by Emma Newman
“How did you come to be here?”
“A Charm that opened a Way, and then the effect of a forfeit demanded by the Princess, your majesty.”
“You’re no mundane, then.” When Will agreed, the King asked, “And who claims you? I see no family written on your soul.”
Will remembered how he’d felt in the Guildhall. Had Lord Iris’s statement actually done something tangible to him? “I have no family, no patron, and no allegiance to any others, your majesty.” He raised his chin. “I have no Patroon and no master. I am my own man.”
The King and Queen exchanged a look of excitement, a sudden shift from the misery moments before. “You may approach the royal thrones,” the King said, and Will moved closer. “How would you bring an end to our sadness?”
“I would begin by asking if there is a specific cause.”
“There is,” the Queen answered. “Our nobility.”
Confused, Will stepped forwards again. “The fact that you are the King and Queen is making you miserable?”
“This is beyond misery, mortal!” the King boomed, and Will staggered back, dropping to one knee as soon as he found his balance again. “This is the leeching of any mote of happiness from our existence. This is the horror of isolation, of being hated and feared for eternity!”
“Forgive me, your majesty; as a mere mortal, I cannot possibly comprehend the depths of your suffering,” Will said, hoping he sounded sincere enough. What had he stumbled into? Was the damn luck egg still working? It didn’t feel like a stroke of luck to fall under their scrutiny. Like so many of his interactions with the Fae, it was apparent that he was little more than a moment of interest in a dull day.
But then he thought of the look they’d exchanged when he’d said he was his own man. Why be excited by that? He risked a glance at the King, who was having a whispered conversation with his Queen. Both of them seemed excited again. Damn these Fae and their mercurial nature.
“What would be your next question?” the Queen asked. Will felt like he was skirting around the edge of a bottomless pit. Not a game with dubious rules, like he’d played with the Princess, this felt more like a bizarre audition for royal problem solver.
“Well, it seems to me that the fact that you are King and Queen is making your lives insufferable,” he said, watching them both nod. “And I can only assume that you cannot pass the weight of your office to the Prince or Princess, otherwise you would have already.” Both looked eager. But neither had confirmed it. “Am I correct?”
“What would be your next question?” the Queen prompted, a hint of frustration in her voice. Perhaps they couldn’t confirm it. Like a curse.
“I would ask if you had both been cursed, your majesty.”
They both shifted forwards on the thrones, like children waiting to hear whether they’d won a prize. Again, neither said anything to confirm or deny. He was right—they were cursed, and like all curses, there were strict rules to prevent it being lifted.
“So…my instincts are telling me that you were both cursed to be King and Queen and your royal existence is unbearable but you’re unable to bestow it on…anyone else?”
The Queen gripped the King’s hand.
“So, unable to pass your crown to another one of the Fae, perhaps you could pass it to a mortal?” The King’s frown was thunderous and Will looked down again. “Of course not. No…if this royalty is a curse, you cannot give it up at all. But…” He stood up again, moving forwards. “Perhaps it could be taken.”
There was no mistaking the hope in the King’s eyes, the desperation in those of the Queen. All thoughts of a quiet life were discarded as Will imagined all he could do if he were King of the Fae. Was there anything to stop him? Any formal requirement that they had to be ruled by their own kind? Perhaps that was the reason for their excitement when he’d told them he was his own man and no mere mundane. The odds of someone who fit those criteria ending up in the royal throne room were so small, he was willing to bet the curse had no protection against him if he decided to take the crown himself.
As King, he could order Iris to give Sophia back and restore her without the need for a fearful negotiation. He could command him to explain all he wanted to know, and force the Prince to reveal what he did to Petra and why. It would all be so easy!
He’d always wanted to get to the top of the ladder, and in his ignorant youth, he’d thought that was simply a matter of clawing his way to being Patroon. But now he knew that not even being the head of the Irises would be enough. He would still be Lord Iris’s pawn. What freedom would that be? There was only one freedom he wanted now, that given by control over the ones that had ruled his life and destroyed so many others.
He would be king.
Closing the distance between him and the thrones, Will focused on the King’s crown, feeling himself having to battle to reach it—not only against his own doubts but also a physical sensation of something pushing against him. He thought of Sophia, of Petra, of being able to tell Cathy it was truly over and they were both free of Lord Iris’s schemes. He made it to the dais and reached up.
The King’s hands were now gripping the arms of the throne. “Stop. I cannot allow you to take this crown without telling you why you cannot possibly want it,” he said with effort, as though fighting the words. Part of the curse, no doubt. “If you take this crown, you will command the Fae Court, but they will despise you. You will never be loved by them; you will never be seen as anything other than their jailer. You will be bound to obey the Sorcerers of Albion in all things and to ensure that any breach of the Split Worlds Treaty by your subjects will be punished harshly, no matter your feelings.”
Will had no care for how the Fae felt about him if he commanded them. He had spent all his life being frightened of them. Hating them, more recently. He would never want to be loved by them—that always led to misery. “I can live with that,” he said.
“And!” The King raised a hand to stop Will moving any closer. “Once you take this crown and place it upon your head, you will never be able to leave Exilium. You may enter any domain here, you make take whatever you wish from any of your subjects, but you will never be able to enter the Nether, nor Mundanus, as long as you are King.”
That did make him pause. But what was there for him in the Nether? His family could come and visit—even shelter here under his protection if they needed it—and as for Mundanus…there were a million things he would miss but he could live without them if it meant Sophia was safe and he answered to no one. And if Cathy were here…
“If I were to become King, would I be able to choose my Queen?”
“Whoever wears the Queen’s crown is the Queen,” the King said.
Will withdrew, grateful he hadn’t acted too swiftly. Considering the misery of the Queen, and the fact that there did seem to be some form of love between them, surely the King would have released her if he could? Of course, there was no accounting for the cruelty of the Fae, but it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption that once you wore a crown, you wouldn’t be able to take another crown from someone else. It fit with the rest of the curse.
“Your majesty, would you be able to summon the Princess here? I need to see this forfeit done, then start unpicking this curse in the correct order.”
The Queen clapped her hands with delight. “The Princess has made so many mortals suffer, but for the first time, her cruelty has led to something truly exciting!” she said. “To think, if she hadn’t bound you to this forfeit, you never would have been able to enter the palace!”
“Were it anyone else, I would consider this part of a clever design,” said the King, and snapped his fingers.
Moments later the Princess entered the throne room and curtsied to the thrones before noticing Will. “You! This is cheating!”
“Silence!” shouted the King and the Princess obeyed. “You will not harm this mortal, nor will you try to influence his soul in any way. You will stand still and wait until I tell you that you may move a
gain.”
The Princess pouted. “But that’s no fun at all, your majesty.” But then she caught a glimpse of the Queen’s glare and became meek. “As you wish.”
Will approached her, feeling like a man sent into a sleeping bear’s cave. The Princess watched him and even though she wasn’t actively trying to influence him, her presence and beauty were still able to shake him to the core. When he reached her, he armoured himself with thoughts of Sophia as he cupped her face in his hands. He closed his eyes and kissed her lips, feeling a terrific thrill throughout his entire body. It reminded him of when he kissed Amelia and that helped harden his heart against her. When it was done, he reached up and put his hands on the circlet.
She gasped and grabbed his arms. “Be still!” the King’s voice boomed, and she stopped pulling at Will, her face becoming ugly with rage.
Will lifted the circlet of oak leaves from her hair, which was much heavier than it looked, and she screamed with fury, the oak leaves on her gown crumbling into golden dust, leaving a simple silk dress that was a pale purple colour. The impact of her beauty diminished; she was merely one of the Fae again.
“Why?” she screamed at the King. “I was such a good Princess!”
“And now you are Lady Dahlia once more,” said the King. “Return to your domain and breathe life back into it. Find your pets and take comfort in them. Your time as royalty has come to an end.”
She headed towards the doors, bound to obey, but with a supreme effort, she paused long enough to give Will a withering glare. “I will not rest until you have been sent mad with torment.”
He watched her leave, still holding the circlet. There was something uncomfortable about holding it, as if it were incomplete. He went back to the thrones and laid it down behind the dais.
“Why you made Lady Dahlia the Princess I will never understand,” he overheard the Queen mutter to the King.
“And now the Prince,” the King said, neglecting to answer her.
Will moved round to stand before the King. He wondered if this was the time to ask the Prince about Petra, but he didn’t want the other Fae to hear his answer. No, better to ask once he was King.
The Prince was summoned and ordered to be still by the King, just as the Princess had, but the Prince was so tall he was also asked to kneel on one knee. It felt utterly bizarre to approach him, and again Will felt he had to draw deep on his own determination just to get close. Without Sophia as his motivation, and the lifetime of frustration that had built within him, he wasn’t sure he’d be capable of taking the circlet. The Prince remained silent throughout, seeing that complaining would be futile, but he didn’t make it easy for Will. He stared at him as he approached, and just as Will started to reach for the circlet, the Prince said, “You were once an Iris.”
“I was. Does that bother you?”
“The family is inconsequential. Lord Iris is another matter.”
Will recalled what the Princess had said about Iris’s lost love. “Why did you punish him?” Will whispered.
“He watched me give up the one I loved yet kept his own. He believed his love more important than mine. I was lenient.”
Chilled by the hatred in the Prince’s voice, Will lifted the circlet. The oak leaves forming the Prince’s cloak turned to dust, leaving him dressed in a simple burgundy tunic and hose.
“You are Lord Chrysanthemum once more,” said the King.
“You didn’t pay attention when I was a Prince,” the Fae Lord said to the King, standing once more. “And now that which I foresaw has come to pass. I knew Iris would orchestrate your destruction.”
“Go, for the sake of all that is joyful!” said the Queen. “You were such a sour Prince. Be gone!”
Will placed the Prince’s circlet next to the other and went to stand before the King and Queen. He watched the King take the Queen’s hand and kiss it. “Have I not been kind to you, my Queen?”
She smiled, took his other hand, and kissed it. “You have. I will not forget it.”
“I command you to be still and to not harm this mortal,” the King said.
Will approached, a little tired now, this being the third time he had to push against the urge to withdraw and kneel at a polite distance. As he reached up to the Queen’s crown, he felt tears pricking his eyes, a sudden appreciation of how he was about to destroy something perfect and beautiful. But he remembered Sophia and told himself that, unlike his love for her, these emotions weren’t real. He needed to do this, no matter how awful it felt.
As soon as the circlet was lifted from her head, the emotional onslaught ended abruptly. He stepped back, his legs unsteady, as she leaped up from the throne, brushing away the dust left by the disintegrating oak leaves. Her gown was now a delicate lilac colour, her hair lightening to a white blonde with streaks of purple. She skipped away from the throne, pirouetting like a ballet dancer, laughing all the while.
“Lady Orchid,” the King said softly. “It has been too long.”
She stopped and rushed back to him, kneeling at his feet to kiss his hands. “Your majesty. I am yours, as ever.” He stroked her hair, letting the purple streaks run through his fingers. Will had never before seen such tenderness in the Fae. He looked away, feeling he was encroaching upon something private.
Will waited until Lady Orchid left the dais before focusing on the King. But to his surprise, she stopped next to him. “The curse will force him to repel you,” she whispered. “Forgive him, please. I will do all I can to help, but I cannot Charm you or lend magical aid. Otherwise your soul would be tainted, and you wouldn’t be able to take the crown.”
“What would you advise I do?”
“Don’t look into his eyes. Don’t pay attention to anything you may feel. Focus on the need to succeed. He helped you take the rest of the crowns. This time will be different. But he will do all he can to fight the curse, too. I hope that is enough.”
Closing his eyes, Will nodded and felt her hand leave his arm. He shut out the room and the King as best he could and thought of Sophia, filling himself with the need to protect her. When he opened his eyes again, he forced himself to look at the crown, but just that alone took so much effort.
He moved forwards.
“Stop,” the King said, and Will found himself unable to move, as if the command had simply bypassed his conscious thoughts and spoken straight to his body. Mercifully, unlike a Doll Charm, he could still blink and breathe. Asserting his control over his limbs by thinking of each in turn and flexing his toes and fingers, Will leaned forward as if into a headwind and managed another step. He could hear the King muttering to himself, locked in his own struggle, and pressed on.
“I command you to leave!” the King shouted, but Will clenched his fists. I’m no Fae, he thought. And no Fae rules me.
The next two steps were easier, and he planted one foot on the dais with a sense of triumph. Just as he started to reach up to the circlet, he felt a hand around his throat. There was a moment when his breath was choked off, then the grip relaxed and he could just about draw a breath before it tightened again.
“Quick!” the King hissed, and Will was acutely aware of the Fae’s own battle. No doubt there were a thousand ways the King could repel or kill him, and he wasn’t sure how much longer the King would be able to fight the compulsion to use them.
He clawed at the King’s hand instinctively but after the initial moment of panic, his focus returned. The only way to save himself was to take the crown. He tried to think of Sophia, but the love he felt for her seemed so far away, such a sweet, warm memory, he almost wanted to give in, then and there, just to be left alone to wallow in it.
Delving deeper, he remembered his anger at his father for giving her up, which swiftly transmuted into rage at his patron for encouraging such cruelty. If he died now, he’d never get his revenge. Will didn’t want the freedom of insignificance and anonymity. He didn’t want the freedom of death, even though his burning lungs demanded it. All he wanted was the purest fr
eedom of being so powerful that no man, no Fae, could ever again tell him what to do.
He gripped the crown as pinpricks scattered across his vision. With the last of the air in his lungs, Will lifted it from the King’s head before falling backwards, the metal oak leaves digging into his palms as he gasped for breath. Then he was in someone’s arms, and as his vision cleared he saw Lady Orchid’s radiant smile as she held him. After a single kiss on his forehead she helped him to stand. The palace seemed to shudder around them, as if the lack of a king had made it shiver.
Will put the crown on his own head and felt a surge of raw power flood his body. He had only the vaguest awareness of another Fae stepping down from the dais as he struggled to contain it, feeling like the sheer potential of everything he could do with just a whim was going to subsume him.
Then just as swiftly, it passed and he remained. Will sat on the throne with a triumphant surge of satisfaction. Now he ruled over his tormentors, nothing and no one could stop him. The days of struggling to survive, of fearing his patron, of desperately trying to please his Patroon…they were over. He laughed, just briefly, barely aware of the joyful celebration between the former King and Queen.
The sheer relief alone was enough to make him feel almost drunkenly euphoric and with the knowledge that he could command any creature in Exilium to do his bidding, it was a heady combination. Beneath it all, however, was the sense that his domain was incomplete. He thought of the other crowns, left unworn, imperfect. He needed to make it all right again. He needed his wife by his side once more. He needed his Queen. He knew exactly how to bring her back to him, but first, he had to see Sophia safe once more.
23
“He went out, love,” Mrs M said to Cathy when she and Max got back to Sam’s estate. “Drove himself. Didn’t say where he were goin’.”
Cathy hung up her coat as Max did the same. “Oh well. Seems as good a time as any to carry on with the prep. Could you help me, Max?”