Chapter 47 Aerin
AERIN
By the time Aerin and Malice make it back to the Royal Village, the sun is setting. When they enter their suite, Emrys is sleeping near the fire in his Wolf form with shopping bags littered across the shared space.
As Vyx slips past Aerin on her way to the door she leans into her ear. “We have plans tomorrow afternoon,” she tells her. Aerin nods before the Viper slips out of the suite.
“Your outfit for dinner tonight is on your bed!” Quinn calls from the bathroom.
Aerin peaks in to see a burgundy dress and matching heels laid out. She continues to her Wolf, who lifts his head for her. Aerin kisses him briefly on the forehead. Malice collapses into a chair near the hearth where Emrys lies.
Without a knock, the door to their space is pushed open and Khortland steps inside, swinging it shut behind him.
“Where the hell have you been all day?” her Paramyr demands.
Malice glares at Khortland for the intrusion, and Emrys lets out a low growl.
Khortland ignores them both, instead crossing the room to drop unceremoniously down in the chair across from Malice.
Aerin drops from her crouch to a seated position on the floor next to Emrys, stroking the fur between his shoulder blades as he settles again.
“I was shopping,” Aerin offers, gesturing to the plethora of bags scattered around the room.
Khortland narrows his eyes at her, seeing through her lie.
“Whatever,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “Two things: first of all, why the hell would you tell Reyna you can turn her Fae?” He raises a questioning eyebrow at her.
Aerin shrugs, “Because I can.”
“Do not be glib, Aerin, not about this,” Khortland warns, playing with the fabric on the corner of the couch. Aerin sees through his nonchalance but allows him the armor regardless.
“You should be careful how you speak to her,” Malice says, carefully controlled, opposite to Khortland’s endless fidgeting.
Khortland whips his gaze to the Dragon-Fae, his dark eyes assessing before they fall back to Aerin, incredulous.
“In my own Royal Village? Really?” Khortland questions. The dismissal of his warning has Malice prickling, but Khortland continues to address only Aerin.
“Dark magic has been lost to time, and even if you can manage it, that type of magic always comes at a price. I won’t let you experiment with her,” Khortland states, making it crystal clear this Human means too much to him.
A Human!
Aerin wants to shake him. Wants to remind him that his little toy will age rapidly compared to them, that it will only be a few short years, a blink of an eye for a Fae really, before she ages and dies.
That every time he thinks of her, he’s risking his own devious and cruel king discovering her and taking her from him.
She wants to remind Khortland of the danger he puts her in with each visit to that stupid apartment that doesn’t even have wards, for fucks sake.
That every time Khortland allows her to show her face at a party or a club just so he can get his dick wet, he’s putting her fragile life at risk.
There is a reason Fae don’t mess with Humans that has nothing to do with ethnocentrism or magic. Humans die. And Fae… well Khortland should be the first to know that Fae don’t deal well with that kind of loss.
“I don’t care about the Human,” Aerin finally answers.
Khortland opens his mouth but snaps it shut again, his facade cracking around him.
“But I do care about you,” Aerin adds. “The magic I can offer her won’t be permanent.
It’ll change her appearance only—no magic and she won’t truly be Fae.
But it will give an added layer of protection, and perhaps slightly more freedom for the two of you to…
” Aerin waves her hand, searching for words she doesn’t want to say. “Be together, I suppose.”
Khortland smiles a smile Aerin knows to be facetious.
“And why, exactly, would you do that?”
Aerin gives her Paramyr her own flippant smile. She unfortunately knows that he can see right through her pathetic attempt at brevity. Can see down to Aerin’s core, to the center of her hurt.
She lies, and Aerin hopes Khortland can see the truth in it, even if she doesn’t necessarily want him to. “I always enjoy having you indebted to me, Khort.”
Khortland rolls his eyes, leaning back against the chair once more. He looks at his hand with longing, like he wishes it held a drink.
“What was the other thing?” Malice asks after a beat of silence between the two Royals.
“Hmm?” Khortland asks, slowly dragging his eyes from his empty hand.
“You said there are two things,” Malice elaborates, only slightly annoyed.
As if snapped back into himself Khortland sits up straighter, “Right.” He brushes down his shirt and casts his gaze back to Aerin. “My father wants an audience with you. Tonight. Before dinner. Alone.”
“I don’t like this,” Malice says, finishing the zipper on the back of Aerin’s dress. Aerin pulls her hair to one side, running her fingers through the curls.
“So you’ve expressed…” Aerin murmurs to her reflection. She looks impeccable, as she always does. Moving to the bed, she sits to slide her heels on. Emrys leans up against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded over his bare chest.
“I agree with him,” he seconds. Both of them: grumpy.
Aerin gives him an annoyed look.
“You’re not supposed to side with each other. Go back to the dick measuring,” Aerin huffs, pulling on the second shoe.
“We will always agree on keeping you safe,” Emrys replies, missing the point entirely.
“Well, I can’t exactly deny an audience with the most powerful Fae in this city, can I? Never mind the fact he is the King,” Aerin rebuts, letting her gaze flicker between the two males.
“Let me come with you, in my Wolf form,” Emrys supplies.
“We’ve been over this,” Aerin groans. “You,” she points at Emrys, “can’t come because if he sees you too closely, in either form, there is a chance he won’t ever let you leave Zeneith.” Aerin looks across the room to Malice. “And you can’t come because it will look like an insult from Valtara.”
Neither male looks convinced.
“He can’t keep me captive; that honor lays only with my father,” Aerin grumbles.
“If he holds me for longer than the dinner, you,” she looks at Malice, “will contact Bruin, who will inform my father, who will demand my freedom. But…” Aerin drags out the word, standing.
“That isn’t going to happen, because I’m not going to give Vitus Hale any reason to want to keep me. ”
A knock at the outer door of the suite indicates one of the Royal Guards is here to collect her.
“I will see you both at dinner,” Aerin adds. She tucks her knife into the heel of her shoe and leaves the two males brooding.
At the outer door an ice Fae dressed in the blue uniform of the Zeneith Royal Guard waits for her. He nods respectfully. “Princess Tolvare, the King is ready for you.”
Aerin gives him a look somewhere between boredom and annoyance. She gestures down the hall. “Well, lead the way,” she demands. The guard only nods, proceeding down the hall with his back ramrod straight and arms held behind him. A second guard falls in step at her heels.
They wind first deeper into the Royal Village and then deeper, lower until Aerin is certain they are under ground or inside the mountain that the Zeneith Royal Village is adjoined to. The air becomes colder around her and Aerin’s skin pebbles.
“Where, exactly, are we having this meeting?” Aerin snarks. They don’t answer.
The hallway is lit with dim sconces high up on the wall.
The walls themselves are no longer polished white and blue marble, but rather old stone.
Finally, they come upon a set of massive double doors, engraved with images that have faded with time.
Before the doors stands a white-haired Fae dressed in fine clothing, a stark contrast to the rudimentary space.
Vitus Hale looks too much like his sons.
Despite being a couple hundred years old, the King looks only a few years older than his eldest. He has the same almost-white hair as Khortland, though his is perfectly quaffed in a way Khortland’s rarely is.
He also gave Khortland his dark eyes, though, Khortland’s can give off a sense of warmth, a window into a soul that isn’t hardened. Vitus’s eyes give away nothing.
“Princess Tolvare, I heard you were wandering around my Village,” Vitus says, giving her an appraising look. The dress she wears is suitable for a Royal dinner, not so much for wandering the dark, stone hallways.
Aerin takes a breath to steady herself, pushing away the nerves.
“Your city has been very welcoming,” she replies, bowing her head in acknowledgement of the King.
“I’m sure it has, that and one of my sons, certainly.” Vitus waves his hands trying to pull the name forward. His age seems to be wearing on him, not quite able to recall which son is Aerin’s Paramyr.
“Khortland,” Aerin supplies, suspicious of the Fae’s motives.
Faux-relief washes over his features, “Yes exactly. I have far too many sons, my dear,” Vitus says. “Now come.” He holds out his arm for Aerin to take. “I asked you down here for a reason.”
Aerin hesitantly steps forward, looping her hand through his waiting arm, Vitus places his other hand atop it.
“Where exactly is ‘down here’?” Aerin asks. Vitus turns them to face the now open double doors. Aerin swallows, recognizing the place immediately.
“These, my dear, are my dungeons.”
The double doors open to the dark.