Chapter 2
RYLIAN
I sink onto my elbow and sigh. The sun is setting over the mountains, the heavy maple desk is sturdy but cold, and I’ve barely made a dent in the pile of parchments heaped on the king’s desk.
My desk now, but it still feels like his.
An ache in my chest throbs, a quick spasm of grief.
It’s my study, my work, my Oaken Throne, but I would give it all up to have him back.
I haven’t eaten in days, so my stomach feels no better.
That idiot Alred can say whatever he likes about me, but I miss my father. Miss him terribly.
The desk will probably always feel like it’s his. Maybe I should get a new one. Or make an entirely new office. The pall of mourning is probably not making this mountain of bureaucratic nonsense any easier.
I knew my father’s job was hard, but never… never that it was so tedious.
How did the Autumn Court get like this? I’ve had princely duties all my life.
But a prince’s duties include chatting with members of the court, sniffing out allies and enemies, presiding over festivals, challenging and engaging diplomats.
Dueling a little. Spreading and building the magic of our Court throughout the valley and beyond if necessary.
I force my hand to pull another document from the stack.
I knew Father dealt with the grittier details of managing a Court, but this…
this is ridiculous. How could he possibly have found the time to read all these?
It’s literally impossible—and Duke Pantaris implied the morning would bring a similarly sized stack of work.
There’s not enough time. It makes little sense.
A light tap on the door makes me look up. “Yes?”
Warden Jahan steps in. He’s a young fae with dark skin and even darker hair, and of my entire personal guard, he’s probably the warden I trust most. “Still at those pages, sire?”
“It appears they copy themselves when I’m not looking. The pile is never-ending,” I say dryly. “Someone to see me?”
He nods. “One of the crystal researchers is here, asking for a word with you.”
“Ah,” I say, “which one?” I brace myself to send Alred away. Or try to. The stack of work and the setting sun will be a convenient excuse.
“The human woman, sire,” he replies, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, then.” I hastily rise to my feet, although there’s no good reason for it, and I certainly wouldn’t have for other members of my court. Jahan smiles in response. “Yes. Of course. Let her in.”
I do not know why the girl would grace me with her presence. I know only that I am not complaining. It’s far more interesting than these foolish approvals as to the height of lampposts on a specific street and house number.
I reach out and taste her aura as she’s approaching. It’s an ability my family’s kept secret for generations.
In her case, it’s also my guilty pleasure.
I don’t know if she’d object, but the silvery fog around her is irresistible to me.
That and the way her aura shifts. Seeing the crystal makes her turn a pale blue, like the crystal itself.
She flashes other shades too— the green of a new leaf, streaked with yellow whenever Alred speaks.
A shimmering gold when she looks at me. She admires me.
That fact—and her not knowing that I know—brings a little heat to my cheeks.
Alred does his damnedest to treat the woman like a personal secretary and nothing more, but he can’t fool me as much as he thinks he can.
No human could gain admission to the Faerie Academy under Alred without being extremely talented and intellectually exceptional.
Alred is fae too, so he learned long ago to block his aura from any like me who might have the power to read them.
Few fae reveal the exact nature of their powers to others.
Alred claims his are of the scientific realm. I don’t believe him.
The warden shows her in, but before she can really step forward or speak or do anything really, I hold up a hand. “Wait—Warden?”
“Yes, sire.”
“I find myself in need of refreshment. The mortal and I—I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
She blushes, both cheeks and aura, and I wonder whether it’s her true name or a cover she’ll present. “Castelis, sire. Castelis Decartas.”
“Castelis.” The name rolls off my lips like a sip of fine wine, as if it’s just meant to be there. I think it’s a true name, most likely. But I can’t afford to savor it too long. “If it is not too much of a burden, I’d request to have a cup of tea with you in the conservatory.”
Her eyes widen slightly. Warden Jahan’s eyebrows fly up, but he’s behind her.
He knows better than she does that my request is out of the ordinary, but he vanishes to go fetch a page without waiting for Castelis’s response.
Bizarre even. But I need all the allies I can get, and there is no doubt this young human is an ally.
And there is no doubt trouble is coming. She senses it too—her pale blue and gold transforms to fresh green streaked with yellow every time Alred speaks. I have no proof he’s the threat, but he definitely knows something.
Of course, this request is about more than just making allies.
“Of course, sire,” she stammers, barely audible. “Whatever you wish. I can go over my report if you like.”
“This way, Castelis.” I stride around the desk and toward her.
Her small, bow-shaped lips purse in a way that I find quite entrancing.
As a human, much of her appearance is boringly ordinary, but I have to admit I like that mundanity too.
There is something solid about it, something earthy in those walnut-brown eyes.
Her long, gentle waves of warm red-brown hair look like tea pouring and swirling into its cup.
A silver talisman hangs around her neck.
Her skin has none of the luminosity of a fae, nor the glitter, but I also know it’s real.
There’s no glamor magic there. Her heavy glasses perch smartly on her nose, as if reminding me of her constant measured analysis of me and everything else.
Her eyes widen slightly with my approach. Only then do I realize my fae energy has brightened the room to a warm, festive glow, every torch and candle burning twice as bright.
Ah, what’s the use in pretending about it? She does this to me.
It is silly of me to fall for a human I barely know.
The dukes and other nobles would not approve.
It’d do nothing to cement my rule. Some of the other Courts have been improving treatment of humans as of late, but my father could never be bothered to consider it.
Here, there’s still a superstition that the humans will endanger the magic, that they will destroy it somehow or will find some way to steal it away from us.
I’ve seen no evidence of that. But that would make a human queen an unpopular choice.
But I’m not a king yet. I can have tea with a girl, if only to try to understand her and what her golden aura really means.
I’ve never seen streaks like that. Almost metallic, like genuine gold, in a mist about her.
I don’t see it with my real eyes, but like an extra layer that exists only in my mind.
Besides. After a day of enduring veiled disrespect and slapping down my father’s advisers to show them that such behavior won’t fly, a friendly ear would be such a relief at the moment.
I tone down the fiery display, and she relaxes but tenses again when I take her arm and pull her toward the door. “This way.”
“Yes, sire,” she murmurs, ducking her head, but she looks terrified.
The conservatory isn’t far. She keeps her head down as we walk, the dark curls swaying slightly. A folded stack of vellum is cradled in her other arm, and her step is so light on the palace’s stone floors and woven golden rugs that she might as well be floating.
I guide her to my favorite spot to take a bit of cinnamon tea in the evening, sliding into my favorite seat.
She takes the one next to it a little self-consciously, with care.
Wisps float about, tending to the plants and landscaping and glowing with the soft gold of autumn magic.
Other than the wisps, the conservatory is dim with the embrace of night, with few fae torches here and there.
Our small table sits under an ornamental maple by a stream filled with coral-colored fish.
Every tree and plant in the conservatory is in full fall splendor, as they always are.
The power of the crystals that support me—as well as the kingdom—keeps everything eternally autumn here.
Pumpkins and sunflowers and apples mature overnight, then generate new growth each time they are picked.
Our Court is blessed with a nearly eternal harvest.
As long as the Winter Court remains at bay.
And in truth, the apples aren’t quite ripe today.
With the spring equinox in two weeks, the kingdom is at nearly the weakest it will be all year, while the Spring Court is at its zenith.
Of course, they have no care for war like Winter does.
They’re too drunk on strawberry wine, especially this time of year.
“I have the report, sire,” she says, surprising me.
“The report?” I frown. “What report?”
“Duke Alred insisted I prepare it. He mentioned it after I was doing the measurements?” She places the tan vellum on the table.
“Oh. Oh, yes.” I had barely paid attention to that comment, assuming Alred had meant a report for him. Perhaps he had, but bless him if it’d brought her here now.
“I’ve noted the past measurements of the crystal and projected growth patterns. No signs of stabilization presently. Sire.”