by Wendi Wilson
I left the room, determined to let my hatred of Alwyn go for one afternoon so we could all give Finn a proper goodbye. He deserved nothing less.
“I heard,” Shaela said when I found her and Charles in our room a little while later. “I was visiting with Freya—who’s a total wreck, by the way—when her jerkwad of a husband came in, informed her of the memorial and told us he’d see us there.”
“There was something in his eyes,” Charles chimed in before I could respond. “I could be wrong, but it looked a lot like…eagerness.”
“You weren’t wrong,” Shaela said, her tone insistent. She looked at me and said, “We were talking about this right before you got here. The man looked downright giddy, like a kid on Christmas morning. He’s up to something.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” I said, dread filling my bones.
The service was supposed to be about honoring the king and saying goodbye, but Alwyn obviously had other plans. He was up to something, and a cold feeling in my gut told me I wasn’t going to like it. That none of us were.
“We’ll deal with whatever Alwyn has up his sleeve. He’s a bully, preying on the weak and delighting in the misery of those he perceives as lesser than him. He’ll get what’s coming to him, eventually.”
“And I’m sure you’ll happily give him what he deserves,” Shaela said, her lips tugging up at the corners before falling back into a frown as her joke fell flat.
“I will,” I assured her. “But right now, my focus is on saying goodbye to Finn and getting Easton back. I talked to my parents. If you guys are up for it, we leave for the city tomorrow morning.”
“So soon?” Charles asked, then flinched. “Sorry. I know you want to rescue Easton as soon as possible. We all do. But Finn…”
“Finn would want us to get his grandson back. Besides, can you think of a more urgent situation than this? The school has no headmaster and the Sylphs have no leadership. Nothing is more important than getting Easton back on the throne.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I’m in, of course.”
“Me, too,” Shaela added. “We’re going to kick some Zephyr ass…no offense, D.”
I chuckled, a feat which I would have thought was impossible in that moment. My humor quickly turned to gratitude as I wrapped an arm around each of their necks and pulled their heads close to mine.
“Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Hope soared through me as I imagined our mission. The five of us, storming the Zephyr stronghold and taking back what was ours—our classmate, our friend, our new king. Nothing was going to stop us.
But first, we had to say goodbye to the old one.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Three
25
“Finn Oberon was good and kind, a fair headmaster and an excellent king.”
Celeste Greenly was the first to speak at the memorial. I hadn’t seen her since the day we found Finn in a coma, and I blushed a little, remembering her scanty attire and obvious relationship with the king. Freya had told me Celeste had been showing up daily, though, sitting with Finn and holding his hand for a few hours. They’d bonded over their vigil, which was a good thing.
Freya could really use a friend.
“He treated each person with respect, compassion, and understanding. He was firm when he needed to be, but never demeaning or cruel, as some monarchs tend to be. He honored truth and justice. He also had a wicked sense of humor that not many saw.”
Tears poured down her face as she spoke, her voice cracking and her shoulders sagging under the weight of her grief. Her love for Finn laced every word she spoke, bringing a fresh wave of tears to my eyes.
So many Fae felt the loss of the king in so many different ways. But we all had one thing in common—our lives would be a little less with him gone.
Chairs had been conjured for the entire student body and staff, and we sat in rows facing the temporary stage set up near the back wall of the gym. A giant portrait of Finn sat on an easel in the corner, his trademark serene smile forever captured by whatever talented artist had painted it. The gray eyes seemed to sparkle, a mirror of who he was in life. The likeness was remarkable. I wondered if the artist had used magic while rendering it.
A group of people crowded behind the podium, patiently waiting their turn to speak. One after another, they came to the podium and shared their thoughts, recounted fond memories, and extolled the virtues of the late king. He’d lived hundreds of years, and he’d be affectionately remembered for hundreds more.
As the crowd on the stage dwindled and the last person spoke, my eyes drifted to Alwyn, who waited in a straight-backed chair on the edge of the stage. I bit back a growl as I looked from him to his wife, who sat surrounded by people, yet all alone in the front row. No family to console her. He should have been there with her. Holding her hand. Whispering kind words. Offering comfort.
Instead, he sat up on the stage, his knee bobbing rapidly with obvious impatience. I shouldn’t have expected anything less than the complete and total loathsome behavior he was exhibiting. He was disgusting.
As if he felt my stare, his eyes flashed to mine and what I saw in their ice-blue depths sent chills racing down my spine. Anticipation. A giddiness that had no place at a funeral. Unadulterated glee.
My hands, which held my mom’s on my left and Shaela’s on my right, tightened around their fingers. They squeezed back, as if my gesture was meant to comfort instead of being a warning. I grunted in frustration.
“Alwyn is up to something,” I whispered, making sure to move my lips as little as possible since he was still watching me.
Of course, they both jerked their heads in his direction at my words. He kept his face neutral for the crowd, but his eyes flared with satisfaction. He wanted us to know something was coming. Something big.
A round of soft applause broke our silent stand-off, and I watched as the teacher who’d been speaking walked to Finn’s portrait and bowed low to his image. My eyes flashed back to Alwyn just in time to see him wipe the sneer from his face.
Schooling his features into an expression of sadness and regret, he stood and made his way to the podium. He cleared his throat, quieting the whispered conversations that had broken out among the crowd. I could practically see him preening as all eyes turned to him.
“Thank you, everyone, for your heartfelt words. Finn was the heart and soul of our family, and he will be sorely missed.”
I nearly choked on my spit as the pretty words flowed out of his horrible mouth. He’d spent the entirety of his marriage angry with his family and kept Freya from seeing or talking to their son, as well as her father. There was no love lost between him and any of them.
“I know you’re all still fighting to accept the fact that he’s gone,” he continued, “but it is, indeed, a fact. Finn Oberon is dead and his heir has been kidnapped by Queen Sebille. As a result, we have been left at loose ends. And without true leadership, our society shall falter.”
Dread spiked through my chest, not only at his words, but at the excitement he couldn’t quite keep out of his voice. My mind chanted the word “no” over and over as I began to realize what was happening.
“This morning, the Sylphid council held an emergency meeting, during which they voted to name an interim king. As the only viable option in the Oberon family,” he said, turning sad eyes to his frail wife, “I, Alwyn Jameson, have been named leader of the Sylphs and headmaster of Oberon Academy until Easton’s return.”
A dull roar of shocked whispers broke out across the crowd. I sat in a daze, staring at him with my mouth hanging open as he waved to the crowd with a confident smile. He made his way to the edge of the stage and jogged down the steps.
He went to Freya and, pulling her up from her chair, wrapped his arms around her and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. She hung limp in his arms, her face streaked with tears that poured from her vacant eyes.
She looked broken, like her husband being named king
snapped the last bit of yarn that held her sanity intact. As soon as Alwyn released her, she slumped back into her chair. She buried her face in her hands and cried, her shoulders shaking with each sob that poured out of her.
Alwyn pretended not to notice and practically pranced through the crowd, accepting the subdued congratulations and well-wishes with no humility whatsoever. The man didn’t have a modest bone in his body, and it was obvious he felt he deserved every bit of power and praise he was receiving.
He made his way over to our little group and looked down his nose at us as if he was insulted by our very presence. When we didn’t stand and bow, or at the very least, congratulate him on his new position, he sneered and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I need to see you all in my office,” he said. “You may have a few hours to collect yourselves, but I expect all five of you to be there directly after dinner. We have much to discuss.”
There was an unholy fire in his eyes as he said those last few words. And the meaning in his voice was unmistakable—we weren’t going to like whatever he had to say.
And he was going to find great pleasure in it. No doubt about it.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Four
26
“I can’t believe this.”
That was the third time I’d said it, wearing a path in the carpet of my parents’ bedroom floor. The five of us had gathered there after the memorial service, mirroring expressions of shock on our faces. We just couldn’t make sense of Alwyn’s appointment to king.
“Why would the council make him king?” Shaela asked the room at large.
“They’re all insane?” I offered with a fair amount of snark.
“Alwyn can be quite charming when he needs to be,” a voice called from the doorway.
I looked toward the sound and saw Freya, wringing her hands together and shuffling from foot to foot. My mom jumped up and rushed over, draped an arm over her shoulder, and led her toward the plush, comfortable chair in the corner.
“How are you doing, Freya?” Dad asked once she was settled in her seat.
It was kind of a dumb question, asked only out of polite courtesy. We all knew how she was doing. It was written in every frown line on her forehead, the drooping set of her shoulders, the tangled nest of her hair. She was a wreck.
“Alwyn has been strutting around, preening in his victory, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. He holds no respect for the dead,” she said, shuddering on that last word. “He has no concern for our son. All he cares about is the power he now holds. He is…glad my father and Easton are gone. They no longer stand in his way.”
I dropped to my knees in front of her and wrapped my hands around hers. Her expression softened as she looked at me. She pulled one hand from my grip and brushed it over my hair.
“You are so good for him, December. You don’t know how it has warmed my heart, knowing my son has found someone to love who loves him just as fiercely. You are his perfect match.”
“We are going to get him back,” I promised. “In fact, we leave tomorrow.”
Her eyes widened for a moment, and she looked from me to the others.
“You are?” she asked.
“Yes,” Dad confirmed. “We are going to bring your boy home Freya.”
His words sounded like a solemn vow, and Freya’s eyes glassed over with gratitude. Her lips lifted and a soft laugh pushed its way out, surprising us both. I was sure it was the first time she’d laughed in a long while.
It was most likely the first time she’d felt hope since she arrived at the academy.
“Mrs. Jameson, er, uh, Oberon?” Charles stuttered out, his cheeks reddening.
“Freya is fine, dear,” she answered.
“Freya,” he said, testing the name on his tongue and smiling. “Why didn’t the council appoint you to the throne? I mean, I know you abdicated, but these are extenuating circumstances. It makes much more sense to give you the role of queen since you’re a blood relative of the ruling family.”
His question made sense, so much so that I was kicking myself for not thinking of it. It was the perfect solution. We could get the council to rethink their decision, make Freya queen and wipe that smirk off Alwyn’s obnoxious face.
But Freya was already shaking her head.
“I never wanted to be queen.”
I was already opening my mouth to argue that desperate times called for desperate measures, but Freya cut me off with a shake of her head.
“I know he’s a royal ass,” she murmured, “and has no right to be king. But I’m sorry, December. I cannot take the throne. I am a wreck emotionally and, even on a good day, I’ve always been a bit scatterbrained. That’s why I abdicated to Easton all those years ago. Well…that, and also so Alwyn wouldn’t get what he wanted.”
“But now he has it,” I argued. “It’s better for him though, because he doesn’t have to rule through you, playing puppet master and pulling your strings. He’s king all on his own, free to do whatever he wants. Please, Freya, it will only be for a little while. A few days, until we get Easton back.”
She was already shaking her head before I finished speaking.
“I can’t.”
“You mean, you won’t,” I shot back and immediately felt bad for being so snotty toward her.
She squeezed my hand to let me know it was alright, and said, “No, December. I meant what I said. I can’t. Alwyn already made sure of it.”
“What do you mean?” my mom asked before anyone else could.
“He convinced the council that I am not a viable option,” she said. “He has them convinced I’m insane. That my grief has pushed me over the edge and I’m unfit to rule.”
“But you could go to them,” I said, my voice laced with urgency. “You could talk to them and they would see you’re not crazy.”
Her smile was filled with equal parts warmth and bitterness as she met my eyes. She took a deep breath and blew it out before answering.
“It won’t work, dear. The council is a bit of a boy’s club, as the humans used to say. They want a male ruler, so it took but a few words from Alwyn and with no proof of my mental state, they pushed me aside and appointed him as king.”
After my own run-in with the council, I could believe it. Looking at Freya’s face, I realized I’d upset her and a blush of shame heated my face. She didn’t need me pressuring her to do the impossible. She already had enough to deal with without me giving her guilt trips about stuff she couldn’t control.
“It’s okay,” I said, tightening my grip on her hand. “Alwyn’s rule will be short-lived. We are getting Easton back tomorrow and the asshole will be out.”
“Unfortunately, I am stuck with him,” she mumbled, her eyes dropping to her lap.
“We’ll figure something out, Freya. I promise. First we’ll rescue Easton and have him take his rightful place as king, then we’ll deal with your marriage-bond to Alwyn. Even if I have to tie him up and keep him prisoner here, I’ll make sure you’re not separated from your son again.”
She seemed to take my vow to heart, a slight smile lifting the corners of her mouth. At the same time, I could tell she wasn’t letting herself believe everything would turn out as perfectly as I’d described. She’d lived too long with her awful husband, spent too many years the target of his wrath and revenge.
I was determined to prove her wrong. This was my story, and I was going to get the happy ending I wanted.
No matter what.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Five
27
“Thank you for coming.”
Though King Alwyn said the words, there was no gratitude in his voice. His tone was filled with disappointment, like he’d hoped we’d defy him so he could exact some sort of vile punishment upon us. Me, in particular.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he snapped. “Bow before your king.”
Mom, Shaela, and Charles bent at the waist in quick, disjointed movements that looked completely unnatural
. I felt a small warble in my center and, though I didn’t bow, my eyes widened with surprise.
Alwyn had the power of command. I wasn’t sure how he obtained it—probably a magical gift from the council. It wasn’t in his blood like it was mine and Easton’s.
He sneered at me and Dad, but didn’t push the matter of us not prostrating ourselves before him. He knew our Zephyr blood made us immune to that particular power.
As the other three straightened, I grabbed Shaela’s arm. She had reached her limits and was ready to fly into full attack mode against Alwyn for his underhanded use of power. Finn would never misuse his authority that way. Never.
We stood in a semicircle around the front of Finn’s—Alwyn’s desk, waiting for him to say whatever it was he called us here for. I was convince the only reason for this meeting was for him to gloat, and so far, I’d been right.
“It has come to my attention that you all have hatched some ill-advised plan to storm the Zephyr stronghold and rescue my son.”
He let the words hang in the air for a moment, but none of us confirmed nor denied his claim. It seemed we were all on the same page—to keep quiet until we could determine what he was up to. Alwyn’s eyes narrowed at our unified silence.
“Miss Avery,” he said, and Tiana stepped from the shadows behind his desk.
Her smile was malicious as her eyes shot daggers at me. I returned her nasty glare, determined not to back down from her again. But on the inside, I quaked a little, knowing she still hadn’t had her revenge on me for Glamouring her to worship my mom.
Apparently, the time for revenge was now.
“I heard them talking,” she said, her gaze remaining locked on me. “They plan to leave in the morning. They’ll sneak through the city and storm the queen’s building, rescue Easton and kill the queen.”