by D. D. Chance
“Oh—” A wave of dizziness swept over me, and Aiden’s fists bunched as Lena clasped her hands to her chest, her face radiant at the king’s speech. Lena might be a twisty bitch, but she was all in on keeping her Fae freak flag flying.
Aiden, meanwhile, only had eyes for me.
“You’re weaker than you’re telling me,” he growled. “Injured.”
I self-consciously tugged my sleeves down, but there was no hiding the welts and bruises left behind by the Fomorian king’s manacles. Still, what were injuries in a world of illusion?
“I’m fine. I told you I suck at healing myself, but I can do it. I just never remember the spells. It’s a quirk. A hang-up. I’m fine.” I was speaking in a rush, but Aiden frowned at me.
“We have healers who can help you. The djinn certainly should be able to, no? You will be healed.”
I smiled as brightly as I could. “Well, so, we’re good, right? If you don’t need to explain my injuries, if you can cloak me in some sort of Fae spell that makes it not so obvious that I just bounced back from the underworld or whatever you want to call it, what’s the issue? Nobody will know.”
“I will know,” Aiden snapped. “Anyone in my household will know. The humans will know.”
My smile slipped. “Humans?” I asked as calmly as I could, though inside, my heart had begun pounding again. “You mean Celia? She’s not exactly going to betray that kind of secret. She’s got problems of her own.”
The human witch turned Seline cat shifter I’d discovered scarcely a few days ago still remained at the Witchling Academy…or at least I thought she did. In this moment, I longed for her wide eyes and fierce smiles. I felt alone in a way that seemed a hell of a lot emptier than my usual solitary approach to life. That probably had a little to do with how Lena was glaring at me, but Aiden now eyed me with concern too.
He didn’t trust me. He shouldn’t trust me. I didn’t have full recollection of everything that had happened with the king of the Fomorian. But I damned well knew why I’d been there, and it hadn’t been by choice. The coven had sent me to pay off the contract they had with the Fomorians. I’d been served up on a platter and had done my part like the good little witch the Hogans had always been. But that was finished, right? That was done.
Did Aiden know anything about the contract the coven had made with the Fomorians? I didn’t think he did, and I wasn’t about to ask him—especially not with Lena hovering so close by, visions of red weddings dancing in her head.
“Who else knows about my…trip, I guess, to the underworld?” I asked cautiously.
He folded his arms. “When you called out my name, I searched this realm, then the monster realm, then your own. I saw the destruction the Fomorians leveled at your coven’s stronghold. I spoke with the head witch there, Cassandra. She explained everything.”
My heart spasmed again, but I kept my face carefully blank, my eyes on Aiden. “Oh, well, gosh. That’s great. That was super helpful of her. And, um, she was the one who suggested we get royally married or whatever?”
“No. That is not a decision for her to weigh in on. It’s a path for you to demonstrate your loyalty. Because if you leave me again, Belle, it will be betrayal.”
His words were flat, and yet another spurt of fear leapt through me. He was doing this all wrong, dammit. The betrayal was in me binding myself more tightly to him—in not fleeing the moment I had the chance. I knew this in my bones, even if I couldn’t understand it. But I would not, could not…
I sighed. “What if this is a trap? What if marrying me is the exact next move most desired by the, um, Fomorian king?” No way was I going to share the name Lyric with Aiden. I knew that was what King Dickhead wanted, but hey. Life was full of pain.
“Then he is a fool.” Aiden’s mouth curved into a smile. “No Fae king has ever joined with a human in royal marriage, but the Hogan witches have, at varying times, served as the king’s consort and beloved. From what scant information remains in the royal library, those were idyllic times for the Fae. Our magic was paramount, our borders secure. The Fomorian king looks ahead one or two steps. He sees a weakness he can exploit, perhaps. But I see far more.”
A sudden wave of hysteria swept over me, and I jolted, wheeling around for the door. “Someone’s coming, Aiden, someone I don’t want to see. Is there a way to return me to the academy, like, right now?”
Aiden’s brows came together. “You will not try to escape.”
“I won’t! I won’t. I’ll become your queen,” I said, the words stiff and unnatural on my tongue. I had a feeling Fae divorce was going to be a bitch, but Aiden was the High King. He could figure that out later. Right now, I needed to get out of there.
Aiden nodded, turning to the side and sketching a portal. I could see my own office beyond it, and I stepped forward before slanting him a glance.
“You’re really getting good at this whole portal-on-demand thing,” I said.
“I was always good at it,” he informed me. “It just comes more easily now.”
And then I was through the portal and surrounded by my own space, the books of magic, and three grim-faced djinn hovering in the doorway. The sandy-haired, light-eyed Jorgen, always the most soothing of the core group of academy instructors; the buttercup-blonde Gwendolyn, who appeared barely older than me, despite the fact she’d been kicking around the Fae realm for hundreds of years; and the sturdy, gray-bearded Magnus, the weathered warrior looking like he’d just swallowed a bag of rocks.
“Mistress Belle,” Jorgen began, floating forward. “The High King has given his orders. You are to be prepared for marriage.”
He made it sound like a death sentence, and a new stream of dread trickled through me.
“And, let me guess, that’s a bad thing, isn’t it?” This whole day seriously sucked.
“Very bad,” Gwendolyn put in, her fair skin now sheet white. “I remember everything now, and it—it’s terrible. Just terrible. Oh, Mistress Belle. I’m so sorry, but we didn’t know! Or we knew…but we forgot.”
“Forgot what?” I demanded, panic rising within me as Magnus shouldered his way past Gwendolyn, who flinched at his jostling. Everyone seemed as jumpy as a freshman with a fake ID. “What are you talking about?”
“A second king, seeking marriage—and so soon—it was the only thing that could drop the veils from our eyes. Not even Fae magic can hold against such a threat,” Magnus muttered. Then he skewered me with a look. “Can’t you see? The crown, sword, and blood? They shimmer all around you and…well, yes. That’s very bad. We haven’t seen those images in nearly a century, and they were wiped from our mind with Reagan Hogan’s departure. We’d hoped never to see them again.”
“See…” I tried to focus on my inner visons, but all I got back was constantly shifting views of a fiery battle in an enclosed space—Aiden’s castle, maybe? The academy? I waved a frustrated hand. “So, yeah, my sight isn’t working the way it should. I can see many futures, but none of them are distinct. Just a whole bunch of people fighting and setting shit on fire.”
The djinn all exchanged furtive glances. “There’s fire and chaos?” Jorgen pressed. “A melee of battle?”
“Close enough.” I bit my lip and nodded as my inner eye winced against the raging flames. “What does it mean?”
“Look deeper,” Magnus instructed, leaning forward. “What lies at the center of the battle?”
I frowned, willing myself in my mind’s eye to punch forward, to enter the fray. The fighters peeled away from me, giving me easy access, and I moved fast, my gaze sharpening as I saw Aiden’s throne. The seat beside it flickered in and out of existence. First, there was nothing, then a smaller throne studded with jewels, then the monstrosity of the Fomorian king’s obsidian throne. I shook my head, feeling dizzy.
Then I saw something else. A crown seated on Aiden’s throne, a sword beneath it. And…blood. So much blood.
“What is this?” I began, not even trying to hide my growing panic, but M
agnus lifted a hand.
“Plans are being made,” he announced. He sketched a viewing portal, and I blinked, recognizing the exact same room as in my vision, though I’d never seen it before today. A rush of potential futures tumbled back through my mind as Lena’s son burst into the room—Alaric caught in the throes of a deadly battle, streaming Fomorian warriors dripping with slime falling from the sky—and I watched, mute with horror, as Aiden smiled at the teenager. Because behind him and the boy, where the royal throne stood…I saw the horrific vision play out again.
“No,” I whispered, and beside me, Jorgen sighed.
“A crown, a sword, and a throne stained with blood,” he said. “It was your great-grandmother’s most harrowing nightmare, the true reason why she fled the Fae kingdom. Now you’re bringing it to life.”
8
Aiden
No sooner had I closed the portal behind Belle than I heard the running steps, too light and eager for worry, and a few seconds later, my suspicions were confirmed as Alaric burst into the chamber.
This was who Belle was afraid of? Her disorientation should have alarmed me, but she had endured an attack by the Fomorian king of a most insidious kind. All the while she had been before me, I had waited for signs of her injuries to fade, the illusion to weaken. It hadn’t. She had been forcibly restrained and had mounted a vigorous attempt to escape, if her wrists and ankles were any indication. And the king had known I would be looking for her, had probably known I was watching when he kissed her. He had wanted to enrage me, and he had succeeded.
I understood Belle’s fear that all of this was part of the Fomorian king’s plan. I actually agreed with it. But why? He had to know I had the stronger forces, the greater power. There was no way he could withstand an attack from me. He was a fool to think otherwise, and I did not imagine him a fool.
So what was his game?
More footsteps sounded, drawing my attention. Niall came through next, followed by Marta.
“See?” Alaric gestured triumphantly at me. “I knew he’d be here. I’m developing the sight.”
Cyril stepped through the doorway a moment later, surveying the room coolly.
“It has been some years since the king stood in his own throne room,” he observed.
“Well, that happens when the king has borders to defend.”
“But there are many ways to defend your people,” Lena said, turning to me with her hands clasped before her as if Belle had never been here and nothing in the world pleased her more than to see me in this space. “You are the king of the Fae, and your people stand ready to fight for you. That’s all the magic you need.”
“Ha! Not hardly,” Alaric said, his scoffing laugh pricking his mother’s declarations. “I mean, Belle’s barely gotten started. I was talking to Gwendolyn, and she said there’s an entire library of spells that taught hand-to-hand combat. Stuff that helps you fight in the warrior’s way, she said. How cool would that be?”
“Alaric,” his mother said repressively. “Have some discretion, even if it’s only a little.”
I smiled despite myself. Alaric was young and eager, but he didn’t know the truth of what we faced—the humans had banded with the Fomorians and had sacrificed Belle to further their aims. At least, that’s what I hoped had happened. Regardless, Belle was back now, and we had work to do.
“It would seem a great deal has changed in the past few hours,” I said. “Belle has returned.”
“Excellent,” Alaric crowed, while Lena’s brows lifted with mock curiosity.
“She’s returned?” she asked guilelessly, playing along as if this announcement was news to her. “But there were no entries from the human realm. I would have felt that. I would have noticed.”
She frowned, looking genuinely distressed, then looked at Cyril. “Did you—?”
Cyril’s lips tightened. “Of course I sensed it,” he informed her frostily, and I pressed my lips tight against the lie. These two never seemed to stop one-upping each other. But I did not need to interfere with their squabble.
“She hasn’t been idle during her departure,” I said. “I have reason to believe we need to shore up our position on all levels.”
“You mean learning more magic?” asked Alaric excitedly.
“So she’s able to stay?” Lena asked on his heels.
“She’s going to do more than stay,” I assured them both, grateful to Lena for putting on the act she was and not giving any indication of how Belle had returned to us—broken, terrified, haunted, and possibly tainted with Fomorian magic. I valued her discretion more than ever as I looked at Cyril. “I am taking her to be my queen. I have no idea the maelstrom that will unlock, but I’m hoping you do.”
While the rest of the room stared at me, Cyril tilted his head, considering. “The simple bonding ritual you’ve already completed has done much, but a full royal marriage will take things to an entirely different level. Your magic will be advanced, hers as well, and the Fae will become the most powerful force in all the realms. But does Belle understand she will never be able to return to her homeland, not permanently, if she consents to becoming your queen? That the line of Hogan witches ends with her?”
I gritted my teeth. I hadn’t thought through all that, and, fool that I was, I still thought I could overcome any arcane dictates of my forebears while still taking advantage of their machinations. But nothing else mattered more than that Belle and I would be wed. “She’ll have to understand. I don’t see any other choice.”
He sighed. “Agreed. There’s been a great deal of movement at the borders. Now that we know to look for it in the Riven District, I would say we’re on the verge of a full-scale Fomorian invasion.”
“Well then, we have no time to lose,” Lena said briskly. “We must prepare a wedding, a truly royal wedding. There are protocols to follow, preparations to be made.”
“Absolutely. And we can have whatever grand celebration you feel is suitable after we put down the Fomorians’ attack,” I assured her. “Right now, I’m mostly interested in getting the benefits of the wedding and the royal marriage pact in place. The rest is irrelevant.”
Lena made a face. “But she is to be your queen, Aiden. She deserves to have the day made special in some way. She is marrying the High King of the Fae. It’s not like it’s some back alley contract struck in exchange for a herd of goats.”
I blinked. Lena’s sudden interest in a grand ceremony surprised me. Was she doing this for the benefit of Cyril and the others? Or did she simply want to throw a party? Either way, I didn’t have time for anything more than the barest practicalities. “And I’m telling you I have an obligation to my people to serve them as best as I am able. That takes precedence. It must always take precedence.”
She sighed dramatically, but nodded. “Well then, I will prepare her as best as I am able, and let her understand that today’s events are only the first of what she can expect as she becomes queen of the Fae.”
“Good,” I snapped back, biting off the word as a new rush of irritation zipped through me, my mind returning to the thorny tangle of what exactly the king of the Fomorians had done to my witch. Belle’s first thought had been to run—but she couldn’t keep running away from her troubles. And most of all, she couldn’t keep running from me.
9
Belle
I turned from the portal that allowed me to spy on Aiden in his own throne room and fixed an accusing glare on Jorgen. “Why is this royal wedding so important to Aiden? What’s going to happen if I become his queen? And what did he mean, I could never return home? And hello, how come you didn’t warn me about any of this?”
The djinn spread his hands, his pale brown eyes sympathetic, though his entire manner was far too nonchalant for my taste. “We serve the Hogan witches, but we are constrained by the Fae, Mistress Belle. We know what they want us to know, when they want us to know it, until it presents an imminent threat. We are kept in the golden box of this academy and not consulted.”
> “Uh-huh. And you never thought hmm, maybe there are some dark corners in this golden box we should check out for our own safety? Like the dark corners that show the family you work for getting snuffed out?”
Jorgen’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “We quite specifically avoided such dark corners.”
“But why?”
Magnus fielded that question, his harrumph drawing my attention. His face was stoic and a little dour, as if he recognized that he and his fellow djinn were edging up on the suck scale the more they spoke. “Because we had grown accustomed to this world. Complacent in our roles of service and learning. It wasn’t until Mistress Reagan learned of King Orin’s plans to marry her that we received the visions of what would follow if that happened. War. Devastation. And the emergence of the Fomorians as the ruling power throughout the realms.”
“Wait. King Orin wanted to marry her?” I asked weakly. “I thought he wanted to kill her.”
“The two are one and the same, in the end, when it comes to a Hogan witch,” Jorgen said, his cold assessment making me wince. “But King Orin was relentless. He wouldn’t listen to reason. He wanted war with the Fomorians—to plunge the Fae into glorious conflict. If the visions we saw were true, he wouldn’t have stopped until all the Fae were destroyed, along with several other races besides, including a fair number of humans. Far better for us to follow Mistress Reagan’s plan. She would depart the Fae realm, leaving only enough magic to keep the kingdom strong, but not enough to lure the king into a battle he might not win, and she would do her best to ensure her daughters would not fall prey again to the family of the High King of the Fae—not if it could potentially lead to a war between all the realms.”
“We vowed to keep vigilant watch,” Gwendolyn murmured, her large brown eyes unfocused, her face a mask of worry as she gazed off to a horizon I couldn’t see. “We would wait for the witch that should never be and warn her of the danger the moment she arrived.”