Chapter 23
Stop flirting with the girl, I tell myself as I leave the bathing chamber. And Mountains of Ildrid, stop kissing her! You’re asking to get hurt even worse than last time.
It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I tell myself these things. I build up my resolve, only to walk in and find her fresh from a bath. What’s a man supposed to do but kiss and flirt with her? And how am I not to like her when she faces all of this with quiet practicality, gracious understanding, and endurance?
Truly, I just see those eyes, watch the color rise into her cheeks, listen to whatever unexpected thing she says, and my resolve crumbles. It just crumbles like a castle made of sand!
You’re pathetic, I tell myself as I rake a hand through my hair. I make my way to the table where breakfast has been laid out for the two of us, and for a few moments, I debate tossing a few scarpi biscuits down my throat and heading to my study. It would make it easier for me to like her less if I don’t spend so much time with her.
But I owe it to her to eat with her, and to wait until she’s ready. I tell myself that is the only reason I pull out a chair for myself and drop into it, staring at the covered dishes of food and the steam wafting out of the spout of the porcelain kettle.
“What is troubling you, Master Ash?” comes Edvear’s familiar voice.
I look up suddenly. “Troubling me?”
“You were scowling.”
Was I? Am I? I sit up straighter and attempt to soften my features. “What’s the damage from last night?”
His goat ears twitch. “Those three who tried to harm Lady Stella last night at the revelry are dealt with. None of them were significant members of the court.”
“That’s good, at least.” I drum my fingers on the table. “What rumors are circulating?”
“Mostly what you anticipated. There is debate over whether she will be queen, though most dismiss the possibility because of how angry the High King was. Some were placing bets on how long she will live. Others speculated that the High King is, in fact, jealous of you and wishes to claim the human princess for himself.”
I shudder at that. “I suppose I should be relieved that’s not a viable option on the table.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I stop drumming my fingers. Then, catching myself before I give too much away in my expression, I shift to lean my chin on my fist.
Would the High King attempt to take her as a pet? I would like to think him too repulsed for something that debased, but I cannot dismiss the possibility. It would certainly be a more creative way to punish me than outright killing her. It would be torture for me to see what he would do to her, how he would break and humiliate her before the eyes of the world—and know that I was helpless to stop it.
Faradir took a human pet once—ages ago. She wasn’t a noble, merely a beautiful girl who had stumbled into Caphryl Wood and was brought before the king as a trespasser. He took a fancy to her—much to my mother’s chagrin at the time—and kept her wrists shackled in golden manacles as he forced her to kneel beside his throne, wearing a gold chain around her neck and little else. Some of the higher nobility, like Rahk’s family, refused to see the High King unless he sent the girl away for the duration of their visit. I remember that fire that burned in her eyes when he first chained her, first forced her to kneel beside his throne and made her obey his every command, no matter how degrading.
I was only a child, but I never forgot the way her eyes changed with each day, until they were dull and lifeless with the abuse she had suffered. Her fight leaked away until there was nothing left. Then the High King decided she was no longer beautiful or interesting.
So he took that chain around her neck and pulled it, cutting off her air, until she collapsed at his feet before the entire court, never to move again.
It’s not difficult to imagine Stella there instead, frightened and innocent. Bound and awaiting a tyrant’s whims.
My blood curdles.
“You d-didn’t need t-to wait for me,” comes Stella’s soft voice.
I look up, pulled out of my thoughts, to discover that Edvear is bowing to leave, and Stella stands in the arched doorway. She wears a simple floor-length gown of soft blue with spider silk detailing at the waist, neckline, and hems. It’s one of the crossover fashions from when fae thought to imitate human dress. That style has since passed, but Edvear was able to get his hands on a few things to make Stella more comfortable.
She’s lovely as always, but I cannot help my twinge of disappointment that her hair is all bound up in a bun at her nape.
“I was glad to wait for you,” I say, getting to my feet to pull out the chair for her.
She sits, tucking an imaginary loose piece of hair behind her ear. As I push in her chair, I try to ignore her fresh scent and keep my manner brisk until I’m safely seated back in my own chair.
Stella tries not to stare at the fairy from one of the seelie courts who comes to serve us. She’s not used to the folded iridescent wings, the bark-like skin, or the wild tangle of hair atop the fairy’s head, but she attempts politeness and smiles when she pours her cup and serves her plate.
I’m only a few bites into my own meal when I realize Stella is just staring at the round biscuits and nectar compote. I glance between her and the plate. My eyes widen.
“You’ve never had scarpi, have you?”
She leans back in her chair with a little wince. “I’m not very b-brave when it comes to food. Why does it look like a cake but smell like fish?”
“Because scarpi is fish. Scarpi biscuits are a common breakfast here. The purple liquid is a nectar compote. You dip the biscuit in the compote.”
Her nose wrinkles, but she cuts a small bite out of the biscuit, dips it in the compote, and brings it to her mouth. She takes a delicate sniff—and gags.
“I’ll have the cooks prepare something more suitable for your palate,” I say quickly. “Another time you can try it. If you’re able to get used to our food, it might make social obligations likely less . . . detestable.”
“But shouldn’t I avoid eating in social situations? In case something is poisoned?”
“Now you’re thinking like a fae,” I say with a rueful chuckle. I’m going to corrupt this girl’s innocence, aren’t I? “Nothing will touch your lips that I haven’t inspected first.”
“Aren’t you worried about being poisoned? What happens if you die before you sire an heir?”
The memory of a black slug sliding down my throat assaults me, and I barely swallow my bite of food. “I’m not worried about being poisoned, no. I take precautions.”
She purses her lips as though biting back a question. The servant whisks in just then with a plate for Stella. Her eyes widen when the fairy replaces her plate with a fresh meal of eggs benedict.
My staff continues to please me and surpass my expectations. The servant must have been listening to our conversation. How they whipped this up so quickly is beyond me!
Stella lets out a tiny squeal. “My favorite!” She dives into her breakfast with vigor, and it’s all I can do to keep eating my own instead of just grinning at her. Her cup of steamed mothweed milk is replaced with tea, and she gasps. “Thank you!”
I can get used to having her around. I already am used to it.
“I have another question about the things we discussed last night,” Stella says, dabbing her mouth daintily with a napkin between bites.
My fork is halfway to my mouth. I pause, then set it back down. “Yes?”
“What happens if you die before you have an heir?”
I draw a deep breath and lean back in my chair, my appetite gone in an instant. “Well, at that point, hope of my father’s ruling line will be lost. He will be vulnerable, and the other Courts will have the opportunity to vie for the throne. It will be a civil war. A very bloody one. Some Courts won’t want a new High King, preferring to remain independent, while others will have aspirations for the office themselves. If the fae war among themselves, the human worlds will be at risk. The current law limits frequent human and fae interactions. But one of my ancestors established that law, and if the High Kingly line is broken, the law will also be broken. Inevitably, someone will claim the throne and the line will start over. A new throne and a new set of laws will be forged, but not after the humans and fae have their own bloody wars.”
“And perhaps the new High King who arises will be even less merciful than the first,” says Stella.
I stare grimly down at my food. “Indeed.”
“It seems a heavy burden to bear.”
I look up, surprised. “Pardon?”
“It’s a heavy burden for you to bear.” Though her eyes are softly rounded and innocent-looking, they’re uncannily sharp. Prodding for a reaction. “The blood of thousands if anything goes wrong.”
I blink at her, caught off guard. I avert my gaze, pour myself another cup of steamed milk, and guzzle it down.
“Well,” I say, slamming the cup down on the table and pushing back my chair. “The tailor will be here shortly, but if it would please you, I’d love to show you the gardens your room overlooks. I suspect you will find the place very rejuvenating.”
If she notices the briskness in my voice, or the way I don’t quite meet her gaze, she doesn’t say anything. She nods eagerly, dabs her mouth with her napkin, and stands when I pull out her chair.
It’s not the blood of thousands that rests on my shoulders. If I don’t play this right, it’ll be the blood of millions.