm. The monster realm is one of comfort and abundance, sunshine and light. They have plenty to keep themselves busy there.”

  “They do,” agreed Cyril. “And, in fact, the Laram have largely restrained themselves from venturing out of the monster realm, making only limited incursions into the human realm, and those mostly in the last fifty or so years.”

  I frowned. “They’re supposed to remain within their own borders…”

  “Ah, but that’s not a dictate encoded into law, merely by mutual agreement. I know this as a fact because I went and looked. In truth, the laws of the ocean king started when we established this castle in this location, five years after the conquest over the mountain king.”

  While fascinating, this didn’t get me any closer to the answers I needed. But I sensed Cyril wouldn’t be satisfied until the story had played itself out.

  I sighed. “I’m sure the first ocean king had to secure his position, put down any attempts at an overthrow, and dismantle the former castle.” Even as I said this, though, I frowned. “Except he didn’t dismantle it. The mountain Fae remained in their holdings far to the north after they ceded leadership to the ocean Fae. I assume they still do.”

  Cyril lifted a bony finger. “They did. The castle still stands, occupied more by roving beasts than highborn Fae at this point. But the mountain Fae asked for clemency to live out their lives in the land they knew. Though they battled fiercely, they had no taste for war. That was far better suited to the ocean king’s line.”