Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Callan
Isat on the Harvest Throne, sprawled in what I hoped looked like careless confidence, one leg draped over the armrest. My father’s crown glinted dully on the table beside me. I didn’t wear it unless I had to. It was heavy and had a phantom scent of blood no one had ever managed to wash away.
Reports lay scattered across the table at the base of the steps—lists of troop movements, dwindling supplies, villages lost to ice and flame. I’d read them all twice. The numbers didn’t change. No matter how many soldiers I sent north, Heliconia’s destruction crept farther south each night.
I leaned back, studying the vaulted ceiling. Dust motes floated through the shafts of afternoon light slanting across the chamber. It should have been beautiful. Instead, it just looked old and worn.
“Majesty.”
Lemuel’s voice cut through the silence like a chisel through stone. The elder advisor appeared in the doorway, robes the color of old parchment, eyes sharp and humorless.
Despite his irritating demeanor, he’d proven useful in the short time I’d been crowned. I’d dismissed the others when I’d realized their loyalty to my father had made them too eager to backstab me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The queen of Winter has arrived.”
“Already?”
“You requested she be admitted the moment she arrived.”
“Yes, well.” I rose, smoothing the wrinkles from my coat. “That was before I remembered she’s likely come to freeze me to death.”
“Majesty,” Lemuel said in that disapproving tone that suggested I was twelve again. “It would serve you to take this seriously.”
“Oh, I take it very seriously,” I said, flashing him a grin I didn’t feel. “I’m simply choosing not to cower in the face of my death.”
He sighed, muttered something that sounded like a prayer to whatever gods still tolerated me, and stepped aside.
The great hall’s doors creaked open. Cold wind rushed in first—sharp, metallic, laced with the scent of frostbitten pine. Then came Heliconia.
The temperature in the room dropped a full ten degrees as she strode in.
She was draped in white fur with silver trim as she’d been the night we’d last met, her dark hair pinned with shards of ice that didn’t melt even under the glow of the braziers.
Her beauty wasn’t the kind that invited warmth—it was the sort that warned you away from the edge of a cliff even as you leaned closer to peer over its deadly edge.
“Your Majesty,” she said, her voice smooth and cold as a winter stream.
“Conqueror,” I said, mocking a bow as if it were a title equal to my own.
She let it roll off. “When you failed to answer my letter, I was worried some ill had befallen you, but you look well.”
“I thought I’d offer some build-up,” I said.
“And, in turn, I allowed you more than ample time to consider my offer.”
“Oh, do you mean the offer to spare my kingdom if I agreed to a lifetime of marital bliss? What’s to consider?”
A faint smile curved her lips, more animal than fae. “And yet you delayed your answer.”
“I wanted to think on it.”
“Think?” Her tone sharpened, still soft but cutting all the same. “That’s not a habit I associate with the Autumn kings.”
I forced a laugh. “Perhaps that’s why the last one’s dead.”
Her eyes gleamed like shards of polished ice. “You’re smarter than he was.”
“Or more desperate.”
“It can be both.” She moved closer, and the cold rolled off her in waves. “Have you come to a decision, Prince Callan?”
At her disrespect, my carefully-hewn facade threatened to slip.
Instead of letting it, I gestured lazily toward the throne beside mine—identical in shape, carved of marble and oak, veined with silver instead of a stag’s horn.
“I had something made for you. A gift. Should we come to an agreement on a union?”
“What is that?” she asked, her own good humor giving way to wary disgust.
“A throne, of course. One matching my own.”
“It is no match for the Harvest Throne,” she said.
“It is what I’m offering my queen,” I told her quietly. “My only offer.”
Her hand lashed out before I could blink. Power cracked through the air, white and violent, and slammed into my chest like a blow from a god. I stumbled back, my breaths sharp against my ribs.
“Careful,” I managed, forcing a grin through the pain. “You’ll bruise the merchandise.”
“You dare toy with me.” Frost crept across the floor, veins of ice spidering outward from her feet. “Do you know how many worthless fae I’ve buried beneath my snow, boy?”
“Dozens, I’m sure,” I rasped. “But none of them looked half as good as me.”
Her fury rolled off her in waves, but there was a flicker—admiration, maybe—that kept her from ending me outright. “You truly believe arrogance can mask fear.”
“So far, it’s worked wonders.”
She shoved me aside with one hand, the force sending me staggering down the dais. Her attention turned to the Harvest Throne. The power in the room shifted.
“Don’t touch it,” I warned.
She ignored me, mounting the steps like a queen ascending to her altar. When she reached the throne, she trailed her fingers over its armrest. Gold veins shimmered faintly beneath her touch.
Then she sat.
The sound that followed wasn’t just silence—it was absence.
Nothing happened.
Her posture stiffened. Frost flared along the marble, trying to take root, but the veins of gold refused her. The throne remained inert, defiant.
A slow, awful realization spread across her face.
Then she turned that look on me.
“What have you done?” she demanded.
I straightened my coat, schooling my features into innocence. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play games with me, Autumn.” The temperature plunged, the braziers flickering out one by one. “Where is the real throne?”
I blinked at her. “How do you know this isn’t it?”
“Because this,” she hissed, rising to her feet, “is a dead chair.”
“Fascinating,” I murmured. “Perhaps it simply doesn’t like you.”
She shot to her feet.
Her power flared again, wild and biting, shards of ice cracking through the floor and up the columns. The palace groaned under the weight of her fury. “Tell me what you’ve done with its power.”
“I’ve done nothing,” I said.
The air around us shimmered with frost as she stalked toward me. The crown on the table froze solid. “You will tell me, or you will die.”
“If I die, then you’ll never know,” I said.
Frost slithered up the walls behind her, leaving hairline cracks in its wake. Behind me, the door banged open as two guards rushed in.
“Your Majesty, are you—”
Ice shards flew like spears, embedding deep in their chests. Both guards staggered and fell. More would come. It was only a matter of time before Lemuel sent for an entire legion. And Heliconia would fell them all.
I had to stop this.
I softened my tone, taking a careful step toward her. “Darling.”
She turned, eyes bright as broken stars.
“Rule with me,” I said. “We can still have peace. No more ice. No more blood. Just… two thrones, side by side.”
For a heartbeat, her fury flickered. Her head tilted as I leaned closer.
My voice dropped, low and coaxing. “You don’t have to destroy everything in order to win.”
Her expression shifted, her breath catching just slightly as I closed the distance. Slowly, I reached out. The heat of my skin met the cold of hers. She didn’t pull away.
I brushed my thumb along her cheekbone, felt the shiver that might have been pleasure. “You’re tired of fighting,” I murmured. “I can give you something better. Stay.”
The warmth of my persuasion unfurled between us—soft, honeyed threads of power sinking into her skin. I felt it take hold, that subtle give as her mind leaned toward mine. Her lashes lowered. Her lips parted.
Then she laughed.
The sound was wrong. Beautiful, yes, but hollow.
She leaned in, her lips near my ear. “How adorable,” she whispered.
The charm shattered like glass.
I staggered back a step, breath catching. “You—”
“I am immune to mortal persuasion,” she said lightly. “Did I forget to mention that? A pity. You might have saved us both some time.”
My pulse roared in my ears. The only weapon I had and it was useless. So, I did what I had not done seven years ago. I stood and defied her. “I’ll never give you this throne.”
She shrugged. “Then you and your people will die.”
The silence stretched. Farther out, I could hear shouts sounding. Soldiers would come. They would fight for me. And they would die. And Heliconia would still walk out of here, undeterred. And someday, no matter how long it took, she would find the throne I’d hidden in the bowels of this castle.
It would all be for nothing; the lives lost. The soldiers who fought.
We’d lose in the end.
My shoulders sagged as I said, “Fine.”
Her head tilted.
“You win. Congratulations, Your Majesty. You get your alliance. And your throne.”
“Where—”
“Not today. Consider it a wedding present when we take our vows.” I forced a grin that felt like swallowing glass. “When do we wed?”
Her eyes glittered. “Soon.”
She withdrew her power pressing in on me, the frost receding like breath on glass. “You’ll announce it tomorrow.”
“To whom?”
“To the kingdom that still dares call itself yours.”
I clenched my fists to keep from shaking. “And when they ask why I would tie myself to my enemy?”
She shrugged. “Tell them the truth.”
“Which is?”
“That you’ve chosen survival. Just as your father did.”
She turned to leave, the air warming slightly in her wake. At the doorway, she glanced back, a cruel kind of softness in her expression. “I’ll see you soon, husband.”
When the doors shut behind her, I waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded. Then, I let myself out through the small door in a hidden corner of the room.
Lemuel would be beside himself searching for me, but he would have to wait.
Down the stairs that spiraled deep beneath the castle, I went quickly enough that sweat dotted my brow by the time I’d reached the bottom. The air was stale here, unmoved for the centuries Grey Oak had stood carved around it.
In the small room at the back of the passage stood the true Harvest Throne. It had taken half a dozen soldiers and a pulley to lower it here. My compulsion had helped them forget what they’d seen and done. And now, only I knew where the true throne was hidden.
Breathless, I approached it and slid into its seat.
The stag’s horn inlaid felt warm. Too warm. Like it recognized what had just happened and was deciding what to think of it all.
I pressed a hand to the armrest, trying to still the tremor in my fingers. “You and me both,” I muttered to the throne.
The veins of gold pulsed once beneath my palm, like a heartbeat answering mine. For a moment, I swore I heard it whisper—soft, almost kind. Almost relieved. You made your choice.
I closed my eyes. “Gods help me. I hope it’s the right one.”