The Fall Of The King (Lightness Saga Book 3)

by Stacey Marie Brown

“Love?” I choked. “Is it love now?”

  “I don’t move in with just anybody.”

  I snickered, peering at her. “But it would be a lie.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you, Ms. Cathbad…” I planted my feet in front of her, stopping her short, our figures almost touching. “Are not the type of girl who only wants a good man…” Her eyes enlarged and she swallowed. “You want more than that. Much, much more. Believe me, you are not any girl.”

  Her throat bobbed. She licked her lip and suddenly I could only look at her wet mouth, beckoning me like a siren’s call. The urge to kiss her infiltrated my mind, freezing me in place.

  Her breath caught as though she had read my mind and felt my compulsion to claim her mouth hungrily. The need was desperate, clawing at the base of my neck.

  I never liked second guessing myself. I went after what I wanted. However, this was not about retrieving the latest gadget for testing or facing someone who betrayed me. Kissing her was something I should never do. Ever. My hand slid up her cheek, drawing her closer to me. My body defied me, rejecting my firm command to step away.

  Her gaze dropped to my mouth, desire smoldering off her, only enticing mine to rise. I couldn’t deny my body wanted her. And even against the warnings in my head, I knew one thing. I was going to kiss Fionna Cathbad.

  No, “kiss” sounded like a sweet, charming notion. I wasn’t going to kiss her; I was going to devour her. Incinerate and ravage her until nothing was left. Of either one of us.

  She made a little noise as my fingers dug into the back of her head, lowering my head, our mouths only a breath away. I could already sense if I crossed this line, nothing was going to be the same.

  “Now I know why you didn’t come to my room that night. Seems you already had someone warming yours,” a woman spoke from behind me. “A little surprised it’s her, I will admit.”

  Shock jerked me away from Fionna. I knew the brusque accent all too well. There’s no way she could be here. Except she was. In tight black jeans, boots, and an expensive-looking jacket.

  “Margo?” I ground my lips together, trying not to show my astonishment.

  “Look at this. Here we are again. What are the odds?” She shook her head in paradoxical amazement, but her gaze still ran up and down me with heated desire. “I really think you must be stalking me. I knew you liked me. Or at least want me in your bed.”

  Fionna snarled, stepping toward her. I clutched her wrist, pulling her back, but deep down pride budded in my chest. I liked her getting defensive of me.

  “What are you doing here, Margo?” Every muscle was tight and defensive. I could not believe I had not even contemplated Margo being a con artist who’d been playing me since the day I met her in Zurich.

  She smiled coyly. “I think you know why I am here. What I want.”

  “Why don’t you enlighten me?” I hadn’t seen this coming. I had kept the Romanian beauty at arm’s length because I did not trust her. But I hadn’t followed through and investigated her. Her blatant sexual attraction to me and her nonchalance about my business affairs clouded my judgment. Now I was paying the price for letting a pretty face slip through. She had been using me the whole time. She knew what I was after.

  “What every girl wants.” She tilted her head with a smug smile. “A rock on her hand. But I’ll take mine extremely powerful, gray, a few inches big, and in my palm.”

  A sharp guffaw came from me. “You want the Stone of Fáil?”

  “Are you asking? How sweet.” She hugged her hands to her chest. “My answer is yes.”

  “Amusing.” I folded my arms, relaxing a bit. She was not a threat. “Good luck finding it.”

  She gripped one hip, rolling her eyes. “Do not treat me as an imbecile, Lars. I know it not only exists, but you have it. I also know you have them all, except the cauldron. You can keep those. I only want the stone back.”

  “Back?” Fionna spoke, but Margo didn’t even glance her way. “It was you. In Prague. The one who attacked us.”

  Margo’s gaze flicked to Fionna, then back to me, a smug grin twisting her lips.

  Did this woman really think she could fight me? That she had any authority or chance against an Unseelie King?

  My hand covered my guffaw. “How foolish are you? Are you so power hungry you think you can take on the High Demon King? By yourself?”

  “No.” She slanted her head to the right. “But I could take you on with another High Demon King.”

  Great. She was certifiably insane.

  I couldn’t stop my laughter from ringing in the air.

  “Does this ‘other’ High Demon King come in a form of a talking sock too?”

  Margo’s lids narrowed in confusion. She rolled her shoulders at being the butt of my joke.

  When did I start joking? That had never been me. I was always serious and to the point. I glanced over at the woman at my side. Fionna looked back, humor dancing in her eyes, as though she got the joke. What in hell was this woman doing to me?

  “I’m glad you can enjoy yourself.” Margo put her hands on her hips with a self-assuredness that made me feel as if the joke were on us.

  I pushed out with my senses, but was overwhelmed by the density of ancient blood and magic blocked.

  “I am getting the stone.” She lifted her eyebrows. “I was promised.”

  “By whom?” I scoffed.

  Margo twisted, staring behind her. A man stepped from the trees, a few strighoul behind him. But I barely took them in as all my attention was on the man.

  Tall, olive complexion, dark hair with yellow-green eyes.

  Fionna gasped. At least I wasn’t the only one seeing my twin. I felt a bit of relief this was not a hallucination. Then quickly the thump of my heart throbbed in my ears as the figure grew closer and closer. Unable to move, I stared at the ghost coming to life before me.

  No. There’s no way. It can’t be true. He’s dead. I killed him.

  Devlin reached Margo’s side, wrapping his arm around her waist with the intimacy of a lover. “Is this form too shocking?” My brother’s voice rang through the air. “Well, then you might prefer this.”

  In front of my eyes my brother’s face dissolved, reshaping into another’s.

  “Holy hell!” Fionna clasped her hand on her mouth, staring at my previous love.

  Aisling. A see-through gown draped off one shoulder; my eyes drank her up, taking in her shiny long red hair and beautiful face. The birthmark, the one I had kissed so many times on her shoulder, wasn’t there. In the light of day, the tiny details I knew well were missing.

  “Not sure this form is working anymore. Looks like you might have moved on.” Aisling motioned to Fionna with a pout.

  “Stop,” I growled.

  “Okay, fine. You were never any fun.” Aisling’s voice and beauty dropped away, a man’s face procuring her place. “Even as a child.”

  My body jolted back. “No.” What I saw had to be another phantom, more torment being played on me. I knew his face so well.

  “I’m hurt.” The apparition stepped forward, a vicious smile parting his lips. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  I swallowed, my brain still trying to understand.

  The man’s eyes glinted with joy, relishing in my suffering.

  “Hello, nephew.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Fionna

  What the hell is happening right now?

  I had just seen a man turn from Lars’s carbon copy to one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. In my gut I knew it was Aisling. Lars’s reaction to her left no doubt. But that was not who stood before us now.

  This man was tall and built similar to Lars, skinnier, with a longer nose but the same chartreuse eyes and olive skin. His long jet-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He had on well-worn beige cotton trousers and a matching button shirt, which was open halfway down his chest. He looked more like a man on a spiritual retreat than a threat to L
ars. But I detected formidable magic under the tattered clothes.

  Silence eclipsed the countryside, as if every living creature was holding its collective breath, including me. My head snapped between the two men; their looks were so similar, there was no doubt they were related.

  “No.” Lars shook his head. “No. This is not possible.”

  “Why? Because I have been supposedly dead for the last three centuries?” The man spread his arms. “Well, as you can see, my dear nephew, I am alive and well.”

  “H-how?” Lars sputtered, the shock still swirling in his eyes.

  “Because your father was spineless. He was a sentimental fool,” he sneered. “He didn’t have the guts to kill me. Instead he let me rot in a prison he created, gradually draining me of power and life so he could take my place.”

  Lars pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “To protect himself from guilt for killing his twin, he cursed me to a fate worse than death,” he spat, his handsome face twisted up with fury. “He took my throne and played the part of the King, but he never was one. Just like you and your brother. Not one of you has ever been the rightful King.”

  “Ah.” Lars’s head tipped back, his chest expanding. “That is why you are here, Stavros. It was you this whole time.”

  “Took you long enough to figure it out.” Stavros clapped his hands together mockingly. “I left you so many clues pointing to me. I was starting to get bored playing all by myself. Oh, and with Devlin... and Aisling.”

  Lars scoffed. “Right. Your gift was to make yourself look and sound like others.”

  I had heard of only a few demons able to do that, exceedingly powerful ones. It didn’t bode well for us.

  A smile split Stavros’s mouth.

  “It always came in handy. Your father and I used to torment people growing up. He was disappointed you and Devlin didn’t inherit it.” He clicked his tongue in shame. “But how fun for me to watch you crumble under the images of your dead lover and brother. Those were the best days.” He sighed dreamily.

  “At least I know I’m not the crazy one here.” The shock was gone. Lars stood tall again. “It was Father’s mistake for not killing you. But your time as King is over. Go back to whatever hole you dug yourself out of. You have no power anymore.”

  A cackle broke from Stavros’s mouth. “Oh, nephew, your naiveté is precious. Do I have to explain to you how this King thing works again?” He took a few steps closer, and Margo moved with him. Alarms of danger lit my nerves. “There can only be one King at a time. And guess who the rightful one here is?” He pointed to Lars then himself. “You? Me? Oh, sorry. You weren’t picked. Terrible break. Try again later.”

  “Take another look, Stavros. I don’t think you really want to challenge me. I am far more powerful than you ever were.”

  “Oh, darn, you’re right. Guess I’ll go home now.” Stavros snapped his fingers. “Came all this way for nothing.”

  A grin spread on Margo’s face; she was clearly enjoying the scene. I did not let my guard down for one second. Instead, I held a spell behind my teeth, waiting for the gates to open. She would be my first target, and by the way she stared back at me, I was hers.

  “Do you know how long I’ve been free?” Stavros rubbed his chin, reminding me so much of Lars. “The day your father died, my prison was lifted.”

  “What?” Lars countered. “But father died over a century ago.”

  “Lots and lots of time to build myself up again, create an army. This is just a little taste.” He motioned behind him. “And when rumors came floating my way the King was on the hunt for treasure…” Stavros winked back at Margo. “Well, let’s say I suddenly missed my family so much, and you were always my favorite.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Oh right, it was your brother.” He clicked his tongue. “So easy to confuse you two. I guess not anymore.” He laughed mechanically. “Because one of you is dead. At least you had the gumption to actually kill him.”

  Lars’s mouth pressed together, his hands rolling to fists. “So you want take the Treasures of Tuatha Dé Danann, kill me, be King again, and become a tyrannical dictator of Earth. Is that your plan?”

  “Well, it wasn’t, but damn it sounds good. I like your plan better. Do you mind if I steal it?” He pointed at Lars. “Thanks, so kind. You were always full of great ideas.”

  “And you were always full of vanity and psychosis.” Lars pulled at his sleeves, a sign he was growing irritated. “My father was the one who ran the place, kept you in order. Just because you were King doesn’t mean you should have been.”

  Stavros inhaled, all humor dropping away. “Neither should you, nephew. You never earned it. Because your father never killed me, it is still technically mine. I am back, claiming my right, and there can only be one King. The laws of the dark will make sure. You will grow weak as I siphon back your powers... unless I kill you and just get them faster.”

  “You can try,” Lars rumbled, leaning forward.

  “I don’t need to try. It’s finally just you and me, son, and I will get what is mine.” Stavros gestured between them. “The strighoul and the hot-ass fighter here are really only for looks.”

  “You sure talk a lot for someone so desperate to fight,” Lars snapped back. “And the Druid next to me isn’t just for looks. I could let her take you down.”

  I looked at him, a grin hinting on my lips, warm fuzzies bouncing off each other in my chest. “I’d be happy to, but I don’t want to take away from your family time.”

  “So thoughtful.” He winked at me, our gazes latching on to each other.

  “Hello?” Stavros waved at us. “Me here! Remember?”

  “Still here?” Lars faced his uncle with a frown.

  “That pretty little witch is going to be the first thing I kill. Just so you can watch another one of your lovers die.”

  “Witch?” My eyebrows shot up.

  “Please, the gods only gave you a new title and some parlor tricks. You can’t play with the big boys, dear.”

  My head spun to Lars. Was he serious?

  A knowing grin tipped the side of Lars’s mouth, as though he were looking forward to me putting Stavros in his place.

  “If I had a beer, I’d ask you to hold it right now.” I inched forward, fury boiling my skin.

  “Whoa.” Lars tugged me back, his lips nipping my ear. “You’ll get your chance. Don’t show your hand yet.”

  I grumbled but knew he was right. I needed to come in when they wouldn’t be expecting my level of power. Clearly Stavros was from the old school, where fae thought of Druids as fleas biting at fae ankles. Annoying and irritating, but nothing to worry about.

  Just wait. This flea was about to draw blood.

  “Give me the cauldron. You know this is not going to work out in your favor.” Stavros inched closer, his hand reaching out. “No?” He sighed heavily. “I suppose that would have been too easy. Very undramatic and lackluster.”

  “You were always better at theater than you ever were as King.”

  “Ouch.” Stavros placed his hand on his heart. “That hurts.”

  “You want the cauldron?” Lars’s body rolled forward. “Come and get it.”

  The pause was minuscule before both men lashed out, energy exploding in a rainbow of sparks as it crashed into the other’s. They both flew backward across the field.

  My gaze vaulted to Margo, whose hand was already on the sword at her belt. Our glares narrowed on each other.

  “Guess I can warm up with you.” She exhaled. “But what will I do after the thirty seconds?”

  “Bleed into the grass.”

  Our bodies moved, leaping for each other.

  Time to steal Ms. Romania’s crown.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lars

  My magic wrapped around my uncle’s throat like a noose, dangling him in the air as he did me, both of us staring each other down. I had fought extraordinarily pow
erful opponents and some who challenged me: Aneira, even the little Druid. But I could feel the difference in their magic, sense the weaknesses where I could find upper ground. This felt as though I was fighting myself. Any crack I could find in him, he could find in me.

  Digging deep, I threw my power at him, flinging him yards away into the muddy dirt. He barely came to a stop when a whip of magic lashed back at me, slicing across my abdomen. Searing pain burned my muscles, forcing a bellow from my lips.

  “We can do this all day, nephew.” Stavros stomped back, his black eyes pinned on me, and a smile curled his face. “And with every hit you send my way, I will absorb your magic…and you will be drained of it.”

  I bent over, a growl snapping my teeth. Two Unseelie Kings had never lived at the same time. No precedent existed. However, I sensed he was telling the truth.

  He seemed to be growing taller, more confident with every magical punch I gave him, while I could feel fatigue weighing my shoulders down. Could he steal all my power back now that he had come to claim his throne? In the eyes of the Dark law, he was the rightful King.

  I was the fraud.

  A strike of energy bowled into my chest; my body twisted in the air and landed with a crunch on the rocky terrain. My face scraped against the ground, tearing flesh.

  Every bone throbbed as I tried to get back on my feet, slinging my magic back at the man I had grown up hating. His slender build hurtled into the side of the mountain, rocks and debris crumbling to the ground around him as I pinned him into the solid surface.

  “You want the cauldron so bad? You’re going to have to try a little harder.” I spit out blood, rolling back my shoulders. The thought of him regaining his seat and claiming the Treasures of Tuatha Dé Danann as his own chilled my soul. Was this how Fionna felt about me obtaining them?

  “I want the throne. The treasures are just a bonus.” He croaked over the pressure on his throat. A trickle of blood leaked down his forehead. “Thank you for doing all the footwork for me. I appreciate it. Too bad you won’t live to see what I will be able to do with that kind of power. But you know how it goes. Only enough room at the top for one of us.”