by Mila Young
“Why is it imprisoned?” I ask just as the fairy throws itself at the cage, eyes red, mouth gaping open. Razor-sharp teeth bared, it hisses at me. It’s nothing like the fairies I’ve seen before.
“Something’s wrong with it!” My insides curdle to see it captured this way.
The mage swings the cage away from me. “It was bitten by a Bloodcursed, but it still holds a lot of power regardless and does the trick, especially since capturing a normal fairy is difficult. By feeding it two drops of different types of blood coupled with the sprinkle of some magic, it will reveal if the blood samples are from the same family or not.”
“Bring it all, we need to go. Now,” Deimos says as he crosses the room to stand by the door. “I just hope Luther’s held off the wedding this whole time.”
“We’re doing the test at the wedding?” I gasp just as Ramond, carrying everything, rushes past me.
“We need the council and Mother to see the evidence with their own eyes.”
I join them quickly as we rush back along the hallway and up the stairs. My breathing speeds up as nerves pinch down my spine. I know Deimos is right, but what if something goes wrong?
Upstairs, we turn onto a wide corridor lit by windows on one side. Farther in the distance are two white doors, like we’re about to enter the pearly gates. Is that where the wedding will be held? The thought has goosebumps sprouting along my arms.
I reach over to Deimos just as my sight catches onto a familiar man farther down the hall, talking to several guards. I squint for a better look. White hair, the long coat—I gasp. It’s the asshole from the dungeon who conspired with Jasion to kill the king.
My knees buckle as I drown in dread. Deimos feels me falling behind and turns to face me, his expression swimming in concern.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“It’s him.” I hate that I try to make myself as small as possible to conceal myself from the man.
Deimos follows my gaze to the older fae, then looks back at me. “Who? My father?”
His words are like a blade slicing at my insides. Crap! “That old fae is your real father?” I almost choke on the words. The fucking asshole who ripped Ahren’s wings.
When he nods, I suck in a shaky breath. “That’s the man who had Jasion kill King Tibout,” I whisper. “I heard him praise Jasion for it and say how the bigger they are the quicker they fall, and how they planned to conspire against Ahren to get power in this kingdom. He also intends to relocate to Shadow Court.” I try to remember what else I heard while my pulse thumps with adrenaline.
Deimos stiffens, his jawline clenching, twitching. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. The asshole bit my arm.” I frantically pull up the sleeve of my dress and show him the ugly mark. “I’ll never forget him.”
His face burns red like he’s about to explode. Fists coiled, he turns from me, but I lunge after him, snatching his coat. “No. Not now. We don’t have time right now.”
The mage stares at us bewildered, holding onto the fairy that starts screeching in the cage, drawing everyone’s attention our way.
Deimos shakes me off and storms over to his father.
My heart beats harder, because this is going to go really bad.
I exchange looks with Ramond, who shrugs like he’s used to seeing this kind of drama in the court.
"Fuck, we need to stop him," I say.
I race after Deimos, but before I can get to him, Deimos has lunged himself at his father, throwing him off his feet. Both are on the floor, my prince laying punch after punch into his face.
I should cringe, except I'm cheering on the inside, because his father deserves the worst things in the world. He wanted power, a foothold in this realm, and he got Jasion to take a life. Seething, I tense up, loving every hit Deimos delivers.
Four guards stand around watching for a few moments, probably unsure what to do. After all, Deimos is a prince, their prince. Someone who can have them imprisoned for harming him.
Except moments later, two of the guards lunge forward and heave the prince off his father. “Deimos,” I say from behind him. “Please, we need to go.”
He faces me, the anger flaring over his expression. I somehow suspect that attack had a lot more to do with how he was treated growing up, more so than just revenge for King Tibout's callous murder or the way I was injured.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're right." His chin lifts to the guards briefly, then he looks down at his father. “Take him to the dungeon and lock him up.”
Then he takes me by the elbow and guides me around his father still on the floor, and together with Ramond we close the distance between us and the white doors.
“Halt!” a male's voice calls out from behind us, and we all instinctively glance over our shoulder just as those same guards now march after us with determination.
Deimos' father stands up. He's not being apprehended, he is brushing down his coat and sneering in our direction.
“Take her!” he growls. “She is an assassin! She killed King Tibout!” Seconds later, he darts down a corridor.
What the fuck?
“No!” I recoil. “That's not true.”
When Deimos nudges me aside to take a protective step in front of me, I stumble against the mage, both of us teetering while the fairy in the cage goes crazy. Ramond pushes the cage with the fairy into my arms and turns to face the onslaught. Already I can feel the prickle of magic in the air.
The guards slam into Deimos and Ramond, the momentum sending them all crashing against the white doors, creating a tremendous boom. Who the hell are these guards to attack a prince?
A massive man in uniform cracks his neck, straightens his clothes, and saunters toward me with the promise of retribution.
Oh, fuck!
Chapter 18
Ahren
A thunderous boom escapes from behind the doors leading into the main hall, cutting off Luther from his ridiculous singing. A ritual he insists that comes from historic books. I'm not sure if I want to laugh or kick his ass for making a fool of himself in front of everyone.
He sounds like a dying animal. At least the noise has given us a reprieve.
But when the boom doesn't come again, Luther howls another rendition, standing in the middle of the passage that divides the guests into two groups.
Mother glares at me, shaking her head, her perfectly styled white hair bouncing over her shoulders. I hate to see that amount of distress twisting her expression, especially in front of our guests.
"What is he doing?" she hisses.
I know he’s stalling, but I can't even begin to understand why. My new bride still hasn't arrived, which I'm guessing is also due to Luther's influence in trying to delay the inevitable.
The great hall is elaborately decorated for the grand wedding of the century. Floral arrangements adorn the white walls, golden vines curl around the marble pillars, while the perfectly white rug that runs down the length of the room is bunched up under Luther where he keeps shuffling about like a madman.
The council members sitting to my right are furious, shifting about, while the guests are more shocked than entertained. The sunlight pouring in from the windows clearly shows every disgruntled face... mostly those from the bride's family.
"This madness is enough," Mother groans in my ear. "End this now before we become the laughingstock of the realm."
I clear my throat, stand from the throne, and march over to my brother, who's swinging his hands wildly in song about getting drunk before a wedding. He's even coaxed one of his guards to participate with him, who keeps beat by clapping.
We have a great band of talented musicians in the corner who can do nothing but stare on in bewilderment.
Stepping down from the platform where my bride will join me—if she ever arrives—I approach my brother.
He senses me and turns to meet my gaze. The look he gives me is one of pleading for me to back off. In his eyes, I see how hard this must be
for him, how he is pushing through this, not for himself… So that means it’s for Guendolyn.
Of course that’s what this is about. What the hell are they up to? I’m torn, because I want to humor Luther another moment longer to find out where it’s going, but the tension in the room is about to explode.
Abruptly, the two doors into the hall burst open, one of them breaking off its hinges, wood splintering everywhere.
Someone screams as two bloodied and bruised guards roll into the room, coming to a stop at the line where the seats begin. They don’t move.
The crowd breaks into hysteria, several women yelling with shock.
Deimos strolls into the hall with a bloody lip, his double-breasted doublet ripped at his throat. He's not even dressed in wedding attire. One of the mages he knows, Ramond, joins him, also looking roughed-up with messed up hair, a bruise under his eye, and his necklace sitting over his shoulder.
Behind them enters Guendolyn, carrying a large cage with a fairy fluttering around crazily inside. She looks around sheepish, scanning the enormous room filled with people. When I look outside the room and into the hallway, I find more guards laying on the floor, bloodied and unmoving. Why would the guards fight with Deimos?
I move forward, my heart banging in my ears, waiting for this to somehow make sense. Is this another joke to delay the wedding even further? Fury collects in my chest. This wedding is hard enough as it is; I just need to get it over with. This foolishness ends now.
"What the hell is going on?” I demand.
“Is this no longer a wedding, but a freak carnival?" one of the older council members calls out from behind me.
I stiffen as guards from the room close in on either side of Guendolyn and the mage, then I spot my father slipping into the room, sliding in behind the crowd like he’s running late.
“Deimos, what the hell are you doing?” I call out, confused and frustrated. I don't fucking want to marry a stranger, but the throne must be mine to save our family.
My brothers know this.
“Ahren,” Deimos begins and Luther steps aside. It seems his part in this ridiculous charade is over. “Before the marriage commences, crucial information has come to light.” He wipes the blood from his lip. “King Tibout has a child who is the actual rightful heir to the throne.”
The whole room falls silent, and I'm not sure I heard him right. I tense, leaning forward slightly. “What are you saying, brother?” I snarl. What is he doing?
I tense as he takes Guendolyn's hand and brings her forward. Ramond collects the fairy cage from her grasp. She stumbles on her feet and stands before me. The girl I love looks at me with uncertainty, with fear on her face. My insides clench. She’s everything I want, my dream, my fantasy, my future… but not in this lifetime, according to fate. Being this close to her does things to me, breaks me over and over to the point I no longer know how to be the fae I once was.
“What in the world is going on here?” my mother says, her footfalls closing in behind me.
“It's true,” Guendolyn answers, raising her voice to ensure everyone hears her. “King Tibout is my father. I'm sorry to say this in front of everyone, but the king had an affair with the queen of Ash Court, my mother.”
The room breaks out in an explosion of gasps and whispers, and my mother pauses by my side. I'm confused.
“Is this a joke?” I growl.
“Brother.” Luther steps forward. “Listen to her.”
I turn to my mother, whose face pales as she blinks tears from her eyes. I reach over and wrap an arm around her back. “Come, I'll walk you back to your seat.”
She pushes me away and whispers, “I always knew he was seeing that fae, and about the child too, but I accepted it for you three to have a home, a future. I was told she was gone and would never return to the realm.”
My throat thickens, and her agony shatters me. Living with such knowledge would have torn her apart, but she did it, nonetheless.
And that means I am not to take the throne today.
“We still loved each other,” she admits. “In our own ways. Sometimes you do things in life you don’t want for the greater good.” She looks at me, clearly referring to me marrying the princess from the east kingdom.
When I stare at Guendolyn and my brothers, a fiery surge of anger rises through me. “You had to wait until now to tell me this? Fucking now?!” Why didn’t she tell me earlier? If it’s true, I could have married her today and avoided all this.
Betrayal washes over me, because if she cared for me, she would have told me this already. I don’t understand… Does she want the throne for herself?
Every eye is on us, every ear taking in the drama that will forever be attached to this kingdom.
“There is evidence for this,” the mage who came with them announces. “Well, there will be, once we conduct a test to confirm this girl is indeed, King Tibout’s daughter.”
The murmurs in the crowd quiet down, and it almost feels like everyone is leaning forward to listen. Mother is right. We will become a joke.
But if Guendolyn is the king's daughter, she has the right to claim the throne before I wed. Though she can’t claim it without marrying someone herself.
This is why Luther made a complete fool of himself, isn’t it? To help her gain the throne… is he intending to marry her?
Hundreds of questions flood my mind, only adding to my confusion.
Except anger keeps surging within me, growing, while an agonizing heartache spears through my chest. I can’t believe Guendolyn and my brothers would keep this from me. I’ve always been there for them, doing what I think is right. I’m burning up, wanting to demand they tell me the truth.
“This is absurd,” Jasion's voice streams across the great hall, tearing me from my thoughts. He’s marching toward us from the side of the hall, his jawline clenched tight. Fury flares on his face. What the fuck now?
He reaches my side in moments, his breathing fast. “You cannot allow her to turn this most sacred of ceremonies into a spectacle. If you want to know the truth, it’s that she is a spy in our kingdom. I have actual proof that she killed King Tibout.”
“That’s a lie. Jasion killed the king and conspired with your real father to do it,” she shouts.
The shock of her words leaves me speechless. I’ve started to have doubts about Jasion… but to kill a king?
Deimos flies at Jasion, his punch leading the attack. It clips the mage right in the nose, sending him to the ground in moments.
“What the fuck?!” I grab the back of my brother’s doublet and force him away from the mage.
“Has everyone gone mad?” I shout, which does nothing to silence the whispers that spread through the room like wildfire. This is not the venue for secrets to be spilled or accusations to be fired.
Jasion climbs to his feet, blood dripping from his nose. There is no way Guendolyn would kill the king… she was with us when it happened, so that alone confirms Jasion lies. Is he covering up the guilt over the death of the king? I glance over the crowd to where my father sits at the edge, watching with amusement on his face. If there was ever a guilty face, it’s that one.
An inferno of anger envelops me at the thought that he had something to do with the king’s murder.
Guendolyn steps toward me, but I'm shaking with anger. The repercussions of this will be enormous. Not to mention airing out all of this to all the lords of the kingdom, including my father, who must be beside himself with joy to see us like this from amid the spectators. With the way the bride's advisors glare at me, I doubt this union is happening today. Her and her parents are in a room, waiting to be called for the marriage. And of course, there’s the king’s sister who sits in the crowd too, waiting like a buzzard to claim the throne. I glance over and find her smirking to herself.
My blood boils, but I can’t lose control. That’s what everyone expects. What I need is to understand what Guendolyn knows about the murder and how it involves my father and Jasion.
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“Can we focus on one thing at a time? If the king has a child, we need proof,” one of the council members behind me calls out. “Then we need evidence of who killed the king.”
An ache starts at the base of my head and spreads fast, the stress mounting by the second.
I turn to the mage grasping the cage with the fairy. “Show us the evidence. And be fast about it. My patience is running out.”
“Your Highness,” Jasion insists, his voice loud and clipped. “You can’t seriously be entertaining this. She murdered King Tibout.”
I swing around and grab him by the throat, drawing him to me. I’m barely holding onto any semblance of sanity, and this asshole pushes me by counting on me not knowing he lies.
“Be very careful what you say when I know you’re lying,” I growl.
His face goes as white as snow, but then I witness his expression morph into confidence within moments, like that’s all it takes for him to reconstruct his story. I’ve always thought he was a friend, but that was a huge mistake on my part. I see that now. I release him, and he stumbles on his feet. Once this is over, I will personally interrogate him. I look over to my guards to call them over when Jasion’s voice sears across the room to ensure everyone hears.
“Your Highness,” he continues, and my fingers twitch into fists. “Surely you are aware that permitting someone to challenge the claim to the throne comes with repercussions. If this girl, this assassin, cannot prove she is the rightful heir, then she will face death in her attempt to usurp the throne.”
I swing toward him, my fists tight. His words sucker-punch me right in the gut. I glare at him, picturing how I will destroy him. “You are not—”
“Agreed,” my mother calls out from behind me. “Get this absurdity done, then everyone who disrupted this ceremony will be interrogated and face the harshest of punishments. This is enough!”
The crowd cheers in a kind of maddening approval. I look at my mother, infuriated that she’s siding with Jasion. But at the same time, I can’t begin to imagine how hard this must be for her. To lose a husband she knew cheated on her, then to have his child come to claim the throne from me. To be reminded of his infidelity.