A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2

by C. C. Peñaranda

  To be sure her ability had returned, she caught the eye of the queen across the table who was already staring. When she glimpsed a few thoughts on the edge of her mind—mostly curiosity aimed at the odd human across from her—Faythe breathed a subtle sigh. It was concerning that she was drawing the wrong kind of attention, but at least she could focus again without the lingering panic. She just had to get through the next hour; survive the feast she had already failed to remain silent and hospitable through as she was ordered.

  It would be a miracle if she ended the week with her head still fixed on her shoulders.

  The excited clamor began to calm, the high fae around the table elated and full-bellied. Faythe, however, was beyond bored and had barely eaten anything thanks to the twist in her stomach from her irritation at Reylan’s frequent glances and the fear her ability would go mute again.

  She wanted to confront the general, demand what his problem was and settle her giddy need to know if he harnessed a similar ability, but she was at a loss for how to achieve the latter without outing herself. The possibility he already knew terrified her. If he was suspicious, he remained silent, which was always the most deadly sign before the strike of a predator. What she desperately desired, above having her questions about Reylan answered, was complete solitude. A moment of stillness. In her exhaustion, she couldn’t even find the strength to block out the loud thoughts of those around her that hummed incoherently in her head like an irritating swarm of wasps.

  For the first and likely only time, Orlon’s voice was her saving grace.

  “The servants will show you all to your quarters and will be at your disposal should you require anything.”

  The royal parties mercifully began to rise from the table. Faythe let the stiff posture she’d endured falter slightly while they were otherwise occupied.

  “My home is yours to wander freely, and I look forward to meeting formally to discuss matters after your day of rest.”

  Faythe stood too, walking around the table to stand with Tauria while they watched their guests exit with a few short words of gratitude. As the Rhyenelle general bowed in thanks before the king, he cast Faythe one last fleeting look before turning on his heel and leaving behind the sea of purple.

  She didn’t like him—didn’t want to like him—yet she cursed the dangerous thrill that caressed her spine at the exchange.

  When all their guests were out of the hall, including the High Farrow court members, the three royal hosts and Faythe were left in an awkward silence. The ward was the first to excuse herself, casting Faythe a tight smile before she was dismissed. Faythe didn’t ask permission before trying her luck and took the first steps toward the door that beckoned her escape.

  “Faythe,” Orlon’s voice sang behind her.

  She closed her eyes, cursing inwardly as she realized she wasn’t going to leave unscathed. She turned around to face him.

  “You step out of line again, say one thing you shouldn’t, and I won’t hesitate to cut out your tongue.”

  His threat was clear, and it was far from empty. The mask of the pleasant, cheerful host had completely dissolved, revealing the cold, dark face of hatred she was all too familiar with. Though she trembled inside, she rallied the remnants of her quickly dissipating bravery to respond.

  “King Varlas was not going to be won over by niceties or feminine charm. You told me to get close to them. I saw what would grab his interest, and I did, didn’t I?” The lie tumbled out of her so easily she was impressed. She couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing she was becoming a more efficient liar in the king’s court.

  Orlon’s eyes narrowed slightly, debating whether she spoke true or was playing him for a fool. By some mercy of the Spirits, he decided not to call her bluff and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Faythe held poise and refrained from sagging forward in relief. She turned and briskly exited the grand dining hall at last.

  She was halfway down her second hallway when she heard quiet footsteps catching up to her. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

  “You didn’t really know your audacious words would be well-received with Varlas, did you?” Nik accused playfully.

  She was grateful for the familiar voice she hadn’t been able to converse with all night but didn’t look at him as she answered, still dealing with the mental chaos from the night’s events.

  “Not in the slightest.”

  Chapter 16

  Faythe

  Faythe had tossed and turned in her sheets for hours since returning from the feast. She lay in a hot, tangled mess, unable to get her racing mind to settle. Specifically, she worried the Rhyenelle general knew her secret and somehow possessed a similar ability to her own.

  She’d declined Nik’s offer to stay in her rooms in case she needed someone to talk to. She clearly did a lousy job of convincing him she was absolutely fine. She was anything but and was going out of her mind, wanting to scream out loud with unrest.

  Finally giving up, she flung back the covers with a disgruntled huff and walked over to the balcony doors for some fresh air. As she yanked them open, the sharp sting of cold hit her like a wave of ice water in her short silk nightgown. It was long past midnight, but the sleeping city still glowed beautifully below as if she were looking down upon the stars.

  After cooling down, she walked back inside and partially closed the doors, not wanting to completely freeze her ass off. Her stomach growled loudly. She barely ate anything at the magnificent feast, and now she was angry with herself for it, and angry at the annoying silver-haired fae general for distracting her so much she didn’t enjoy any of it.

  Deciding she was unlikely to get any sleep, she stormed into the closet and swiftly changed before stuffing her feet into her boots. She may as well satisfy her hunger while the castle slept. She could ransack the kitchens for leftovers.

  She left her rooms cautiously, though it was likely wasted energy in a castle crawling with fae and their heightened senses. Still, she crept as stealthily as she could down the torchlit hallways, darting between the shadows, trying to avoid confrontation with any of the guards should they want to question where she was going. It wasn’t as if she was up to no good, but she knew they were under strict orders not to let her out of sight. To their credit, they tried to be subtle, but she always noticed a pair of surreptitious guards trailing nearby wherever she went.

  At the sound of quiet chatter and light footsteps, Faythe ducked into a dark alcove and waited for two fae guards to pass before dipping down the stairwell that would take her to the servants’ quarters. When she arrived, she winced as the door creaked loudly and slipped inside.

  Within the eerie, dark confines of the kitchen, she relaxed, knowing no one would be coming down here anytime soon. She wished she’d thought to swipe one of the torches from the wall, realizing she had little light to maneuver. Weak beams of moonlight shone through the line of high box windows along one wall. She would have to make do, and as her eyes adjusted, she could just about make out the different areas and where she would look for food.

  A large bench held various covered platters, and Faythe began to lift the rags, squinting to determine what was underneath. She could already smell the delectable notes of chocolate before a full cake came into view, and her mouth instantly watered. It wasn’t exactly what she had in mind for supper, and she didn’t remember seeing dessert at the feast tonight, but she started to crave the sickly-sweet pudding as soon as the scent hit her nostrils.

  Looking around for something to cut a slice, or even a fork to save the hassle, she spied the utensils hanging along a rack by the sinks. Eagerly skipping over, she grabbed both silverware and a plate before turning back to dive in.

  “Straight for dessert?”

  Faythe’s heart leaped out of her chest as everything loosely held in her arms clattered loudly to the stone floor. The plate shattered, pieces shooting out all the way to a new pair of boots that now occupied the kitchen. Her eyes trailed upwar
d from them, and if it wasn’t for his silver-white hair, stark as the moon, she wouldn’t recognize the intruder in the dark. Caught between shock and anger, she could only gape at General Reylan.

  “Did you follow me?” she asked through a breath of disbelief when she’d calmed enough to speak.

  Instead of replying, Reylan raised an open palm, and a second later, a blue flame sparked to life within it. Faythe’s mouth popped open in astonishment, awed as she watched the fire dance under his touch without burning. Then he twisted his wrist, and it darted out from his palm, splitting into three before latching onto the torches along the wall and blazing brighter.

  It was perhaps the most mesmerizing ability she’d seen so far, close to Tauria’s talent for creating life in the form of nature. It also made her stomach drop as the small show answered her question about the general.

  He didn’t have her ability.

  She was disappointed by the fact, even if it was a fool’s hope to think another like her existed.

  “Our rooms happen to be opposite each other’s. Didn’t you realize?” he said casually.

  In the now decently lit kitchen, she took in his full appearance. It was hard to maintain her composure as his deep blue eyes bore into hers, the assessment in them striking a vulnerability within. Reylan had abandoned his formal attire and crimson colors and now stood plainly dressed in a loose shirt rolled up to his elbows. Faythe’s attention was grabbed by the intricate swirling black markings that traveled up both his forearms, and she wondered if the tattoos held any meaning beyond decoration. She had yet to meet a fae who wasn’t immortally alluring, but Reylan was a particular sight to behold. Perhaps it was his obscure hair color paired with dark brows against faintly tanned skin, long lashes that curved around striking sapphires, his challenging poise… All those things added to his sharp facial features, making him intimidatingly beautiful. He stood with arms crossed, watching her, and she realized he was waiting for her to speak.

  “I can’t say I did,” she muttered in her daze and then wondered why the general would care to notice anyway. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He shrugged, nonchalant. “I heard you leave. I was curious as to what the king’s pet would want to get up to at such a late hour.”

  She lost all reason to be friendly toward him at the remark and clenched her fists in anger. He must have noticed the reaction as he released a shallow chuckle, only adding to her growing ire.

  “I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re wasting your time.”

  The general’s eyes twinkled in amusement. Leaning back against the counter, he reached for something on the surface behind him that glinted when the torchlight caught it. Reylan flipped the dangerously sharp knife mindlessly in his hand.

  “I don’t have a problem…” He trailed off. Each vertical spin of the blade was one miscalculation of balance away from slicing into his palm. Faythe swallowed hard, gauging it wasn’t a simple act of boredom. “But you might.” His eyes met hers, and the knife stopped turning. His fingers curled around the handle of the silver blade, ending its carousel to point it directly at her.

  The lingering threat made a spear of ice shoot down Faythe’s spine, but she stood firm, determined not to give him the satisfaction of rattling her. “I thought you’d have better things to do with your time here than intimidate a harmless human pet.” She sneered the last word, using their insult to her strength. She wouldn’t let herself be bothered by their snide remarks. The way she saw it, the weaker they thought she was, the less suspicion she would raise. Though it didn’t seem as if the general would be so easily swayed.

  “You’d like people to believe that’s all you are. I’m sure your king hopes so too.” He used the knife as a pointer while he spoke. Then, noticing her fixation on it, he smirked and set it aside. This relaxed Faythe slightly, but she was more afraid of the hand that held it than the blade itself. “I think there’s far more to you than meets the eye.”

  She tried to maintain her mask of confidence. “A rose is just a rose no matter which angle you look at it,” she remarked, bored.

  His head tilted in curiosity. “Even nature has its secrets. Everything is not always as it seems.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll find things here are exactly the way they seem. I’d hate for you to waste your time looking for something only to be thoroughly disappointed.”

  “I have lots of time. Maybe we’ll get the chance to spend some of it together.”

  “I’m sure there are plenty of other ladies of the court who would be more than delighted to keep you company.”

  “And if I don’t want the company of any other ladies?”

  Faythe damned the Spirits to burn for the heat that flushed her cheeks and only hoped it wouldn’t be noticeable in the dull lighting. “Then the male guards are also at your disposal.”

  The general flashed a rogue grin. The bastard was enjoying this. He folded his powerful arms, his poise dancing the line between casual and threatening.

  “How does a human with such wit keep herself out of trouble in a kingdom such as High Farrow?” It was more an observation than a question, but the answer was easy: She didn’t. If only the general knew the half of it, they might actually have a good laugh together.

  “It doesn’t sound as if you hold the greatest respect for the kingdom that hosts you,” she said to divert the attention from herself.

  Reylan eyed her. “I’m not the fondest of the north, no,” he said carefully.

  Faythe wanted to press further, to know exactly what displeased him about High Farrow compared to the mighty kingdom of Rhyenelle. In fact, seeing the warriors in crimson had made her interested to discover more about the south. But the general was already uneasy about her. Pressing for information now would only land her on his radar for the rest of the week.

  Reylan pushed off the counter, and his first step toward her stiffened every muscle in Faythe’s body. He kept advancing in slow, careful steps that felt awfully like the stalking of a predator. His eyes never left her face, weighing her reaction as he closed the distance.

  Faythe was struck still in her frantic thoughts, in a mental tug-of-war over how to react. Instinct told her to flee from his path, but something else, something that tingled every inch of her skin, kept her from the most basic and logical response. Wariness forced her back a single step, though, and that was as far as she got before she met something solid. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter behind her.

  Reylan halted just outside of arm’s reach.

  Her heart pounded, her breathing uneven and shallow, but she didn’t stop looking at him, transfixed by the night sky dancing in his irises.

  He took another small step, and her pulse skipped.

  Slowly, he leaned over, bracing his own hands on the countertop. Trapping her. His fingers grazed hers, only a few inches of space left between their bodies. He searched her eyes, her face, but she couldn’t be sure what he read there while his own expression remained bland. The moonlight from the windows above highlighted every perfect angle of his stern, sculptured face, softened only by the few loose curls of silver that fell down over one side of his forehead. It looked as though he’d ran his hands through his hair several times before coming down here, leaving it more disheveled than Faythe remembered. She shouldn’t care to notice such things. What was worse was that she started to imagine her hands there; wanted to find out if the thick, cropped locks would feel as silken as they looked woven between her fingers.

  All she could hear was the hard pounding in her chest as his proximity flushed her whole body with heat. Not the heat of fear, but something far worse. Longing. She didn’t know him and never should have let herself become caged in by his powerful, towering form, unaware of what he was capable of.

  Something changed in the darkening of his eyes, a dangerous hunger she knew she should run from. Yet in that moment, she could think of nothing but getting closer to him.

  Whatever Reylan read in he
r reaction made him inch his face farther forward. Her heart beat a frenzy she feared would break her rib cage, her fingers gripping the wood so hard it verged on the edge of pain. Her spine locked. Wrong. This was so wrong. Scattered words of self-preservation floated into her mind, but not a single protest was strong enough for her to listen.

  His head angled and dipped until she felt his breath on her neck below her ear. Reylan paused, inhaling a deep breath as if he would claim her, devour her. A shiver formed at the base of Faythe’s spine, shooting through every nerve ending in her body and subconsciously tipping her head back a fraction. He stilled, and his breath stopped caressing her skin for a few long, agonizing seconds. Whatever he pondered seemed to pass when his warmth returned, blowing across her chest and trailing inside her shirt in a long exhale. It shivered over every inch of her and pebbled her breasts. Faythe only hoped he wouldn’t glance down far enough to notice it under the loose shirt she wore without undergarments.

  “You’re not afraid,” he said, his voice grating on every cell along her collarbone.

  Faythe swallowed, finding it difficult to form words in her dry mouth. “No.” Not a whole lie. She was afraid, but not for the reasons he expected.

  Reylan paused in contemplation. Both of them remained so utterly unmoving it built coils of tension in Faythe’s stomach. She wondered if he would make contact as the near touch of his body, his mouth, inspired a thrill that hummed in her blood.

  “You should be.”

  Alarm rang out, and though her mind was clouded with the effects of his closeness, it seemed he too was distracted enough that he didn’t pay notice to her hand, which had slowly been inching back, hoping to find the small but sharp carving knife she spotted before. Feeling the cold wood of the handle, her fingers gripped it, and in the same breath, she brought it to his throat.