Chapter 11
11
H er throat constricted as Cillian whirled her in a circle, her dress spreading out in a bright wave around them.
Less than two weeks ago, she’d had a plan and a family. She would wake each morning, anticipating battle and knowing, without a doubt in her bones, that they were going to emerge victorious.
Now her head pounded in time with the thrumming rhythm of the orchestra.
She’d had no time to prepare for what she’d face tonight, and the gods above knew she’d never asked to be the one spared. She’d never asked to be a part of Cillian’s strategy for victory.
The rest of the dancers moved out of their way as they cut a path across the floor. Each and every one of those Mourningvale bastards could go rot for all she cared. Although they glared at her, and she felt the crushing weight of their attention, Aven paid attention to none of them, glowering at Cillian. He whisked her around in circles until her head was dizzy.
Saying nothing. Waiting for her to digest his explanation.
She didn’t give a crap what he said or how he chose to spin the situation into something positive. Nothing would make a difference.
She caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of the Fae King standing near the foot of his black throne. It absorbed every ounce of light coming in from the wall of glass and stole it. His face seemed cut out of ice and promised a painful end to whoever was unfortunate enough to get on his bad side.
The entire room might be bedecked for the celebration, but for Aven, it was a funeral. She remembered how he’d looked holding her father by magic and reasoning with them.
It didn’t matter what kind of dressing you tried to put on it. A celebration for victory on the fae side and a dirge for the lives lost on hers.
Motion at King Donal’s side drew her attention, and she watched Roran step up beside his father, one hand resting imperiously on the side of the throne. He bobbed his head at her in silent acknowledgment, his chin high, before Cillian turned them again and she lost sight of him.
Roran chose to dress in black on black, from his shirt to his tunic and every accessory. A band of onyx stone wrapped around his finger, and even his eyes seemed to be lined with darkness. He painted a devastating picture.
His mocking grin lit the fire inside of her.
“Well?” Cillian prompted. “Do you have nothing to say?”
She refused to let Cillian get beneath her skin any more than he already had.
“I haven’t heard you apologize once. I understand the need to protect your people, to do whatever it takes, but it doesn’t excuse the way you butchered my brothers and sisters.” She forced her mouth to curl upward in a cruel smile. “May you know that pain as well. May all the horrors of your actions one day be revealed to you, Cillian.”
His lips tightened as he mulled over her words.
“Some might take your statement as a threat against the royal family, Aven. I’d watch what you say, especially with so many curious ears around us,” he put in mildly.
Logically, she should have heeded his warning immediately. Unfortunately for her, with her head light and her emotions spiraling out of control, she did no such thing.
She tried to pull away from him, and Cillian grabbed her tighter, hauling her to his front.
“There’s no pretending for me tonight, as much as you would wish me to,” she seethed. “I can’t pretend to be happy to have my life while my siblings lost theirs. You might wish to celebrate your crushing victory and show off your spoils of war, but you’ll find me unwilling to play along with you.”
She felt more animal than human and had no thought of sparing Cillian’s feelings.
“I’m sorry.” Those words took her by surprise. He stopped mid-dance, her insides still reeling from the motion, and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear that had somehow escaped the intricate updo Nora had pinned in place. “Okay? I truly am sorry for your loss. My father didn’t tell me what he’d done until he returned, and by then it was too late to save them. I didn’t know.”
“You said it was your plan.” Aven stilled when he touched her jawline.
“It was. Except for the part about your family. I’d only intended for him to bring one of you back here. Not murder the rest.” His fingers clenched against her waist in a motion she felt all the way through the fabric.
For a moment, she forgot about the way she wanted to hurt him. How she’d like to drag the end of her knife across his alabaster skin and mark him, painfully . Permanently. The nasty thoughts eddied out of her head at the way Cillian stared down at her.
This was no smirk, the kind Roran bandied about without thought.
This was concern and care. This was kindness in an unexpected place.
“I am sorry for what you lost. If there were any other way, then I would have found it. I would have done what I could to ensure an alliance with Grimrose without the loss of your family,” Cillian continued.
Aven sucked in a breath.
Dimly, she was aware of eyes on her back. The assessing gazes of the King and Prince. Their intent to make her suffer further.
No matter how genuine the apology felt or sounded, she would not relent the way he wanted her to. She wouldn’t back down or cow in his presence.
Yet she found herself nodding at Cillian.
The rest of the crowd continued to whirl and move around them. They were the stone in the middle of a current, and yet none of the others touched them.
“Come,” Cillian said at last. “My father will want to speak to you. Compose yourself.”
Those words sharpened something inside of her, and Aven had to remind herself to suck in a breath and hold it in her lungs. Her belly turned into intricate knots she had no hope of unraveling.
She gathered her skirt in one hand, bowing her head slightly in acknowledgment because she found herself unable to speak. Her body had gone tight and hot and sick in so many places she had no idea what to do with herself. Cillian took hold of her, moving her physically when her legs went stiff.
They turned to the throne together, and Roran’s eyes widened imperceptibly, sharpening the closer she got. He tracked each of her movements and, outside of a slight curling of his fingertips, made no move. Didn’t dare break eye contact.
He looked like he wanted to say something. But what?
What could he possibly have to say, and what did he mean when he looked at her the way he did? And Aven, despite herself, held his eyes, because it felt easier than daring to look at King Donal.
She hated the old man more than his sons, more than his kingdom. Hated him for the magic that had kept her imprisoned and forced her to watch while he maneuvered and humiliated her father, tortured and killed her siblings.
“It seems even the fiercest warrior can be cleaned up,” the Fae King said in greeting. “You look almost presentable, Princess Aven.”
Being brought in front of the king again felt like her worst nightmare had come to life, and only reminding herself that she had already survived the worst made her straighten her spine. She faced the monarch with as much strength as she could muster, even when she felt the blood draining from her face.
“Well? Usually at this point, when I’ve given a compliment, it is acknowledged. A simple thank you will do the trick.”
Ruthless prick.
“Thank you.” She forced her lips to move, to say the words. She wanted to tell him exactly what he could do with himself and had a feeling, from the light that entered his eyes, the king knew her thoughts regardless.
She schooled her expression into a smirk and might have even caught Roran’s approval. Cillian said nothing at her side. Whatever the two brothers thought of each other, it was impossible to make out with the King such a larger-than-life presence in the middle of them.
“Leave us.” King Donal lifted his hand to send his sons away. “I want a moment alone with the girl.”
“Father—” Roran protested.
Cillian automatically released his hold on her like she’d burned him, anxious to do his father’s bidding.
“I should not have to repeat myself, even for you two. Leave now .” The last word boomed out in a command accompanied by magic.
Cillian was the first to move, although Roran took his time, slinking from his perch at the side of the throne as though it were his choice to move. Aven felt his absence keenly.
“I want you to understand this, child. You might consider yourself a prisoner here, and yet this is not the case. You are a valuable asset to me.” The King tapped his hands against his thigh before he took a step forward.
She automatically moved in the opposite direction. A blast of cold air rippled off of him, chillier than any winter night. A subzero chill designed to freeze a person from the inside out.
“I appreciate the room you gave me. It’s much better than my first accommodations,” she snapped at him.
“That tongue of yours. My son warned me it would make you unlikeable.” The King’s brows ferreted downward. “Make sure you use it only when the moment calls for it, otherwise it will get you in trouble,” he warned. “The dungeons were a mistake, and it was corrected the moment he brought it to my attention. The other one rather thought you should be treated as something dangerous. As though a slight thing like you would cause us any problem here.”
A slight thing … Wow.
She wanted to remind him of the problem she’d caused on the battlefield, but his warning about her tongue took hold in her head and she bit down on it.
“What do you want from me?” she asked through numb lips. Goosebumps erupted over her skin.
“There are many things. The most pressing of which… well, I can speak plainly.” King Donal lifted his hand again, and the air grew dense around them, cutting them off from the rest of the revelers. “There. Now no one will overhear us.”
The thought of being cut off from the room filled Aven with a dread too powerful to name. Her throat closed up further and she choked, gasping. “What—” she started.
“You and your kind are a burden to this earth. You are a scourge, a plague, draining valuable resources and multiplying like rabbits until there will be nothing left. Even the Sacred Trees will fall to your greed once more, as they did in the past.” The King dropped any measure of civility and let her see the beast lurking underneath his skin.
This was the real predator they had been fighting against. An ancient, cruel, merciless man who would live for far longer than any human king. Who might rule with an iron fist and determination spanning centuries rather than decades.
The cold he put off took hold of her, first in her bones and then in her blood, and Aven found it impossible to move away.
“Don’t try to run. Plague though you are, I attribute at least a small amount of sense to you if not your family. Prove me wrong, and the consequences will not be to your liking.”
“What do you want from me?” She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering while this malicious creature stared at her, through her. Spearing her to the ground with his assessment and his expectations.
“Since we’re speaking frankly, then I’ll cut to the chase. My wants are simple. You and your kind, dead .”
He paused, and only locking her knees kept Aven standing.
“It is the only way, in my opinion, to keep this mistake from happening again. The perfect world is the one in which only fae exist.” He let out a sharp exhalation. “Unfortunately, my son will soon rule. He may look close to your age, but my oldest has had close to a century of training under his belt. Cillian has more than proven his right to rule, and his victory over Grimrose has cemented his position.” King Donal shifted, a small burst of motion after so much stillness. “I am deferring to him. For now.”
For now . Until what? Cillian slipped up? Even the fae had to make mistakes. The fact that human weaponry worked against them proved they may be immortal, but they were not infallible.
“As much as I’m loath to say this to you, Cillian believes it will be beneficial to align our two kingdoms in more than a simple peace treaty.” The King stepped toward her again. His presence grew, morphing into something dark and formidable. A wall of pure blackness with no light or hope in sight. “It would be in your best interest to pick at least one of my sons.”
“Pick them for what?”
He didn’t care to answer, his blue eyes just studied her.
A marriage? No, that didn’t make any sense. Sooner or later she’d die. She was sure of it.
Her mind stretched and searched for an alternate meaning to what the Fae King proposed. She came up empty.
“You are afraid of me. It is understandable and justified. Yet my sons have been decent to you, haven’t they? One of them certainly has.” Her mouth twitched, and the King caught the gesture, his smile sharpening. “They are both handsome and eligible young men. Should one not be to your liking, then the other surely will. Although in the case of arrangements such as these, it isn’t necessary for partners to like each other. Only to perform their duties to their kingdoms. You understand my meaning, I’m sure.”
Not just a prick but a bastard, the skill honed by all his years of life. He’d ruled for three hundred years.
Now he wanted to shackle his son, one or the other, to her ? Why? Aven shivered.
King Donal laughed because he knew he’d gotten to her. “I see it’s going to take you some time to come to terms with this. Unfortunately for you, Princess, you do not have the luxury of it. We need to cement the relationship between our kingdoms before your father does something silly and suicidal, such as coming to rescue you. There is no way he would be able to separate a young bride from her betrothed. Singular? Plural?” He chuckled again to himself, and the sound grated over her skin. “We shall see.”
“What if they find fault with the arrangement?” She scowled at the king and allowed him to see the smallest glimpse of the commander she’d been on the battlefield. There and gone when she blinked. “Surely the high and mighty princes won’t want to marry a human woman. Arranged or not.”
The Fae King was through with her, however. Throat bobbing, he snapped his fingers, and the shield of silence around them disappeared. The skin on his face had grown tight.
“The choice will be made for you if you do not seize the opportunity presented,” he snapped. Then he stepped away from the throne and disappeared into the dancing crowd, leaving her standing. Angry and utterly confused.