To Wear a Fae Crown (The Fair Isle Trilogy Book 2)

by Tessonja Odette

  Silence falls between us, and with it, the energy between me and Aspen hums like it did in my room. His posture stiffens, fingers twitching and closing into fists.

  When he speaks, his voice is quiet. Strained. “Did you mean what you said to her?”

  My eyes flash to his, breath hitching. “About what?”

  “Finding happiness with me.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and give him a hesitant nod. “Does that bother you?”

  His brow furrows, a pained expression. “Why would it bother me?”

  A blush of anger rises inside me, heating my cheeks. I’m so tired of this discomfort, this divide between us. “I don’t know, Aspen, why would it? Why do you seek to protect me, take comfort in my safety, then act revolted whenever you’re alone with me?”

  “I’m not revolted.”

  “Then what is it? Why do you keep doing that?” I point to his trembling fists.

  His words come through his teeth. “I can’t stand to be around you because it feels impossible to do so without having you in my arms.”

  I study his face, reconciling his words with his posture, his tense shoulders. “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Yes, it’s a bad thing when the effort to keep away from you feels like a blade in my chest.”

  A thousand questions pound through my mind. Why do you want to keep away from me? Why am I causing you so much pain? Why do you sound like you want me, yet act as if you despise me? But no words make it to my lips. Nothing comes but tears and tremors as I try to gather my thoughts into something coherent.

  Aspen closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. With it goes some of his rigidity. “It’s a bad thing when this is your last night here.”

  I almost argue, almost reveal my plan. My fear over its improbability keeps my lips pressed tight.

  Aspen continues, voice breaking. “It’s a bad thing when I’m not sure if there’s someone else you’d rather be with.”

  A tear rolls down my cheek, and I hardly know why I’m crying. My words come out a breathless whisper. “There’s no one else.”

  His jaw shifts. “No one? No one you’d rather spend your final moments on the isle with?”

  My flash of anger ignites again, and I take a step toward him. “No, Aspen, there’s no one else. There’s never been anyone else and there will never be anyone else.”

  His expression flickers with a hint of vulnerability. “Not even the Lunar Prince?”

  Irritation sends another wash of ferocity through me. “No. How can you ask me that?”

  “You kissed him,” he says through his teeth. “I saw the two of you together. Then I saw how you bargained for his life, trading every last chance of your freedom for him. I watched you run to him when he was injured like he was the only person left in the world. Then you brought him here.”

  “I didn’t choose for him to come here,” I say. “Nyxia did. But he has every right to be here because he’s my friend. When I bargained for his life, I did it because it was the right thing to do. I treated his injuries with care because he was my patient.”

  “And the kiss?”

  Guilt seizes me, and I have the overwhelming urge to defend myself, to tell him all the misconceptions and mistakes that led to that moment. I want to beg for his forgiveness, to convince him how badly I wanted that kiss to have been with him. But there’s a calm warmth beneath my guilt, something that feels far truer. “Yes, Aspen, I kissed Prince Franco. I kissed him because in that moment and in that situation, I wanted to.”

  His eyes narrow, but I refuse to shrink beneath that look.

  I continue, fighting the quaver in my voice. “I thought you were married. Even though I made you promise me you’d do it, it crushed me. Killed me inside. The fact that I found the will to smile or dance or kiss anyone that night is a miracle. I can’t regret that I managed to find joy on your wedding night, even if it hurt us both in the end. Regret doesn’t change what happened, and the truth is, I don’t owe you an explanation. The same way you wouldn’t owe me an explanation if you’d gone through with marrying Maddie Coleman. We aren’t each other’s property.”

  “Is that how you see me?” he growls. “As someone who wants to own you?”

  “No, and that’s exactly why I’m not going to debase myself before you. I’ve never wanted to be another male’s property, nor have I wanted someone else to be mine. You and I have made our choices in the past, but our relationship—if we have one—is in the present. I’m sorry things haven’t felt right between us since I used your name against you, but I can’t apologize for the snippets of peace I’ve found between then and now, even the ones I found with another male when I thought we were over.”

  My truth sizzles between us, and the hard look on his face makes me wonder if I should have gone with my first instinct to beg. No, I tell myself. I do not beg for love.

  Finally, he takes a step closer to me, his chest a mere inch from mine. Even beneath the pale moonlight, I can see the full color of his eyes, the browns, rubies, emeralds, and golds. “You’re terrible at apologies,” he says.

  “I know. That I’m very sorry for.”

  His lips pull into a tentative grin and the sight of it fills me with more comfort than I think I’ve ever felt. He lifts a hand to the side of my face, and this time he doesn’t snatch it back. With trembling fingers, he brushes a strand of hair away from my forehead as he stares deep into my eyes. The gesture is gentler and more heartwarming than any kiss could be in this moment. But a kiss is what I yearn for. My lips tingle with their craving as my gaze falls to his full mouth.

  “The day you left Bircharbor, you wouldn’t let me hold you,” he says. “You pulled away from me when I asked for more time together. Do you still feel the same? Or will you allow me this before the end?”

  Another truth is on my lips. One I’ve been fighting not to tell him for days. Do I dare give him hope? Give us hope? “This might not be the end.”

  His eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

  I open my mouth, but I don’t want to talk. I just want to feel his lips on mine already. My fingers reach for the collar of his shirt, and I pull him down to me. He pushes me against the alley wall as a furious passion unleashes between us. We gasp for air as our lips lock together. His tongue brushes mine with tangible need, each stroke a plea for more. My hands twine in his hair while his move to my lower back, my hips. I arch against him, needing more of his warmth, his strength.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt,” a voice calls overhead. Aspen and I pull away, breathless, to find Prince Franco perched on the roof of the bakery.

  “What?” Aspen growls.

  “I have bad news. The trial is happening now.”

  30

  I furrow my brow, staring up at the prince. “What do you mean the trial is happening now? How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know,” Franco says, “but I watched the guards escort your mother down from the prison to a courtroom.”

  “But it’s midnight. Her trial isn’t supposed to be until noon.”

  He shrugs. “You’ll have to tell them that. The trial has already begun.”

  My heart pounds in my chest as my mouth goes dry. All the pleasant feelings conjured by my kiss with Aspen have evaporated.

  “Take her,” Aspen says. “Take Evelyn and fly her back to the Spire at once.”

  The prince leaps from the roof of the bakery and lands in a crouch with surprising ease. His wings spout from his back as he rights himself and extends his hand.

  I reach to accept but hesitate for a moment. There’s still so much left unsaid between me and Aspen. So much I wanted to tell him before the trial. “Aspen—”

  “I’ll be there,” he whispers. “I’ll be with you the entire time. Now go. Hurry.”

  With a nod, I allow Franco to pull me close. In a matter of seconds, we’re high above the alley and flying toward the Spire.

  When we land, we dart toward the front doors of the building. “I
know where the courtroom is,” Franco says. I pull open the doors. The lobby of the Spire is quiet and empty, with not a soul in sight. Franco shifts fully into a raven and darts down one of the halls. My feet fly beneath me as I follow, pulse pounding with every step.

  He stops outside a closed door, then circles in the air in front of it, cawing wildly. I push it open and find a courtroom in full session. On one side of the room sits a gathering of men in black robes. Jurors, I can only assume. On the other side are men in black suits. I recognize one as Mayor Coleman. These must be the men of Eisleigh’s council.

  At the center of the room stands Henry Duveau, outfitted in a black robe like the jurors wear, but upon his head rests a black cap. A judge’s cap.

  He’s the judge? Fury sparks within me, but only for a moment. My attention is quickly diverted to what’s behind him—my mother.

  Flanked by several guards, her arms are extended to each side of her, wrists strapped in iron cuffs which are secured to two marble columns. The lower half of her is submerged in an iron tub of water. By the way she shivers and the blue tinge of her skin, I can only assume the water is ice-cold.

  A black shape swoops past me—Franco—then disappears high in the rafters overhead. The confused jury and councilmen stare from the raven then back to me.

  Mr. Duveau greets me with a cold smile. “Miss Fairfield, how good of you to attend.”

  I stride into the courtroom, each step echoing on the marble floor beneath my feet, pounding in a fraction of my heart’s racing tempo. “What is the meaning of this? My mother’s trial was scheduled for noon.”

  Mr. Duveau seems unaffected by my rage. “We have every right to change times of trials.”

  “And when were you going to inform me?”

  “You were given the proper notice as required by law. We sent a message to the hotel the Autumn ambassador said you’d be staying at when he came to inquire earlier on your behalf. If you weren’t there to get the message, then perhaps you should have stayed put.” His last words are punctuated with venom.

  I grit my teeth. It’s impossible not to suspect this was part of the ultimate plan all along. No wonder the guards came when they did. They weren’t alerted of our infiltration; they were coming to take Mother to her trial. All to make it difficult for me to meet the terms of the bargain and serve King Ustrin’s whims.

  “It comes down to the fact that you’re late,” Mr. Duveau says. “You were supposed to attend Maven Fairfield’s trial, otherwise her sentence—and yours, mind you—would be execution.”

  I lift my chin. “The bargain never stated I had to attend from the start of the trial. I’m here now. Her trial is still in session, is it not?”

  The councilman narrows his eyes, a tick at the corner of his jaw. “Very well. We will allow you to be present for the remainder of her trial. Have a seat.” He extends his arm to an empty chair next to my mother. One with iron cuffs on the arms and legs.

  With trembling steps, I make my way to the chair, bristling as I sense Mr. Duveau following in my wake. Once seated, the councilman closes the cuffs around my wrists and ankles, then returns to the middle of the floor. I try not to recall the last time I was locked up this way, ending in fire and smoke and blood. My eyes find Mother’s, and I force a smile. She forces one in turn, but it’s nothing more than a flick of her lips as she continues to convulse from the chilled water.

  “To catch you up to speed, Miss Fairfield,” Mr. Duveau says, “the council has presented their evidence of your mother’s treason and the jury has determined her guilt.”

  I toss him a glare, although the ruling doesn’t come as a surprise.

  “I’m going to tear out his throat.” A gravelly voice comes from beside me, and I turn my head to find Aspen has materialized, violet aura shimmering as his eyes burn into Mr. Duveau. I say nothing, not wanting to look like I’m talking to an invisible specter before the council and jury.

  Mr. Duveau’s attention turns to the men. “Let us continue, shall we?”

  A round of “Aye,” is uttered from the jurors and councilmen.

  “The punishment for Maven Fairfield’s crime is exile,” Mr. Duveau says. “However, that merciful punishment was only to be extended if Amelie and Evelyn Fairfield attended this trial and accepted their exile with her. Considering only one daughter is present today,” he waves a hand toward me, “that mercy has been made void. Agreed?”

  Another round of ayes.

  “Then it can only be surmised that Maven Fairfield and her two daughters are sentenced to death. The two present will be executed immediately following the conclusion of this trial, and a bounty will be placed on Amelie Fairfield for her life to be claimed as soon as possible.”

  Mother and I exchange a glance, while Aspen lets out a roar only I can hear. A furious caw echoes from the rafters, eliciting gasps and mutters from the jury.

  “All in favor—”

  “Wait!” I shout. “You haven’t given me permission to defend myself.”

  Mr. Duveau turns slowly on his heel, expression both haughty and amused. It’s as if he’d been waiting for me to speak up. “I don’t believe allowing you the chance to speak on this trial was part of our bargain.”

  “But it is my right,” I say. “As a citizen, I have a right to defend myself.”

  He turns toward the jurors. They hesitate, exchanging whispers before the majority utters their agreement that I may speak.

  “Very well,” Mr. Duveau says, taking a few steps toward me. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I came here as requested. I did everything that was asked of me.”

  “I daresay you did that and more.” The councilman narrows his eyes, expressing what he’s left unspoken. He knows that I’m responsible for the fates of Mr. Meeks and Mr. Osterman. He knows I broke into the Spire and visited my mother.

  I refuse to falter, forcing my posture straighter despite my bindings. “I did what I had control over, and even went so far as to try and ensure my sister’s compliance. Her refusal to be present today should bear no weight on either my or my mother’s fates.”

  I’m relieved to see a few nods coming from the jurors.

  “So, you would like me to show you and your mother mercy and allow the two of you to go into exile?”

  I could say yes. I could say it and this could all be over now. At this point, there’s a chance he and the jury will allow us to leave. I almost give in and take the easy route. But there’s another path, one I’m already resolved to try. Even if it kills me.

  I take a deep breath. “I ask that you leave my sister out of your considerations regarding me and my mother, but I do not ask for our exile.”

  Gasps erupt from the room.

  Mr. Duveau pins me with his cold stare. “Is it death you want then?”

  “No,” I say. My heart pounds as I deliver my next words. “A new bargain.”

  Nervous laughter emits from some of the men, but Mr. Duveau does not seem amused. “What kind of a bargain?”

  For days I’ve rehearsed these words, memorized them. That doesn’t make them any easier to say. “I want you to let my mother and me remain on the isle and return to Faerwyvae.”

  More gasps. Mayor Coleman rises from his seat, expression twisted with malice. “You cannot be serious. The treaty states that any descendants of King Caleos are to be exiled. If we fail to do so, we will break the treaty. Is that what you want? Is this some fae trickery?”

  I’m painfully aware of Aspen’s eyes burning into me, expression full of shock and hope. I can’t meet that hope with my own. Not yet.

  Mr. Duveau waves a hand at Mayor Coleman, urging him back into his seat. He returns his attention to me. “Explain yourself, Miss Fairfield.”

  “I want to save the treaty just as much as anyone in this room,” I say. “War is the last thing I want, both for the humans and the fae. I may be both, but as far as I’m concerned, I was human for far longer than I’ve been fae. I will always have the hum
ans’ best interests at the top of my priorities.” I force myself not to look at Aspen, knowing I’ll find hurt in his eyes if I do.

  “How do your priorities,” Mr. Duveau says the word mockingly, “prevent war when your very presence demands it?”

  I dig my nails into the arm of the chair to keep my hands from shaking. “If you allow me to stay and claim the Fire Court throne, I will replace King Ustrin as ruler. From my position as Queen of Fire, I will represent the humans amongst the fae and ensure an ally for you in Faerwyvae. A true ally, not a bully with nothing but his crown to care for. Can King Ustrin offer you that? Or does he only offer threats and demands for your obedience? Wouldn’t you rather ally yourselves with a true patriot of Eisleigh?”

  The councilman takes a step closer. “Your words might be pretty, but they still do nothing to explain how you will claim the throne and stay on the isle without bringing war. Do you not comprehend this simple fact? You taking the throne will break the treaty.”

  His sentiment is echoed by the council and jury. I wait for their mutterings to subside before I speak again. “I have a solution to that. My taking the throne will not break the treaty, for you will amend it to allow me and any of King Caleos’ descendants to stay. Every other term can remain intact. The threat of King Caleos has passed. His violence against humans does not run in my blood.”

  Mr. Duveau smirks. “Is that so?”

  Heat rises to my cheeks, knowing I walked into that one all on my own. I steel my expression. “It is. However, I will defend my life and my honor if forced.”

  Mayor Coleman speaks again, words heavy with skepticism. “Let me get this straight, Miss Fairfield. You want us to amend the treaty before you so much as challenge King Ustrin? How can we trust you?”

  “The fact that I didn’t challenge him yet should show you exactly how much you can trust me. I know taking the throne would break the treaty and I’m not willing to do that. I’m not even asking you to change it right this moment. All I’m asking for is time to prove my allegiance and abilities. The treaty may say I must be exiled, but it doesn’t say when. If you let me and my mother go today, you won’t be breaking the treaty if we agree that you plan on exiling me at a future date. And that’s only if I fail to prove myself.”