Chapter 12
THERON
The next evening, I sit on the throne in the banquet hall, presiding over yet another evening of post-battle merriment. Tomorrow is Tribute Day, and I can sense the excitement of my people, the rising bloodlust over the prospect of taking more human slaves.
My brother is seated at a table near Commander Ashvale and Lord Blackthorne, clearly trying to garner their favor. I exchange an amused look with Commander Ashvale when Prince Alaric isn’t paying attention.
Though I can’t hear the story my brother is regaling the entire table with, given the blood that was covering his boots when he entered the hall earlier, I suspect he’s describing his day spent patrolling the streets of Braemar, which apparently involved a bit of bloodsport.
Occasionally, some of the highborn fae at the table laugh, though I also notice them exchanging telling glances with one another, as though they’re eager to extricate themselves from Alaric’s presence.
I sigh and sit taller on the throne, my gaze sweeping around the hall.
In a darkened corner, a fae male is nuzzling his face against a poor, trembling servant girl.
Normally, such a scene wouldn’t affect me.
But this time… I find myself thinking about Helena.
If she were being tormented by another fae, it would enrage me to the point of committing murder.
In fact, I’d been ready to commit murder on her behalf just last night. Fucking fires, I’d been on my way to slaughter my own brother just because I thought he was responsible for the bruises on her arms.
As I watch him rise from the table, I realize that yes, I would’ve killed him for daring to leave marks on Helena.
I wonder if he has any idea how close he came to death yesterday.
Given his arrogance and his inability to understand when others wish to escape his presence, likely not.
Yet another reason he’s not fit for command.
The evening continues, and my thoughts soon return to Helena.
The pretty human female who’s currently in my bedchamber.
The human female who stacked pillows between us on the bed last night.
I almost grin as I recall the flippant look she gave me before erecting the wall of pillows, as though mere pillows could keep me away from her.
And yet, I didn’t knock the pillows over and draw her close to my body, despite how badly I ached to feel her warmth. I’d wanted her to feel safe in my presence, so I respected her boundaries, in a way. I ordered her to sleep in my bed, but I didn’t force my touch on her.
My cock thickens as I imagine the night to come. Perhaps tonight she won’t stack so many pillows between us. Perhaps she’ll allow me to hold her. I think about my predicament, my lack of an heir.
What might she want in return for having my child?
A growl resounds in my throat when I think of the one thing she would likely ask for. Freedom.
My mood instantly darkens.
A trembling servant brings me a glass of wine, and I take a long drink as I consider Tribute Day and the future of Braemar.
I spot Commander Harann across the banquet hall, quietly conversing with some of the regular faefolk who’ve joined us for the evening.
I rise from the throne and approach the group.
The faefolk begin to scatter, but before they walk away, they offer a deep nod and murmur, “My king,” or “King Theron,” in the respectful tone I’m used to hearing.
“King Theron.” Commander Harann gives me a wry grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?” Completely at ease in my presence, he downs the remainder of his wine and gives me an expectant look.
I study the highborn male for a moment, appreciating that he doesn’t wear a false face in front of me, as most of my people do.
I can’t claim to know him well, even though he’s served in the Winter Court army longer than I have, but he’s a well-respected commander who’s always quick to follow orders.
He’s also ruthless in battle, and I believe he would do a fine job of keeping the humans of Braemar in proper subjugation.
He would crush any uprisings and prevent the citizens of Braemar from attacking any more fae settlements in the surrounding areas.
I clear my throat and give him a direct look. “I am appointing you to be the Warden of Braemar, effective immediately. You will select one hundred soldiers, faefolk, not highborn, to keep with you in Braemar.”
Slow, deliberate clapping sounds behind me, and I spare a glance over my shoulder in time to see my brother approaching. Fucking Alaric.
Ignoring my brother, I return my gaze to Commander Harann, awaiting his response.
Of course, the only proper reply is to agree to the posting, and surely, he must know that.
To refuse an order from his king would mean certain death.
Annoyance flickers in the commander’s eyes, but it fades the second Alaric stops clapping.
“Thank you for the appointment,” Commander Harann says with a deep nod. “I accept with great honor.”
“Congratulations, Commander,” Alaric says, coming to a stop beside me.
Not for the first time in my life, I resist the urge to rip his beating heart from his chest.
“Must you insert yourself into every conversation in this hall?” I ask with a cutting glance at my brother.
Alaric sways on his feet and places a hand on my shoulder. I glare until he lets go and retreats a few steps. He pales a bit, and I take delight in the fear that flashes in his eyes.
“Forgive me, brother, my king…” His voice trails off. “I believe I’ve imbibed too much whiskey.” He spins on his heel and staggers away.
Commander Harann snorts. “I know you said I must only select faefolk, but if you would like to leave your highborn brother behind as part of the Braemar contingent, I would not object.”
I chuckle. “Don’t tempt me.” I pause as I consider Alaric’s true motives, whether he’s plotting my downfall so he might take the Winter Court throne for himself. “I appreciate the offer, Commander. However, I think the prince’s talents are best utilized in battle.”
“Of course, my king. How wise you are.”
I won’t admit the real reason I don’t want to leave Alaric behind. That I want to keep a close eye on him. At the first sign of treachery, I resolve that I will do what I must.
A stab of loneliness tightens my chest. I try but fail to brush it aside. My father is gone, and my mother has isolated herself at the Winter Court palace, rarely venturing outside her bedchamber.
My aunts, uncles, and cousins have already left the Winter Court, some of them sailing beyond the continent to parts unknown, pulled by the spread of ussha.
My youngest brother, Rumarc, is dead, killed by my own hand.
And Alaric… well, it remains to be seen whether he can be trusted. In the end, he might betray me, and I will then have no choice but to kill him.
I think of my mother, isolated in her grief as she mourns my father’s passing as well as the death of her most beloved son. Rumarc was always her favorite, the son she doted upon. Losing him nearly broke her. Most of the time when I visit the Winter Court, she refuses to see me.
Aware that I’ve been silent for too long, I take a step away from Commander Harann and allow my cold gaze to sweep around the hall. I don’t need to shout over the raucous laughter and merriment. All I must do is send a frigid breeze around the spacious hall, a signal that I wish to speak.
The room falls eerily silent and all eyes land on me.
“Tribute Day is tomorrow,” I say, and there’s a brief round of cheers before the room once again goes quiet.
“We’ll open the castle just before sunrise to start processing the surviving humans of Braemar.
As is our custom, the families who cannot offer ten pieces of silver will be forced to part with a son, daughter, property, or other goods that we deem adequate. ”
Another round of cheers echoes through the hall.
“I will preside over the occasion with the newly appointed Warden of Braemar, Warden Harann, at my side.” I make a sweeping gesture at the newly appointed warden.
More cheers. More applause. My gaze travels around the hall as I wonder if any of the highborn fae or faefolk in attendance tonight are scheming against me.
Paranoia rises from deep within, pervading my senses and stoking my agitation.
I can’t help but wonder whose skull I will collect as a prize next.
I would never admit it aloud, but I often ruminate over how my life might’ve unfolded if I weren’t highborn.
If I’d been born to regular faefolk parents, would I be living in a cottage on the outskirts of the Winter Court lands with a family of my own?
Would I be mated to a fae female whose heart hadn’t been poisoned against me before we even met?
Power surges through me, winter winds, spreading frost, and thick, swirling snow. My palms tingle and my skin crawls, an uncomfortable sensation I recognize all too well. The banquet hall suddenly feels too small. There are too many bodies in the room. I long for escape.
But all eyes are still on me. They’re waiting, patiently and obediently, for the conclusion of my little announcement. I glance at my empty wine glass, wishing it were full. It would seem the servants are too frightened to come near me at the moment, not that I can blame them.
“Enjoy your evening, friends,” I say with a wicked grin. “Drink. Laugh. Play.”
Several commanders call for toasts in my honor, and I’m forced to endure their fawning speeches. But thankfully, this means a servant is forced to approach and refill my cup. I greedily drink of the wine, wishing it were something stronger.
To my relief, the hum of conversation soon returns to the hall.
I bid farewell to Commander Harann and start to make my way out of the crowded room.
Though it pains me, I feign an air of nonchalance and keep my steps slow, as though I’m in no hurry to leave the merriment behind, but also, the goings-on aren’t interesting enough to make me stay.
At last, I emerge into the courtyard outside. I lift my head to the sky and relish the cold wind that sweeps downward. I release a growl, summon my wings, and savor the sensation of the wind ruffling my feathers. Then I take a deep breath and bolt into the sky.
I fly toward the mountains, pulled by the glimmer of the ussha-blessed vegetation. I soar over the mountain range, bringing bursts of snow and ice, and wind, so much wind, as I release the agitation that’s been building inside me all evening.
Fatigue starts to pull at me, and the calm I was seeking finally descends. Sometimes I must drain my magic just so I can think more clearly. As I tread air in the raging winter winds that are part of me, I turn to face the city. My pulse quickens.
Helena. She’s waiting for me.
I fly toward the castle.