by K. M. Shea
“Oh, it’s a tradition. A very old, required one that you’ll have to follow now that you’re the queen.”
“And that is?”
“Ah. Yes. Ahem. Your marriage.”
I relaxed slightly. “Oh, that’s not a problem. I always figured I’d be fine being an old cat lady. I’ll stay single and die alone.”
The Paragon laughed nervously. “Ahaha, you can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
The Paragon grimaced. “It’s part of the crowning tradition. The night mares pick the next monarch, the monarch is bound—usually by an acceptance ceremony, but you skipped that step since the night mares did it. The monarch then chooses his or her spouse, and the couple is sworn in together when the chosen monarch is publicly crowned.”
My ears rang as I struggled with this newest complication.
It wasn’t enough that I can’t just have a normal life anymore, no, no. I also have to get shoved into an unwanted relationship that probably has a zero chance of being healthy and meaningful.
“The Night Court has the stupidest traditions I’ve ever heard of,” I said. “And also ridiculously backwater. Have the rules been updated at all since the Middle Ages?”
The Paragon held his hands up in a foolish attempt to pacify me. “I’m aware of how distasteful it appears to be. But you can only be crowned after you marry, and you need to be crowned if you want to survive against the other Courts. The Night Court has to listen to you already due to the night mares binding you. The other Courts won’t officially recognize you until you’re crowned, and that will paralyze your efforts to consolidate power for yourself.”
“I’m not even twenty-three years old yet. And you’re telling me I need to choose a husband right now?” I rubbed my eyes and felt the stabbing sensation of a headache settling into my temples.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” the Paragon said.
“Really?” I drawled. “Marrying someone who is going to hate me for being human and also have a lot of political power isn’t as bad as it sounds?
“You’re half human,” the Paragon corrected. “And when you focus on the forced marriage part, yes, it’s going to sound pretty bad. But this will play into the power game—for your benefit. Marrying will help you control the Night Court better—if you choose your husband carefully.”
I dropped my hand. “Oh?”
“If you pick someone with the sort of connections your people admire, it will make your job as monarch much easier. Though I would personally recommend you select someone with as few deep social connections as possible. It will split their loyalties.”
“It seems risky to split my power with another fae when you just finished telling me how toxic we are.” My groan scared the pigeon-griffin, who abandoned his McDonald’s bag to scurry under a bush.
“Oh, that’s another positive,” the Paragon said in an unnecessarily upbeat voice. “You are the monarch chosen by the night mares, not him. You get to decide if you want to share power with him.”
That confused me enough to beat back my growing dread. “How does that work?”
The Paragon shrugged. “You’re the queen. You decide if your husband is going to be a mere consort or a true king. As the selected monarch, you can change your mind at any time—you can even demote him from king back to consort if you choose. Some monarchs only give their spouse the power to rule after they die—that’s what happened with Queen Nyte. That’s probably why she killed him, now that I think of it.”
I tried to dust off my knowledge of the dead queen. “She remarried—did she have to?”
“No. She chose to—and her new husband could only ever be called her consort. It’s only the monarch selected by the night mares that has the ability to share their power.”
A sigh leaked out of me. “The other Courts don’t have this rule, do they?”
“No,” the Paragon said.
Yep. I reaaalllyy wish I was anything besides half night fae.
“But, as I said, these rules were laid with the foundation of the Night Court here in America,” the Paragon said, opting to continue the history lesson. “Because it used to be one of the most powerful Courts. Unlike the Winter, Autumn, Summer, and Spring Courts—one of which exists in each region—or the Seelie and Unseelie Courts—which are found locally—your Night Court is the only one in existence in America. And because of its power, the founding king created these rules as a sort of power balance. Otherwise the Day Court—which is also the only one in existence here in America—was the only other Court with a similar amount of clout.”
That seems suspiciously thoughtful for a bunch of fae. I don’t buy it.
“Given how naturally linked the Day and Night Courts are in power, when the Night Court agreed to these laws it naturally checked the Day Court’s power as well,” the Paragon added. “To keep it, however, the laws were written into the very foundation stones of the palace. You can’t fight them, Leila, but you can use them to your advantage.”
“Let me guess.” I narrowed my eyes. “This founding king was the same guy who decided night mares should choose the new ruler?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. I have never so passionately hated a historic figure before,” I said.
The Paragon laughed uneasily. “He is venerated despite dying centuries ago—and he was extremely powerful and wise to adopt these laws as natural checks.”
“Wise, is it?” I slapped my thighs a few times, trying to pin down exactly how I felt about this seemingly endless downward spiral. “Yep. Okay. My life is already a burning dumpster fire. What could a political marriage do to make it worse?”
“It could be better than you are expecting. Monarchs before you have wed for political reasons, and forged a sort of warm friendship between them and their spouse,” the Paragon said.
That actually didn’t sound too bad. But! What were the chances of that actually happening?
Based on my reception today, I’d say slim.
I wiped my hands off on my jeans. “How much time do I have before I’d be expected to announce who I’m marrying?”
“Ideally, you’d be crowned in early August, and marry before then. You can make your decision on short notice. With your fleet of servants ready to work, it’s a relatively easy matter to put a wedding together in a number of days,” the Paragon said. “Though I would hope you might announce your engagement well before, giving you enough time to make your wedding day appropriately beautiful and romantic.”
“It’s a political marriage,” I said. “How romantic could it possibly be?”
“I know.” The Paragon gazed off into the shadowy depths of the garden. “I wish there was another way. But you have to play this game of power, or you won’t survive.”
Living is my priority, I reminded myself. And maybe if I survive long enough, I can change some of their outdated laws. My Court would probably get behind that, given that they got stuck with me.
The Paragon adjusted his ring, disassembling the bubble of magic.
I let out the breath I was holding—if he was dropping his magic, that meant he had no more bombs to drop on me. This was bad, but at least I knew where I stood—in a burning pit.
“That’s the worst of the news,” the Paragon said, confirming my guess. “From here on you can begin to build your own path. Today you’ll get settled, and tomorrow I expect you’ll be asked to choose your steward—they’ll be your right hand in all of this.”
I also stood up and retrieved the trashed McDonald’s bag. “Any tips on who to choose when I can’t trust anyone?”
The Paragon shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Don’t let yourself be swayed by sob stories. Instead, question everyone—and watch carefully for any vague or misleading words they use.”
“Cool, I always wanted to play detective in a struggle to preserve my life. This should be thrilling.” I wadded up the bag and followed the Paragon as he led the way out of the abandoned gardens.
He chuckl
ed. “I think you’ll do better than you expect, Leila. I suspect your sarcasm will help you slice through all the lies your Court will try to feed you.”
“I hope so,” I said grimly. “Because I don’t have any other options.”
Chapter Eight
Leila
As the Paragon predicted, I was shown to my room in my new mansion.
I’ll admit, the room was a giant perk—not enough to make up for the whole everyone-may-try-to-kill-me thing, but the massive bed, with the bathtub that was practically the size of a small pool, did a lot to improve my mood.
I didn’t sleep a lot—all of the ugly truths the Paragon had dropped on me didn’t exactly lull me off to sleep, and despite his dismissal I still was pretty worried about the Wraith.
But I used my sleeplessness to my advantage and went over some of the financial records the Paragon handed off to me earlier in the day.
I thought the Paragon had been speaking figuratively when he said Nyte bankrupted the Court. Nope! Of course not! We had literally no money left, and the Court was up to its neck in debt.
Around two in the morning I started making a list of some of the expenses I’d have to jettison—the luxury condo in Chicago was going to be the first thing to go as soon as I found someone trustworthy to sell it—but while I felt productive, it wasn’t exactly a mood lifter.
Thankfully, my mood vastly improved after a sunrise swim in my bathtub and eating a protein bar and apple—some of the snacks I’d packed in the two duffle bags I had filled with food and brought with me.
Not surprisingly, I was all the way to the stables—a luxurious building that was nicer than my parents’ house with a fancy vaulted ceiling, cobblestone flooring, and individual skylights over every horse’s stall—before anyone realized I was up.
“Queen Leila!”
I’d been staring up at a beautiful glass tea set—yes, a tea set in a barn, and the teapot and the cups all looked spotless, which had to be magic—that was carefully arranged on a wooden serving tray that appeared to be bolted to the wall as a decoration of sorts. But at the sound of my name I peered down the stable aisle in time to see a flabbergasted dryad drop the pitchfork she was holding and bend herself in half in a hasty bow. “I—this is—”
“Good morning.” I tried to sound warm and inviting. “Sorry for showing up unannounced—if that’s a thing?”
The dryad didn’t get up from her bow. Her brown hair—which was threaded with beautiful green leaves—hung down and covered most of her face. “I am entirely at your service, Queen Leila. The stable is yours to see whenever you wish.”
“Okay, thank you.” I studied her, trying to figure out how to get her to stop bowing to me, which felt ridiculous. I decided to go for bluntness. “You can stand up.”
“I wouldn’t presume, Queen Leila.”
“It’s fine!” I breezily said. I meandered around the disbelieving dryad and walked deeper into the stables, making my way toward the fancy stalls. “The night mares live here now? The Paragon mentioned they were wild for a while, but…” I trailed off as I stared at the wondrous creatures that peered out at me from their stalls.
The dryad popped out of her bow and scurried after me. “No, Queen Leila. The sun stallions are kept here,” she supplied.
Beautiful horses—some a stark white color that had the intensity of the afternoon sun, some the same beautiful gold color of sunrise, while others the red shade of sunset—nickered invitingly to me.
Flames in hues of blues and orange flickered in their manes and tails, and their eyes were a bright, blazing white that flashed with the same intelligence I could see in the night mares. Everything about them reminded me of the sun, and even the daylight that poked through the skylights seemed to almost bend around them.
“Aren’t you handsome?” I slowly approached the first stall, which housed one of the smaller boned horses. It hung its head over the door of its stall and nickered at me.
When it stretched out its neck in a clear invitation, I stepped even closer and stroked its muscled neck. “Are they all stallions?” I asked.
The stable worker cleared her throat. “No, the name is something of a misnomer—like the night mares. All of the sun stallions here are geldings and mares.”
The sun stallion I was petting lowered its head and breathed its warm, horsey breath into my face. Something inside me relaxed. “I’m guessing they’re from the Day Court?”
“Indeed. Sun stallions are a rare breed of fae horse that are guarded and cared for by the Day Court. They are extraordinarily difficult to buy due to their rarity, the level of care required before the Sun King is willing to part with one, and the general demand for them among fae nobility,” the stable worker said.
I stared up at the chandelier that hung over the aisle—yes, a chandelier in a barn. I was starting to understand why the Court was broke. “What you’re saying is that they’re really expensive,” I said.
The dryad hemmed and hawed behind me, which was as much of an answer as I needed.
A quick count said I was the owner of eighteen sun stallions.
If the Day King required chandeliers and skylights in a stable to sell his horses, I was pretty sure these animals were individually pricier than a top-of-the-line, luxury car.
I sighed as the sweet-tempered sun stallion rested its muzzle on my shoulder, but forced myself to turn to the dryad with a smile. “I’m sorry for being rude and not asking this earlier, but what’s your name?”
The dryad started to bend over in another bow—which I would have thought would be awkward since she was quite a bit taller than me, but despite her long limbs she had the sort of swaying grace of a weeping willow tree.
I held a hand up to stop her before she got into a full bow. “Please, bowing isn’t necessary.”
From the way the subtle green hue of her skin was turning yellow, I was pretty sure she was going to start shedding some of the leaves in her hair from all her anxiety. “I’m Dawn, Queen Leila. My brother, Dusk, and I manage and run the stables.”
“Great.” I smiled at her, trying to appear as friendly as possible. “You’re exactly who I need to talk to. As much as I regret it, we’re going to have to sell the sun stallions.”
Dawn’s mouth dropped. “Pardon?”
“Queen or not, it’s silly to have eighteen horses on top of the night mares. Where are the night mares, anyway? I know six of them are still with my parents, but I was under the impression there were more of them.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know, Queen Leila. They tend to be fairly autonomous.”
“I don’t know how autonomous they really are considering how they look.” I frowned a little. “I want them stabled and cared for.”
“Then…you’re certain?”
“About selling the sun stallions? Absolutely. As long as you can find them good homes where they will be well cared for.”
“That won’t be a problem—anyone who wishes to sell a sun stallion must use the Day Court as a broker. They will find the best home possible…” Dawn picked up the pitchfork she’d dropped earlier, her forehead wrinkling deep with concern.
“I’m sensing a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence, and not a horse one.” I winked at Dawn, but she totally ignored my joke and tightened her long fingers—which were knobby like a twig—around the handle of her pitchfork, too scared to say anything.
She’s not telling me everything. What do I ask to ferret out the truth?
I glanced up and down the line of horses. “Is there a problem with some of the horses that will make them more difficult for the Day Court to resell?”
Dawn’s grip on her pitchfork made her knuckles turn white.
“Which horses—or horse?” I asked.
The stable manager reluctantly led me deeper into the stable, stopping in front of a stall near the center.
A large sun stallion stood inside. His white mane and tail were threaded with blue tinted flames. His coat was a glossy copper col
or, but it seemed to have an iridescent blue and green sheen to it—like a telescope photo of a supernova.
“This is Fax,” Dawn said.
Fax came to his stall door, his ears perked.
“Hello, Fax. You’re positively gorgeous, aren’t you?” I cooed over him as he sniffed at my clothes.
“He is of a rather advanced age,” Dawn said. “I’m certain there would still be interested buyers, but they might…push him more than he can handle.”
“Okay. Then we’ll keep Fax.”
Dawn’s bones audibly creaked as she snapped her head to gape at me. “Really?”
“Of course,” I said. “We don’t abandon our pets just because they’re getting old.”
When Dawn exhaled, she seemed to settle—like a relaxing horse. “Very good, Queen Leila.”
Fax was so cute, I couldn’t help myself, and I very daringly kissed his nose.
Fax responded with a pleased nicker.
“Yes, you’re just the sweetest thing. I think you’ll do well with the night mares. Are there any other older sun stallions?”
“No. Fax is the oldest—he was purchased by the previous king. Queen Nyte and her consort bought all the rest more recently,” Dawn said. “But, are you sure you do not wish to retain one or two of the best sun stallions? They are great boons during Court hunts and races.”
Hunts and races? What the heck are these fae monarchs doing all day long?
Slightly disgruntled that the other Courts apparently had plenty of time for relaxing while I was stuck cleaning up the trash heap that was the Night Court, I made a negative noise at the back of my throat. “I’ll just ride the night mares for any official event.”
“The night mares?” Dawn gasped—I had a feeling I’d blown her mind this morning more than she’d encountered in the last year based on all the gasping and gaping she did. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing.
“Yep. They’re sweeties. Is your brother around? I’d like to meet him—”
“Queen Leila!” A guy with the legs of a goat and the upper body of a man—a faun—scrambled into the stable, his goat hooves tapping across the meticulously cleared cobblestone floor. “My apologies, the kitchen staff were unaware you had risen early. Your breakfast will be ready immediately.”