Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Aurelia
The Autumn king stood before us, looking like nothing more than a rumpled courtier—crownless, sleepless if the dark circles around his eyes were any indication, the green of his wrinkled coat dulled to the color of moss after rain.
His golden eyes caught the first light like blades, bright and too sharp for a casual meeting.
He looked desperate, though I wasn’t sure what for.
The Withered rebels remained still at the sight of him, which meant they’d known he was here. Maybe even let him follow them all the way from Grey Oak. I could only assume it was for good reason.
Around us, the autumnal air moved like a slow breath. Mist curling between the trees, the scent of river water and wet earth thick in my nose. Rydian’s shadows coiled like smoke around our feet, restless and on guard. Even Daegel’s shadow shield seemed thicker than usual.
If Callan was concerned about standing between two groups of fae who wouldn’t bat an eye at royal bloodshed, he didn’t show it. Then again, between us, I was the wanted criminal. And currently standing on the soil I’d been forbidden to revisit on the threat of death.
Keres stepped up to my other side, sword drawn. “Tell me that’s not who I think it is.”
“Unfortunately,” I murmured. “It is.”
Callan’s gaze swept over the group, lingering on each of them like he was cataloguing their usefulness. Then he stopped on me, and the mocking calm in his eyes flickered—just once.
In that glimpse, I saw pain. And fear. Then the cool mask returned.
“So, the rumors are true,” he said. “The traitor has begun gathering her army.”
Keres snarled at the sarcasm in his tone.
“I believe Keres here needs someone to do her laundry if you’re feeling left out and want to join,” I said.
Callan’s gaze flicked to Keres. “A new addition to the cadre, brother?” he drawled. “This one looks like she’s been in a skirmish or two already.”
Keres didn’t blink. “Draw your sword,” she said, voice flat as a whetstone, “and I’ll show you how it went for the other party.”
Callan’s smile sharpened. “Another time, perhaps.”
Rydian’s tone was flat. “What do you want, Callan?”
Finally, Callan’s gaze snicked to his brother.
“I was going to ask you the same question. You’re standing on Autumn soil after I explicitly told you never to return.
And your companion”—his eyes found me again—“is wanted for high treason and regicide. Hardly a smart choice to wash up on these shores.”
“Then arrest me,” I said.
His smirk deepened. “Restraints. Tempting offer.”
Rydian snarled.
Keres took a small step forward.
Callan lifted a gloved hand. “For the moment, I’d rather talk. In private. My tent is just there.”
The Withered behind him stepped back, parting to reveal a small camp just barely visible inside the trees—tents, horses, the faint shimmer of a campfire’s flame.
Rydian’s hand brushed my arm, a silent warning.
Callan caught the motion. “You’ll be safe enough,” he said smoothly. “Unless you intend to start a war in what’s left of my kingdom.”
What’s left?
“And your companions are welcome to refreshment and a warm seat beside our fires.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” Rydian said.
“No,” Callan agreed, “but I think we both know Aurelia makes her own decisions. I only ask for a conversation with her.”
The tension between them didn’t diminish in the ensuing silence.
I glanced at the Withered gathered behind Callan.
He must have promised them something in exchange for their help.
Or, more accurately, in exchange for his own life.
Whatever it was, they stood with him now.
That meant something. At least until I knew what he’d promised them.
I exhaled. “Fine. You have five minutes.”
Rydian turned to me sharply. “That’s not wise.”
“It’s necessary.”
His jaw tightened. I expected him to argue, but he only said, “We’ll be close. Checking the perimeter for any kind of trap.”
“Of course you will,” Callan said dryly. “It’s what you’re good at—lurking on the edges of what’s mine.”
I glared at Callan. “Don’t push it.”
“Say the word, and he’ll have a scar across that mouth to match my own,” Keres murmured.
I shuddered at the utter conviction in her voice.
“That won’t be necessary,” I assured her.
She scowled and stalked off toward the fire.
Callan led me through the rows of tents, the Withered soldiers watching from beneath their hoods. Some bowed as we passed, but most just stared, their faces pale and wrinkled.
Vanya walked just behind me. An escort. A maid again. Or just a friend. Either way, I could think only of those last days in Grey Oak—when she’d been forced to report to the donation center. To give what should have been hers by right. Magic. Life force.
All of them forced to donate themselves.
My heart hurt for what Duron had taken from them. How Callan could walk among them now with his head up only fueled my anger on their behalf.
Callan’s tent stood at the center of the camp, larger than the rest, its canopy stitched with the golden stag of Autumn.
Inside, warmth bled from a brazier that made me grateful and hungry for the heat it offered.
My wet clothes were beginning to chill me to the bone though I refused to acknowledge it.
The interior smelled faintly of mint and herbs, but it was different somehow than the scent that had always clung to Callan before.
He gestured to a chair. “Sit.”
“I’ll stand.”
“Suit yourself.”
He poured hot tea, the gesture smooth, habitual. Then he held it out to me. “Here. Drink.”
I hesitated.
He sighed then took a sip.
“See?” he said, holding it out a second time. “It’s not poisoned. Now, drink it. You look like a drowned rat.”
I took the tea with a scowl, but the warmth of the mug against my hands was an instant balm.
“You wanted to talk,” I said. “So, talk.”
He set his own glass down untouched. “Heliconia sent an offer.”
I folded my arms. “Let me guess. Marriage.”
He smiled faintly. “You’re still quick to recognize politics.”
“I’m still sane enough to see through her games. Why tell me?”
His amusement vanished, replaced by a darkening cloud behind his gaze.
“Because if I refuse, she marches on the Autumn Court. She’s already taken villages on the northern border—frosted fields, frozen bodies.
I’ve seen the destruction, and...” He swallowed hard, his gaze suddenly not quite meeting my own. “I can’t stop her alone.”
“I’m sorry, can you say that last part again?” I asked sweetly.
“Don’t be immature about this.”
“It’s my ears. There’s so much water in them I didn’t hear you.”
He groaned. “I don’t know why I expected more of you than this.”
I set the tea aside, embracing the chill. “Considering you used persuasion to manipulate me into agreeing to marry you when you had every intention of draining me of my magic in order to make your crops grow, I can’t imagine why you’d think I’d make anything easy for you ever again.”
“Look, we both want the same thing—”
“I’m not sure we do, Callan.” I took a step toward him.
“You want to rule a realm that will bow and kneel and praise your greatness. Heliconia stands in the way of that, and that makes her your enemy. But if she had never set her sights on your kingdom, would you still be here in this tent, asking for my help in stopping her? Or would you do what your father did, turning a blind eye to everything that didn’t impact him directly? ”
His jaw hardened, a muscle working back and forth as he stared me down.
Part of me wondered if he’d throw me out.
Or arrest me. Though I wasn’t sure the Withered would obey that order.
Instead, he sighed and slumped into the chair next to the brazier.
“I don’t want to be my father,” he said, “But I’m not sure who I do want to be, either. ”
I studied him, again noticing the dark circles. The fact that he’d lost weight. “Honesty is a good place to start,” I said at last.
His gaze darted to mine again, hope written clearly there.
“Why do you think I can help you?” I asked. “As you can see, my army isn’t exactly vast.”
“Is that why you went to see King Patamoi? For soldiers? And did he offer his naiad army to the Chosen One?”
I didn’t answer, and Callan seemed to realize pressing me wouldn’t work.
Instead, he said, “I met with Heliconia.”
I blinked. “You saw her? When?”
“Two nights ago. At a village near the Concordian Mountains—or what’s left of it. She made me an offer.”
“I can’t believe she wants to wed you.”
His brow rose. “Apparently, you’re the only one who finds that idea repulsive.”
“I meant, why bother with diplomacy?” I said wryly. “You said she has an army ready to invade your kingdom. She’s already proven they can defeat you and that she prefers violence over peace. It doesn’t make sense.”
“When she proposed it the first time, my father said she wanted to use marriage to legitimize her title with the other courts.”
“But why would she care what they think when she plans to invade and destroy them too?”
He frowned. “What do you know about the Harvest Throne?”
“The seat itself?” I asked. “It was fashioned from an ancient oak tree taken from Vorinthia and fused with the horn of a Vorinthian stag,” I said, trying to recall what my tutors had told me so many years ago. “Why?”
“Do you know of any magic imbued into it?”
“Do you?”
He hesitated but then shook his head. “No. But Heliconia specifically mentioned wanting a seat on the harvest throne as my queen. I’ve wondered…” He trailed off and looked at me again.
“Do you think she knows something about your throne you don’t?” I asked.
“I plan to look into it when I return home,” he said quietly. “But she will send for an answer soon, and I wanted to speak with you first. To see if we might come to an arrangement. Like before.”
I met his gaze as his meaning dawned. “You’re asking me to marry you again.”
“I’m asking you to save what’s left of this realm.
” His voice softened, genuine for once. “You said once that I couldn’t see beyond my father’s shadow.
Maybe you were right. But now the shadow is all that’s left.
If I join Heliconia, Autumn survives as her puppet.
If I stand against her alone, my kingdom will fall. I need another way.”
“I will not be made a pawn again, Callan. You’ll have to find a bride elsewhere.”
He flinched—then hardened. “Marry me, and I’ll pardon you for killing my father.”
“At least, now you aren’t pretending to care for me.”
“I do care for you.”
“You never wanted me, Callan. You wanted the version of me that would make you into a great king.”
His eyes narrowed, but he only continued to negotiate. “I could give you an army.”
“If you were not your father’s protégé after all, you would offer them to me freely.”
“You still plan to fight her,” he said as if only now realizing it.
“My birthright has always been that of a warrior. It’s time I acted like it.”
“To face her alone would be fatal,” he said.
“I am not alone.”
“You think a handful of Midnight fae—”
Furyfire sparked, landing on the rug at his feet before fizzling out. He fell silent, our gazes locked.
I smirked, choosing one of his expressions.
“Reminds you of old times, doesn’t it?” He said nothing.
“Those Midnight fae are braver warriors than you could ever hope to be. And when I leave here, it will be with them and the Withered you have so graciously brought me. But don’t forget that I am not Summer’s daughter, submissive and sparkling beneath your thumb.
I am Hel’s heir, and I have furyfire in my veins and vengeance in my heart. ”
Callan’s mouth tightened, but I didn’t wait for a response. This meeting was over.
I started for the door.
Callan’s words stopped me. “Is that why you chose him over me? A warrior at your side instead of a prince?”
Slowly, I turned. “You think I chose Rydian over you? I chose myself, Callan. I encourage you to do the same.”