King of Ruin: A Fantasy Romance (Lords of Sidhe Book 1)

by May Sage

  She might have enjoyed the new experiences in other circumstances. Now, she just used them to distract herself from the fact that she missed home. She missed Julia and Uri. She even missed Calliope. People who loved her, and wanted nothing from her. It had been so simple back on Earth.

  "Hold on tight."

  She sat down in her assigned seat and held on to the sides as the vehicle took off, so swiftly she wanted to throw up.

  Shit, she should have tied herself to the walls with extendable strings like Quentin. To her irritation, the Aos Si didn't seem to be affected at all, moving comfortably. It didn't last. As soon as they left the artificial atmosphere around Sidhe, the ship came to a standstill.

  Mel looked at the flat world from above again, and at the planet in the background. Tartarus. An uneasiness settled inside her. She hadn't really thought about it until now, but being so close to hell was rather harrowing.

  "Why are we leaving the world?"

  “We can't really go this fast while in the atmosphere.” Bass hadn’t talked much until then, but he explained that while piloting the ship. He visibly enjoyed space travel. “It’d burn up the ship and affect the environment. On the surface, the trip from Iron to Silver might take a good five hours. In space, we'll be there in ten minutes.”

  Mel chuckled. "A space trip to cross a few thousand miles. Nice."

  The knight grinned. "Well, it's not exactly usual protocol. Most people take hovercrafts or boats. Caim's time is more valuable than theirs."

  She rolled her eyes.

  Cain was entirely unapologetic. “I do run a country.”

  He was lounging in the co-pilot’s seat, hands behind his head.

  Now that they'd left the Iron Circle, a weight seemed to have been lifted off his shoulders. As well as everyone else's, hers included.

  “And the taxpayers' money has to be put to good use.” Mel’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “I'm two hundred years old, I've seen plenty of presidents, ministers, kings and queens travel in luxury. I know the drill.”

  For half a second, Mel wondered whether looks could actually kill. The silver glint in his eyes flashed. Then he turned back to the front of the ship without saying a thing.

  "Nicely done," Mael whispered conspiratorially. "Watching you get under his skin is a lot of fun. But just so you know, Silver doesn't collect regency taxes. The regents are usually independently wealthy, and they inherit whatever their predecessors owned, anyway."

  Oh. So, she'd shoved her foot in her mouth. Great. Mel guessed she should stay quiet after that blunder, but curiosity won out. She couldn't help herself. "What about keeping the roads passable, paying the soldiers, healthcare?"

  "This is Sidhe," Caim replied, eyes still ahead on the command board. For a moment, Mel wondered whether it would be the only thing he’d say on the matter—not exactly edifying—but he went on. "The only transports used on roads are horses. As most roads are private, they're maintained by the landlord. If we go far, we travel by hovercraft, as they're not detrimental to our environment. As for healthcare, healers are a respected order. They receive a tithe every year and they care for anyone in need, wealthy or poor."

  She had so many questions, suddenly fascinated. Before she could ask one, Mael was giving his two cents. "And that's the point of view of someone born with a silver spoon and silk diapers. Truth is, I could never afford to travel in a hovercraft. And if I'd been able to save the money, I wouldn't have had the time to go anywhere for an extended period. Sidhe is just a place. It has its wonders and its horrors. Taxes just aren't part of it."

  By the time she opened her mouth to ask about wonders and horrors alike, the ship was reentering the atmosphere, vibrating so much she felt sick to her stomach. Oh God, she’d never get used to the turbulence. Mel firmly shut her mouth, least she end up vomiting on everyone.

  When it slowed down, Mael opened the landing platform at the back of the ship. She gasped.

  Dark metallic domes showed through a verdant wood, with golden and moss-green waterfalls and hills. She'd believed the tropical forest of the Iron Circle was beautiful, but it didn’t compare to this world.

  Silver was a vision. A paradise.

  Mel heard a hint of pride in Caim's voice as he said, "Boy, lady, welcome to Argentas."

  Guest of the Crown

  He hadn't been kidding about the horses. There was a carriage pulled by four gorgeous, enormous black stallions, like the destriers of old, waiting for them before the spaceship. A juxtaposition of futuristic and ancient that perfectly described Sidhe, from what Mel understood of it.

  Quentin, Caim, and she rode in the carriage. The others had horses of their own waiting for them.

  Mel glanced at them with envy.

  "You like to ride," Caim said.

  An observation, not a question.

  Mel smiled. If there hadn't been a twelve-year-old with them, she might have batted her eyelashes and said that she loved to ride, just to see how he dealt with teasing.

  So, it was probably a good thing Quentin was with them. Poking the bear was one thing. Poking the fae, on the other hand…

  "I'm not a strong rider. I'm not even three hundred years old, there were already cars all around when I was born."

  Mel was a child of the nineteenth century. She’d seen WWII, the two hundred years after that brand of human stupidity, and the Age of Blood.

  Caim frowned, then his expression lit up. "Ah, yes. Human years."

  She lifted a brow. "Is that different?"

  He nodded. "Our hours last about the same amount of time. But because of the speed of our star and the circumference of Tartarus—and Sidhe itself—there's forty-five hours in each day, ten days per week, a hundred weeks per year."

  Her head was going to explode. But in a way, it made sense. On a planet of immortals, time would have a different meaning.

  "So, one of your years is…five times one of ours?" She was hesitant. Math wasn't her first love.

  He nodded, and she grinned victoriously, glad to have gotten that right.

  Then, her mouth fell open as she took in the implication. “Oh my God, I’m a baby!”

  Caim shook his head. “Not quite. About fifty-five or so. You’re rather young, but we’d still consider you an adult. I believe Mael might be around your age.”

  That was a relief. She definitely didn’t want to put up with a society that would treat her like a kid.

  “Although no one is truly expected to be mature until they reach their hundredth year,” Caim added.

  She sighed. Great. So, that made her a teenager for the next fifty of their years. Good thing she wouldn’t stay here that long.

  Curiosity needled her again. “What about you?”

  "I'm just over three hundred years old here—fifteen hundred on Earth."

  Mel whistled, suitably impressed. "That definitely makes you an old man."

  As she spoke, her eyes stayed glued to the window, watching the city go by. It was humongous. Mainly because they allowed so much space between buildings; even the smallest, humblest of homes were surrounded by their own woods.

  "How large is this place?"

  He took a moment, visibly thinking it out. "The size of New York City? As I remember it, in any case. I haven’t been there for a hundred years. Give or take. But there's a tenth of the population."

  No wonder the air was so pure, crisp, and clean. That, and the lack of cars, of course.

  "It's lovely."

  Caim said nothing, lifting his hand in front of him and typing on a holographic computer in his palm.

  He was taking his work seriously. Or maybe she bored him. Perhaps both.

  Mel looked out the window until the carriage slowed down before the highest, largest, most luxurious edifice they'd passed yet. A palace crowned by a waterfall and flanked by giant white statues of a beautiful woman with wings and a crown.

  Either side of the long path leading to a flight of white stairs before the gates of the monuments, a crowd o
f well-dressed fae was assembled. They were all tall, thin, and unmistakably Aos Si. Their clothes differed from those of the people they'd seen in the streets. And they held themselves in an arrogant, self-important way so similar to the crowd in the Iron Circle. Mel grimaced.

  "Is that the royal palace?" she asked.

  "The regent's keep. But for all intents and purposes, it is the heart of Silver now that the line of the queen has left this realm. Go on ahead."

  Mel turned to Caim, confused. “You want me to go first?”

  "Quentin and I will come out in a minute."

  She hesitated, somewhat confused by this development. Mel was now rested enough to think clearly. She was missing something.

  She held Caim’s gaze silently, until he consented to take note. The regent dropped his hand, and the hologram faded. His silver eyes were finally focused on her. "I'm bringing a foreign woman with me. That makes a statement."

  She saw his point; he was an important man in his world, and her presence by his side was no different than a Hollywood star hanging out with an unknown woman. There would be talk. If they denied any involvement, there would be more talk.

  “They're going to think we're lovers,” she guessed.

  Mel was no blushing virgin. She liked sex and made no apology for it. There had been rumors about her in the past, with a poet, or a painter, or one of her fellow immortals in Aeaea. True or false, she'd never cared. She firmly believed in letting the rabble talk if it entertained them.

  And yet, she felt her cheeks heat. Dammit. Damn him. Now, she imagined his smart mouth around her breasts, sucking at them.

  Her legs shifted ever so slightly, tightening uncomfortably.

  "More than likely." Caim seemed entirely indifferent one way or the other.

  She rolled her eyes. "I don't care what your people think of me."

  Caim tilted his head. "And when the ladies who harbor designs on me corner you and attempt to skin you alive—will you care then?"

  Shit. Somehow, she’d managed to forget again. They were in Sidhe. Land of elegance, beauty, refinement, and barbarism.

  "I chose the option I believed you would find most amenable, but let's discuss our paths. I could have you both dropped off at an inn somewhere—"

  That didn't sound like the worst idea.

  "—And by the morrow, there will be talk around the entire city: the regent has brought a foreign whore and paid for her wares."

  She narrowed her eyes. “Call me a whore again.” Her voice lowered, holding a challenge.

  Choosing not to address her threat, Caim continued, "I could come out first, and the word on the street will be that a poor, helpless wallflower has been brought as my plaything. A doll intended as my amusement."

  Was she growling?

  "If you were by my side, there'd be bells ringing in all corners of the land, and everywhere they'd scream the regent has chosen a bride."

  "You wish."

  He'd perfected the art of pretending she wasn't talking.

  "Or you could walk out now, make your own way." He left it at that.

  "What would they think then?" Mel questioned.

  Caim shrugged, his eyes returning to his device. "They'll have no idea what to think."

  Mel lifted a brow, intrigued. "You're enjoying this." It was more than that. "You planned this," she accused.

  It might have been why he'd helped her get out of the Ironers' grasp in the first place.

  "I won’t deny it suits my purpose. I am not in search of a wife, consort, mistress, or even a womb to bear my heirs. But saying so would diminish my power. There is strength in having heirs. Pretending I intend to wed might invite too much attention I have no time or inclination for."

  "I am your fake bride."

  Caim met her gaze for a heated second, before replying, "You're my guest."

  Suddenly, a weight lifted off her shoulders. She'd felt uncomfortable and weary since the day before, because she wasn't gullible enough to think that an Aos Si would help her out of the goodness of his heart. He’d even admitted to having other motives, so she'd known he had an angle, and that he was set to profit somehow. Not knowing his intentions? That was terrifying, after the last time she'd been in the hands of strangers she didn't understand.

  But if all he wanted was to keep his subjects on their toes by introducing a new factor, she had little cause to fear him.

  "And I can pass for a damsel in need of protection, or I can get out now."

  "That's it."

  She was already out of the carriage, head high, shoulders back, striding forward, so Mel missed Caim's amused smile.

  Heavy is the Head

  Caim had expected Rhedrek's exasperation. He knew his friend would not have approved of an unscheduled, unplanned trip to Iron, of all places. If Red had been in charge, he would have seen to his security, announced his arrival, had him followed by an armada.

  Hence why Caim had gone before Red's arrival. He’d meant to show power, not fear.

  What he'd not foreseen was that his friend would be so very worried about Melpomene.

  "What were you thinking?" Rhedrek seethed in fury.

  Caim hated to think that his position had gone to his head so fast, but he had to admit, he was rather irritated by Rhedrek's tone. It wasn’t his place, as a general, to talk to him as though he was nothing but a naughty, willful child.

  "Clearly, I wasn't,” Caim stated, while unwrapping his purchase from Ironstead.

  His visit to their forges had only been an excuse, but he’d always been fond of ironware, and it was rare here in Silver. He’d purchased two daggers and a cutlass, as well as two dozen iron-tipped arrows.

  “I wouldn't be the first or last male swayed by uncontrollable urges, faced with such assets," he continued, eyes on his new toys.

  Each of his words dripped with sarcasm, and Red knew it. Some of the warrior’s anger dissipated. Red sighed. "She's a danger. Giving her a room, here at the castle, so close to you? She could hear things. See things. And share them with your enemies."

  She won't.

  Caim wasn't certain why, but the thought came to him with no shred of doubt. Which was uncharacteristic. He doubted everything and everyone. He even doubted Red’s intentions, occasionally.

  Out loud, he conceded, "She could."

  Caim didn’t think that betrayal was Melpomene’s style. She was no fae. Tricks and schemes were their way. Caim had yet to decide what was hers.

  The regent's privy chambers took over the entire first floor of the keep, with some rooms on the ground floor and a private tower he could climb up if he was of a mind to watch the stars from a little higher. He'd given Melpomene an apartment on the second floor, a set of rooms that could have been grander or larger, but the Red Suite was well known for other reasons.

  It was directly connected to his rooms through a not-so-secret passage concealed behind a full-length mirror, leading down to a door by the side of his enormous fireplace.

  Caim told her about the door. He'd also told her how to lock it. Appearances were one thing, but he had no intention of wasting his time courting her.

  Red was stuck on the issue. "I don't think you understand—"

  "I don't," Caim interrupted coldly. "I don't comprehend why we're still discussing a non-issue rather than matters of importance, such as the charters. The lords expect me to observe the traditions of Beltane."

  Red straightened his spine. "Yes. We should organize the bonfire."

  "I won't attend."

  The fae stilled. "You…won't?"

  Beltane marked the beginning of the summer; as with many other holidays, it was just an excuse for their kind to drink their fill, dance through the night, and fuck their way through as many shapely limbs as they could. Caim was averse to none of those things. But on Beltane, the priestesses of Sidhe journeyed to the tree of life to give their thanks and pray for a kind summer.

  Prayers were no minor things in Sidhe, as their world hovered around a wo
rld of many gods and monsters. Often, they were heard.

  Sidhe could be unbearably hot when the planet journeyed too close to the sun, killing their crops, ruining the soil for nigh on seven years.

  The priestesses offered sacrifices and called to those who could aid their cause. Hyperion, Gaea, Selene, Eos.

  Sometimes, they answered.

  Things had been different in the old days, when they'd still had a queen who journeyed to Tartarus and offered a tithe in person. The titans and giants and demons had been kinder then. But after a rule of a thousand years of peace and prosperity, the queen had left for Tartarus on the day of the tithe, Midwinter, and hadn't come back.

  They gave a crown to her son and called him king. When it was obvious that he neither deserved nor knew what to do with it, he was banished. Caim suspected the gentry might have killed him, if they hadn’t feared reprisal from Titania. If she ever returned and learned that her one child had been destroyed, her ire would set the waters ablaze.

  Since King Varra’s banishment, the regents had ruled.

  Now Sidhe was no better than Tartarus, a scorched hell, and then a bitterly cold nightmare, seldom blessed. The spring was kinder, and the fall, bearable, despite the rains.

  Caim had no care for the gods and titans. Asking for aid wasn't in his character. What the fae needed wasn’t the pity of monsters; it was independence. They needed to be able to leave Sidhe.

  No pure Aos Si could be away from the tree of life for more than a year and a day. None had lived. None but one, and he didn't count. The former high king wasn't entirely fae.

  What Caim needed was to see the tree. Understand the spells and hexes tying them to it. He had theories. He had access to thousands of books he'd devour between now and Beltane. Now that he was regent, he finally had access to the documents he needed. But without analyzing the tree anchoring their curse, all he had were theories. And to his displeasure, he also had duties. Endless duties that would suck up his time. Balancing the two would be tricky.

  But he’d manage. Somehow. He had to.

  The regent always saw to Beltane. Since the days of the queen and king, it had been their duty to preside over all festivals. To be the first to dance and the last to drink.