by Emma Hamm
“It is a shame I must disappoint you.” Fionn leaned back in his throne, crossed his legs, and gestured at the hall. “None of this is yours.”
“This is when we dismount.” He leaned down so only Sorcha would hear him. “Get down before me, mo chroí.”
She swung her leg over the horse’s side. Her skirts rode up her smooth thighs, but she didn’t cover herself. No one was looking.
Eamonn followed, standing powerfully behind her. She could feel the electric power of his anger and disappointment in his brother.
“Fionn,” he projected through the great hall. “You have ruled in my stead for long enough.”
“Have I? If there is any faerie in this court who wishes to desert and go with my brother, please, make yourself known.”
Sorcha stared at the crowd who remained silent and still. Not even a cough echoed, nor the shuffle of feet against stone.
She wanted to scream at them. Were they all cowards? Was this the faerie court she had dreamed about as a child? Nothing more than meek followers of a king who wasn’t even frightening.
A smile spread across Fionn’s face. “So you see? No one wants to go with the banished prince who returned uninvited.”
“They would not state their opinions in so public a setting.”
“Why not?”
“They are afraid of you, brother.”
“Stop calling me that.”
Eamonn patted his horse, the soft sounds startling a few of the faeries nearby. Their fearful gazes lifted to the high king. “That is what we are, whether you choose to admit it or not.”
“You have no place here.”
“You are sitting on my throne.”
Gasps echoed again. The audacity of a man to walk into a king’s court and level such a bold taunt! Sorcha could feel their horror, curiosity, and wonder growing with every second.
Fionn stood, his great height nearly as imposing as his brother. But he lacked the muscular build that suggested a hard life. Instead, Fionn was lean and tall. His body was everything Eamonn’s might have been. Smooth lines, gentle curves, graceful hands that made women beg for a single touch.
He floated from the throne like a feather on the wind. Waist-length gold hair shimmered in a perfect swath of color. Fionn walked directly to Eamonn and stared him in the eyes.
Sorcha winced at the similarities between the twins. She had seen them both individually, but together they were a sight to behold.
They were mirror reflections of each other. She knew the stubborn set of Eamonn’s chin, the curve of his jaw, the tiny marks at the edge of his eyes when he smiled. They were all on Fionn’s face, right down to the exact wrinkles caused by worry between their eyes.
Where Fionn was stunning, Eamonn was not. Crystals and geodes ruined the beauty he might have born. Handsome couldn’t begin describe the grace with which they moved, the whispered sounds of their body shifting even as they stood still, and the gentle inhalations that lifted their chests and flared their nostrils.
“You have no right to be here,” Fionn growled.
“You had no right to banish me.”
Fionn tilted his head to the side, lips curled in a snarl and eyes flashing hatred. What had caused such a rift? Sorcha refused to believe it was jealousy, for that was an emotion that dulled with time. Eamonn had nothing left. What more could Fionn find to hate him for?
The Seelie King’s face wiped of all emotion and he turned towards Sorcha with a smile that made her shiver. “Sorcha of Ui Neill, it is a pleasure to be in your presence again.”
He reached for her hand and she had no choice but to allow him to kiss her fingers. “I wish I could say the same.”
“Are you not pleased to see me? Your king?”
“You are not my king.”
Eamonn and the crowd stiffened, but Fionn laughed. “No, but no man is your king. Are they, little druid?”
“You do not know me, Fionn the Wise.” His hand clenched around hers at the mention of his name. “You sit upon a stolen throne, and as such you have no right to it.”
“And just what are you going to do?”
She leaned forward so the crowd could not overhear her words. “I argued for a peaceful treaty rather than an army at your doorstep. You should be grateful.”
“You think I’m afraid of a dwarven army?”
“Have you not yet learned that underestimating a druid is dangerous?”
“Oh, I remember that very well.” He leaned close, trying to intimidate her with his body. Sorcha did not back way even though she could feel his breath against her forehead. “But now you are in my court, and I have a thousand guards who would like nothing more than to run a sword through your chest.”
“Careful, brother,” Eamonn growled.
“And what will you do? Banished prince that you are?”
“You know what you made me.”
“Immortal?” Fionn shook his head. “No, it is possible to kill you.”
Sorcha’s eyes widened at the revelation. What did Fionn know that they did not? She looked over at Eamonn who’s troubled expression only made her more nervous.
Throughout it all, the dowager queen and king remained silent on their thrones. Fionn walked up the steps and gently touched the arms of their thrones. They did not speak, they hardly even moved but to acknowledge the son they had chosen.
Anger planted a seed in her chest that burned. Sorcha rubbed her throat and told herself to remain silent. This was not her battle.
Not yet.
Fionn sat back down and lifted a hand. “I granted you an audience, banished prince, not a scene. As you can tell, there are already many who wish to speak with me. Your antics and dramatics are not appreciated by those who already have waited for days to voice their pleas. You will remain in your quarters which I have graciously provided until the time of your audience. My guards will see you there.”
Clanking armor echoed as a veritable army of golden soldiers advanced upon them. Sorcha’s pulse jumped as the army separated her and Oona from the others.
“Eamonn!” she shouted.
He did not respond, only glared at his brother as the guards shoved his chest and pushed him out of the great hall.
“Fionn!” her voice carried through the hall so loudly that the king had to look at her. “Where are you taking me?”
“It wouldn’t be proper to allow an unwed couple to stay in the same quarters, now would it?”
She couldn’t tell him they were married, and Fionn knew he had her cornered. He was up to something, and she refused to play along with this game.
“They didn’t even look at him!” Sorcha shouted as she ripped the golden bangles from her arms. “Did you see that? They’re his parents and they didn’t even have the decency to glance at their son whom they have not seen for centuries!”
“It is the faerie way,” Oona said in a quiet voice.
“It is a stupid way!”
Sorcha threw the bangles at the wall. The crashing sound only made her feel slightly better.
“They will not look upon his visage until he is no longer banished,” Oona said.
“And who can do that?”
“Only the king.”
“Right.” Sorcha balled her hands into fists. “He will never do that.”
“No, Fionn is unlikely to choose that path. He wants Eamonn to remained banished for as long as he reigns.”
“Do we have no other recourse?” she asked. “How are we supposed to do this?”
She slumped down on the bed and put her head in her hands. Fionn already had them by the throat. Eamonn’s plan had been ironclad. He was so certain he could waltz in and his people would support him.
They hadn’t. They wanted nothing to do with the banished king, especially when his own parents wouldn’t even look at him.
How cruel were these Fae?
She couldn’t imagine forsaking her own child. No matter what they did, they would be in her heart for the rest of her life. But t
hese people didn’t hesitate to disown a child for merely being different. Ugly. Strange.
Eamonn wasn’t any of those. He was a kind and capable man, one who saw the differences in others and accepted them for those differences. He understood that what made these people strong were their differences.
Oona knelt in front of Sorcha, her knees creaking. “My sweet girl, all is not yet lost.”
“What else is there?”
“The audience with the king may go differently than we expect.”
“How could it?”
“We cannot know the future.” Oona reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind Sorcha’s ear. “We can only hope that the future remains bright.”
“We cannot even see the men, Oona.”
“Then we shall plan on our own, we have no need of men.”
“He will banish Eamonn again, or worse.”
A rustling from the window broke through their conversation. “He’s already banished me, he cannot do it again.”
Sorcha lifted her head so quickly her vision spun. Eamonn threw one leg over her windowsill, the other dangling over the sheer drop towards certain death.
“How did you get there?” she shouted as she stood. She raced to his side and gripped his arm, terror coursing through her veins. “Get inside you foolish man! You’ll tumble to your death!”
“Mo chroí, have a little more faith than that.”
He grinned, and she lost her breath. Had she ever seen him this happy? The wild abandon of joy that danced across his features with the breathless excitement of near death. She kept finding new sides of him, new stories that his body told, new whispers of the man he used to be.
She squeezed the hard edges of his bicep. “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t like Fionn keeping us apart.”
“Why didn’t you use the door?”
“There are guards posted outside both our rooms. He wasn’t making it easy on us, mostly just to spite me.”
Sorcha shook her head. “How would that spite you? He doesn’t think highly enough of me to consider my thoughts or plans a threat.”
“He knows I will worry about you, and not about my audience.” Eamonn swung his leg over the edge of the window and slid into her room. “Now, I can focus.”
He pulled her into his arms and cupped the back of her head. She felt a sigh lift his chest as he tucked her further into his embrace.
Oona cleared her throat. “I’ll find us some food then.”
“A bath as well, Oona.”
“Master?”
“We’ve been traveling for a very long time. I’d like to be clean when I stride into that faerie pit again.”
“As you wish, Master.”
Sorcha grinned and rested her head against his chest. “You don’t want the bath just to clean, do you?”
“It’s your first night in Cathair Solais. You should enjoy all the pleasures of faerie life.”
“Which are?”
“The bath water here is mixed with ambrosia straight from the enchanted flowers. If I know Fionn, he will have too much added to the bath water Oona requests.”
“What will that do?” Her brow wrinkled with worry as she leaned back to stare at his face. “Why don’t you seem concerned about that?”
“Ambrosia in small amounts relaxes the body. In large amounts, it acts as an aphrodisiac.”
“Ah.” Her cheeks flamed red. “You said you didn’t want to be distracted.”
“I am in my childhood home for the first time in centuries, with the woman I love more than life itself. A man would have to be insane to not wish for distractions at a time like this.”
“You may regret that come morning.”
“I shall never regret a single moment of your time.” His hands smoothed down her ribs to the dip in her waist. “If this is our last night, then I wish it to be a night our souls remember in the ancestral halls.”
Eamonn swept down and claimed her lips. He pressed his body against hers, delved into her heart with his tongue, whispered promises against her skin all night. Promises they both worried he couldn’t keep.
“Are you ready?” Eamonn asked.
Sorcha watched Oona tighten the remaining straps of his armor, checking each one to make certain she had gotten them all. He could have worn the regalia of faerie royalty. It was the chosen outfit laid out for him by Fionn’s men.
Eamonn had refused. Instead, he pulled out the armor which he wore like a second skin. Sorcha didn’t know whether she approved. On one hand, giving his people a chance to see him as something other than a warlord was potentially good. On the other, he shouldn't change simply because they were used to a king who did not fight by their side.
She would be soft for the both of them. Oona had dressed her in an ephemeral dress that floated like a cloud. Green as sea-foam, it pooled around her legs and moved on its own. The sleeves were so fine, they appeared as if made of smoke. Gems dripped from her throat and wrapped around her arms in coiled chains.
“No,” Sorcha replied. “I am not ready. My stomach is in knots, and I can’t stop thinking something horrible is going to happen.”
“We cannot plan for what might happen.”
“What did he mean when he said you weren't immortal?” Sorcha stared at him with wide eyes. “The crystals stop every blade. What does he know?”
“I cannot fathom what he might be up to. He will not kill me, Sorcha.”
Oona finished tightening the straps and Eamonn strode towards Sorcha. Confidence echoed in each step. He took her hands and pressed his lips against the backs.
“How can you be so sure?”
“He is as much a part of me as I am of him. Twins are two sides of a coin. To kill me would be to kill himself.”
“You want to kill him,” she said.
“And I am prepared to kill myself to end this war. Fionn has never been so selfless.”
As he turned, she reached out and grasped his hand. “Do not kill yourself for this. There are other ways.”
He looked back, emotions dancing in his eyes like the flipping pages of a book. “I have much to live for. I have no intentions of letting him take that from me.”
She followed him out of the room, into the safekeeping of twenty guards, and back to the great hall.
For all Fionn’s blustering when they first arrived, he had not made them wait long. A single night in the golden rooms of the Seelie castle could hardly be considered an extended stay. He had wanted to throw them off, make them uncomfortable, and then force them to return.
He showed them that his word was law by simply making them go away and then he would see them on his own terms. Their plans were foiled that easily.
It made her worried.
Every inch of this castle spread fear throughout her mind and soul. What would Fionn do? What madness could he bring to life?
Eamonn’s square shoulders did not waver as he stepped into the throne room. Sorcha locked her eyes on his form, the only rock that grounded her. He did not let fear rule him. Neither should she.
Faeries filled the hall again. Why? Fionn had made it seem as though they were waiting to speak with him, but she recognized many of their faces. These were the same faeries as before. Beauty, so powerful that it hurt her eyes, spread across his court.
She glanced at Oona. “They are faerie nobility, aren’t they?”
“They are.”
“Why are they here?”
Eamonn strode towards the throne, halting mere feet from his parents. “My petition was for a private audience.”
Fionn reclined on his throne, rings glittering on his fingers. “And it is within my right to deny that request. Your petition will be public.”
“Are you certain you wish to do this, brother?”
“You have nothing to say.”
Eamonn bowed his head. “Then I shall address both you and your court.”
“You may begin.”
The faeries looked up as one and
met the gaze of the high king. The firstborn son who should have ruled them, but had fallen from grace.
Sorcha’s throat clenched. They looked at him. All it took was a few words from Fionn and suddenly Eamonn existed again. But why? Why now would he allow it?
Her beloved hesitated for a brief moment as he met individual gazes.
“My people, you have suffered long enough. The throne has always passed to the firstborn of the king and queen, never the second unless the first dies. I am not dead. Many of you have fought beside me on the battlefield, some have saved my life. Others, I have saved.
“You knew me from when I was a little boy. You watched me grow with confidence and honor, you loved me as one of your own.
“This deformity was not my choice, but neither was beauty yours. Your king caused this wound and all others you see upon my face. What you look upon is your own face, your fears, your temptations, your nightmares. I may be ugly, but I am far more worthy a king than the one who sits upon your throne.
“Faeries should not be slaves. We have a chance in this moment, to change our world. To live with tolerance of each other, to grow stronger together. I will not rest until I sit upon that throne and bring our people together once and for all.”
His words were beautiful. They brought tears to Sorcha’s eyes and were spoken like a true king. One who would take the burdens of his people and carry them upon his shoulders.
But did they see it?
She looked over the crowd of people and her heart fell. They did not care for his words. No one moved, blinked, or breathed as they stared him down.
Fionn scoffed. “And so you have had your petition, banished prince. Your people have given their answer.”
Eamonn did not respond. He kept his gaze locked upon the men and women who scorned him so easily. His expression did not change, the set of his shoulders did not move. He watched them and waited.
She sucked in a wavering breath, telling herself not to cry.
The king sighed. “Yours is not the only petition I accepted.”
Eamonn turned and stared. “What?”