The Fall Of The King (Lightness Saga Book 3)

by Stacey Marie Brown

  Lars pinched his nose, his shoulders curving forward, as though the weight of his decision was tangible.

  “Sir, you know this is the only way.”

  Lars took a few deep breaths before nodding. “Fine, but you will be leaving me. You and Travil are taking the plane back home. There you will heal.”

  “No, sir.”

  “This is an order, Goran,” he replied with ferocity. “Ms. Cathbad and I are not done. I do not plan to go home empty handed.”

  My head twisted to him, my mouth parting.

  “My liege.” Goran struggled to keep standing. “You will be unprotected.”

  “I am a demon. An exceedingly powerful Unseelie King with centuries of training. I think I can manage on my own just fine.”

  Goran wanted to protest, I could see his lids narrowing with concern, but his thread of energy was about to snap.

  “Plus, I have a formidable, conniving Druid who specializes in the dark arts.” Lars shot me a look. “We will be just fine, right, Ms. Cathbad?”

  Clenching my lips, I cleared my true thoughts from my throat and nodded.

  Sure. An arrogant, narcissistic king and a hotheaded Druid who dabbled in black magic.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  ~~

  Sweaty and exhausted, Lars and I finally got the two injured men on the private jet. Travil tried so hard to stay awake and walk by himself, but it was a pathetic attempt at best. He stumbled and fell over a dozen times, and my small frame was not built to hold up such a beast of a man. The King carried Goran over his shoulder, blood soaking through his designer jacket.

  “Get them home, now,” Lars ordered the pilot as Melanie and Jessica attended to the wounded men without a word.

  “What about you, sir?” the pilot asked. I never noticed before, but what I thought was styled brown hair was gold, brown, and red feathers. His nose was long and slightly hooked, his eyes a piercing golden yellow-orange, his black pupils huge. A bird shifter. What better person to fly a plane than one who could fly himself?

  “I will be staying here.” Lars didn’t elaborate, putting his hand on my lower back to lead me back out the plane. “Call ahead and have my healers waiting at the hangar.”

  “Yes, sir.” The pilot bowed his head.

  Lars rushed me to the stairs. I took a last look over my shoulder. Melanie was crouched before Goran, but her eyes were locked on the retreating King. Desire, desperation, and longing shone in her bright aqua eyes; her lips parted as if she were about to call out for him.

  I shook my head with a snort, trampling down the stairs to the ground.

  “What?”

  “Think someone’s got it bad,” I teased, flicking my head up back to the closing door of the plane.

  The pilot was readying the jet for flight. Muscles along Lars’s jaw twitched under his skin as he pulled the rolling stairway from the plane.

  The engine started up, and the aircraft curved out of the private hangar, heading for the tarmac.

  Gusts of wind snapped the ends of my hair at my cheeks like whips. “What now?” I asked as both of us watched our ride leave without us.

  “You are going to complete your mission, Ms. Cathbad.” He kept his head forward. “You will find the cauldron for me.”

  “And how do you suppose I do that? Pull it out of my ass like a rabbit?” I replied evenly, watching the lights of the jet rise up in the sky, heading west.

  “If that is what you have to do.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “There are no reports or leads on the cauldron since it allegedly came here. It might have been destroyed or is truly lost. We have no way of finding it.”

  “I do not.” He lifted his head higher, gaze locked on the dark night. “But you do.”

  “My family forged it centuries ago. And it’s been lost almost as long. I have no more of an idea than a person on the street.”

  “There you are wrong, Ms. Cathbad.” I craned my head to look at him. He turned, staring down at me with a glint in his eyes. “What do you need for a locating spell?”

  “A locating spell?” I half laughed. “You need a connection to the lost item, to have touched it, and at least know where it was last seen. I have none of those.”

  He curved to fully face me, a smirk on his face. Acid rose into my throat. What was he thinking?

  “You come from the direct line who created the cauldron, the same magic... the same blood.”

  It felt as though a huge moth was rising up my chest into my throat, the wings batting against my airways.

  “You want me to do a blood ritual.” It wasn’t a question. I knew exactly what he wanted from me. Over the years, I’d heard stories of “witches” or Druids sacrificing girl virgins and gutting animals. All true. The gods were bloodthirsty. To keep in their graces, there had been some animal and human victims over time, especially back in the ten and eleven hundreds. We had become more civil since then. Okay, who was I fooling? We really hadn’t. We just traded killings for sexual rituals instead, because the gods were horny shites as well. They loved the energy of group orgies especially.

  But what Lars wanted could kill me.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  His eyes pierced mine as he took a step closer, almost touching me, and his energy roamed over my skin like a drunk with a walker, swerving and rolling on each nerve.

  “I think it’s the least you can do.” His voice was low, but I could feel the threat dripping off each word. “If you ever lie to me again.” He lifted his hand, his palm curling around the base of my throat. “And if you even think about escaping...” He reached around with his free hand, clutching the knife slipped underneath my jumper. Shite. He knew. I should have realized I couldn’t get anything past him. He noticed everything, saw everything. “You thought you could escape me with this? That is amusing.” He tugged it out of my pants, skimming the tip of the blade over my neck and down my ribs. Adrenaline thumped in my veins, the space between my thighs tingling.

  Breath caught in my throat, his hand pressing down a little harder, the knife poking into my breastbone. Neither of us moved; our gazes latched on each other. Neither of us would back down.

  “You know what this ritual entails, don’t you?” My voice came out a husky whisper.

  “I do.”

  Shite. Fuck.

  “I told you. There is nothing I won’t do to get what I want.”

  That’s what I was afraid of.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lars

  After a few calls to my secretary, whose name I’m sure I will remember one of these times, I acquired a small rental near the Charles Bridge. We could not return to the hotel. It was undoubtedly being observed, though I wasn’t yet sure by whom.

  Someone who seemed to know my every move.

  I hurried the Druid through the cold night to the loft space, Travil’s knife tucked in my boot. The dense haze hid our blood-stained and torn clothes from the few tourists walking the bridge.

  The statues of the saints perched on the crossing similar to guard dogs, the fog wrapping around them like moth-eaten blankets. Curling up from the Vltava River, these eerie outlines loomed through the mist, so hulking they seemed to be alive and watching us.

  The Gothic-style guard gate with its spires and steepled roof rose up at the end of the bridge and stirred the sensation I had returned to the time of death-perfumed cities, when disease eradicated a lot of humans. Dark times for fae as well. Needing to blame someone, humans turned to us, sensing we were different. With pitchforks and fire, groups hunted us as if we were feral beasts, taking pride in putting fae heads on stakes and parading them through villages while they burned our women to death.

  Now I was seeing my brother again. Was it because we had been here together when we were young, free, and unaware of the future where the love of a woman would end up dividing us?

  I had a sharp memory of Aisling and the day she showed up on my doorstep seeking the King’s and my help. She opened
her mouth, and I was a goner. I thought I despised her. She was smart, beautiful, strong, and challenged me at every turn. No one else ever had. A fire burned in her, wild and free, and branded me hers. Of course, we both denied it for a long time. Seelie princesses and Unseelie demons did not mix. The penalty of association with a demon was death. The fact she was there to try and stop her sister, the Queen? Treason.

  Every second we were together was fraught with danger. And that only made us want each other more. No woman before or after affected me like she had. I resembled a pubescent fae in the pinnacle of his magic and sexual awakening. We couldn’t get enough of each other, fucking every moment we could. The more I fought it, the more I fell in love with her. We spent more and more time together, and at night we’d lie naked under the stars, talking about life. Knowing we could not be together for long.

  Even when we parted and she went to my brother, our connection never waned. It was like a force field connected us. Our words might deny each other, but our bodies never could.

  “Is this it?” Fionna’s Irish lilt broke me from my reverie. She twisted the newly magic-proof cell phone in my hand, reading the address my secretary messaged me. This prototype was still being tested, and so far I hadn’t found too many glitches. I was eager to get it on the market, letting the world reconnect with those they hadn’t talked to since the fall of the walls.

  And yes, the money would be nice. It would allow me to grant more funds to Zoey Daniels’s Honey House and Dr. Grier for their children’s homes and medical research.

  I peered up at the numbers on the old neo-baroque building and typed a code into the keypad on the door. The lock unlatched, and the door swung open to a set of stairs. I took them two at a time, flicking on the light switch at the top, illuminating the living space in a buttery light.

  Fionna reached the main level and gazed around the room wide-eyed. “Even your getaway apartment has to be meticulous.” She snorted, brushing past me to walk in the large corner flat.

  I stepped away from her quickly, aware I’d almost acted on impulse at the moment in the hangar when my hand lay on her throat and her gaze challenged mine. My anger at her only mounted the need to punish her... to take her. Hard and unforgiving. My dick stirred as images of me doing just that flooded through. I pinched my nose and took a breath. I had to get myself back in command. I couldn’t lose my control.

  “Seriously.” Fionna ran her fingers over the wood dining table, its metal base glittering under the modern chandelier dripping over it. Each seat surrounding the table was a slim wingback chair. “Ever heard of a Travelodge?”

  “A what?”

  “Well, you answered my question.” She chuckled, tugging off her beanie. The smell of shampoo from her damp locks perfumed the air.

  “I am King,” I retaliated, as though my answer should resolve the matter. She had no idea how hard I worked to become what I was.

  “And you don’t let us forget it,” she mumbled, unzipping her jacket and tossing it on a side chair as she walked into the family room.

  The first floor was mainly the living space. An enormous two-sided stone fireplace divided the dining, kitchen, and the living areas. A modern gray velvet sectional with textured pillows faced the fireplace. Two side chairs, a sleek wood coffee table, and a white furry rug filled the space. A wrought iron spiral staircase took you up to the second level where the bedrooms were. Minimal with a mix of masculine and feminine.

  “It is who I am.” My skin stung where it thawed. I’d left my coat back at the castle. No DNA would trace it back to me. Science had yet to find a way to register fae chromosomes. “No one should ever forget it.”

  “Really?” She whipped around to see me. “That’s sad. Not even your niece? Or the people who love you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s a title, not your entire persona.”

  “With me it is…it has to be…my life.”

  “What about the man? And the demon? How do they describe themselves? What do they want?”

  Irritation pricked at the back of my neck, her questions rousing defensive anger. “I don’t have the luxury, Druid. My life is to protect my people and run this kingdom.”

  “I’m pretty sure the humans would like to be a part of that again. Have their democracy back. Do you really think of them when you say your people? I think they would beg to differ.”

  My hands clamped together. Breathe. “First, I speak for all people, fae or human. And second, their so-called democracy was a farce. An outrageously corrupt system, where only the wealthiest controlled anything. They weren’t free. They just desperately clung to the idea because if they really looked, they would see the truth, and the truth scares people. Most were comfortable with the status quo so long as their lives went on as usual.”

  She nodded, but I didn’t sense she fully agreed with my assessment.

  “We need to set up for the ritual.” I swept past her, shoving the coffee table back into the sofa. “Is this enough room?”

  Fionna bit down on her bottom lip, then cracked her knuckles.

  “Don’t do that.” I tried to ignore the chill wiggling down my back.

  “What?” She glanced down at her hands. “You mean this?” Bones popped along her other hand.

  “Ugh.” I stared up at the ceiling. “Stop.”

  “Are you kidding me? This is what makes the King queasy? Knuckles cracking?” She burst out laughing. “You torture and kill, probably hear actual bones breaking nightly, but this?” She popped her thumb, forcing me to wince. “This is what gets you?”

  “It’s annoying,” I growled. It reminded me of my brother. He used to do it all the time when we were kids, knowing it drove me up the wall. It seemed everything was coming back to my brother lately.

  My twin, my other half, my best friend, my partner in crime... and the man I had to kill with my own bare hands.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fionna

  Flames danced in the fireplace, crackling its warmth into the dark room. The sheep rug was pushed under the sofa, leaving space for us to sit. We’d turned off every light and lit a few candles we found around the house. These now sat in a circle on the wood floor. One remained unlit and sat off to the side, as we couldn’t form the circle until we were inside it.

  My heart trotted heavily against my ribs. Not a lot scared me about magic, even black magic, but this type of blood ritual was bizarre. And archaic. Honestly, the thought never crossed my mind to try it, and the chances of it working were minimal.

  I stood up, staring down at the large candle circle. TV and movies had warped these practices into “demonic” for entertainment value, which really pissed me off. Pagan religion was always twisted from the beautiful feminine power and worship of Mother Earth to satanic ritual. Now everyone associated pagan with the devil, when it was never meant to be that. It showed the power of propaganda and men who feared the strength of women.

  No demons rose or were summoned to do my bidding. Why would I need one when I already had one here with me? The type of blood ritual I was doing would let the gods connect me to my ancestors and find the magic that united the cauldron to me. Believe me, I wish I only had to summon a ghost or demon to tell me its location. That would be easy.

  “You ready?” Lars sat back on his heels just outside of the imaginary circle line, his green eyes shining from the firelight.

  “Noooo.” I shook my head, my voice shaky.

  “I won’t let it go too far.” He rubbed his hands on his dirty jeans, his face serious.

  “Why don’t I buy what you’re saying? Oh right…because there isn’t anything you won’t do to get what you want.”

  He held my gaze. “You’re right. However, you dying tonight would be more problematic for me.”

  He understood as I did that if we discovered the location, he would need me to break the protection spell on it. My family connection would more likely open the object to me.

  “Lucky me.”


  “If we were doing the true ritual, you would be.” A slight smile tugged at his lip.

  I blinked. Did he just try and make a joke?

  Back when the fae gods first accepted my people, every blood ritual would end with sex. Usually an orgy, believing the energy of the orgasm would be the final gift to the gods. Personally, I thought they added this part so they could have group sex without feeling guilty.

  In today’s world, some still believed in the “old practice,” but most had dropped that part. It would definitely not be included tonight. What he had to do to me was already way past my comfort zone.

  Don’t think, Fionna, just do it.

  I kicked off my boots, trying to keep my breath even as I unbuttoned my jeans. Being naked was normal and natural to Druids. I was far from ashamed of my body. I used to run out in the rain nude all the time near the Cliffs of Moher, freaking out tourists, not caring who saw me. But Lars watching me felt intimate, breaching my walls.

  My nerves and heart jumped similar to a kangaroo on caffeine. My throat tightened and I struggled to swallow. Peeling my grimy jeans down my legs, I wiggled out of them, tearing off my jumper with haste. If I did it fast, the less I would notice my nerves or the heat attacking my body like a predator.

  His gaze burned into me, but I kept my focus on the task. I undid my bra and slipped out of my knickers. You had to be completely naked within the circle, in your truest form, for this ritual. Basically, what you came into this world with, because you might be leaving it in the same fashion.

  My long hair draped over my torso as I stepped inside the circle, sitting down in the center. My eyes finally lifted to gaze at Lars.

  Oxygen fled my lungs, as though I had been holding it hostage. His jaw was clamped. Black began to eclipse his bright chartreuse eyes, their intensity squeezing my chest. I had to look away. This was so unbelievably awkward and... No, don’t go there. It was about to get a whole lot more uncomfortable.