Chapter 9
Derian
For the second time this evening, I find myself watching Lady Lachlan.
I initially doubted her indifference to the marriage season. In my experience, most women who claim to disdain court politics still play the game just as well as anyone else. And yet, she has surprised me.
She is polite enough to the men who approach her, dancing with those who ask and offering small smiles.
She moves through the room with effortless confidence.
Yet there’s truly no spark of ambition in her eyes.
She doesn’t scan the room looking for prospective matches like every other woman here. She is truly indifferent to it all.
Perhaps, having been sent away to school at such a young age, this is her first time at a social engagement like this. Maybe her lack of enthusiasm isn’t an indication of disinterest, but rather a reflection of being overwhelmed.
But I don’t think so.
I want to know for sure.
I want her alone again. Our time earlier wasn’t nearly enough for me to move past this sudden infatuation.
I want to strip her mind bare, pick apart every thread of her thoughts, and weave them back together until I understand everything about her.
I want to know what makes her so different from every other Mortal woman I’ve met in this kingdom.
If I’m honest with myself, though, I want her alone for far more reasons than that.
I’m not shy about my appetites—most Fae aren’t. Since landing in this kingdom, I’ve made no secret of the women who’ve shared my bed during long, wine-fueled nights. Still, even I have to admit that bedding another woman on the night of my engagement celebration would be highly inappropriate.
And yet, as I watch her sip her wine, her full lips stained crimson, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop, I think maybe, just maybe, she’d be worth breaking the rules for.
My self-restraint dwindles the longer I watch her eyelashes flutter over those impossibly cerulean eyes. I’m on the verge of moving when a sharp touch on my elbow distracts me.
I turn, already scowling, to find Roland standing beside me, his face drawn tight.
“What?” I snap.
“We have a problem.”
I lift a brow, waiting for an explanation.
“Kai is dead,” he says, leaning close. “His body was found in your chambers.”
The words hit like a blow to the chest.
How?
Power rushes to my fingertips, eager for release.
We’ve brought our people here under the guise of a truce, an alliance, and now one of my people has been murdered in the castle? My eyes seek out the King, drinking himself silly and laughing. He’ll be dead before he even realizes what’s happening.
Roland grasps my arm as I move to instep forward. “We need to handle this situation carefully.”
I level my glare at him, my voice cold and sharp. “Do not presume to counsel me, Roland.”
Roland may be someone I consider a friend, someone who’s known me since I was a boy, but he is still under my chain of command. I will handle this however I damn well please, even if it means interrogating every person in this room and burning the guilty party alive in front of everyone.
This alliance was a fool’s errand. A reckless decision made by my brother, a King who’s forgotten the ignorance of Mortals.
He may be willing to get on his knees for the creatures who have spent centuries villainizing us, but I won't. I won’t stand for their cruelty against my people.
I won’t allow the Fae kingdoms to become a joke here.
Roland’s mouth opens to protest, but I’m already moving. Over his shoulder, I catch the eye of the guard standing against the wall. The guard stiffens as I speak.
“Seal the doors. No one leaves this room until I return,” I order, my voice like steel. “If anyone tries, they’ll answer to me.”
Roland stiffens beside me. “The treaty—”
“Fuck the treaty,” I growl, grabbing Roland by the arm and pulling him toward the door.
The music fades behind us as we slip into the room where I sat with Lady Lachlan earlier. Rage claws at the edges of my control, and the thrum of power beneath my skin grows more desperate with each passing moment.
“Tell me everything,” I demand, my voice tight with barely restrained fury. “Now.”
His explanation is short. He went to my chambers to see if that’s where I’d disappeared to, only to find the room destroyed and Kai’s body lying there. No sign of the perpetrator. No evidence to suggest who they might be.
“Where’s the body?” I demand.
Roland hesitates. “I had it disposed of.”
“You what?”
His dark eyes flash with indignation. “You may not care about this alliance, Derian, but your brother, the King, does. We can’t allow anything to jeopardize this.
Kai’s death is… unfortunate, but nothing more than a symptom of the tensions between our peoples.
Tensions that can only be eased by you marrying the Mortal princess. ”
Lightning cracks outside, a storm rolling in. Roland’s gaze shifts nervously to the window. “Control yourself,” he warns.
I inhale deeply, forcing the lid back on my power. “His death is more than unfortunate. I refuse to bow to Mortals who kill us while we’re here offering to help them.”
“So what would you do?” Roland huffs, folding his arms.
I clench my jaw, fury coursing through me. “Were there witnesses?”
“A maid found a sliver of silver fabric in the room. It had bits of lace and pearls. Could it have come from one of the women you’ve entertained?”
No, the women I brought into that room certainly weren’t wearing ballgowns.
A woman?
A Fae male brought down by a Mortal woman.
“She must be found,” I announce. “And held accountable.”
Roland’s chest lifts and falls in an exaggerated sigh. “The alliance must stand, Derian.”
I turn the information over in my mind, weighing every possibility, every path, until only one remains. A path that allows both problems to be solved. It’s potentially controversial and definitely reckless.
But it just might be effective.
“You have a plan,” Roland notes, watching me closely.
“It’s not one you’re going to like,” I reply.
“You cannot do this!” Roland insists, hurrying to keep pace with me as I stride back toward the palace ballroom.
“I can, actually.” My voice is clipped, my patience thinning. “I may be a prince, but I am a Silverthorn warrior first and foremost. This is precisely within my Gods-given rights.”
I actually don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner.
It’s been decades since anyone in my bloodline has called a Conclave. It’s only happened once since King Almayi died without an heir, and his most trusted guard, Omari Silverthorn, was named his successor. Since then, our family has been royals first, warriors second.
But I have always looked better in armor than wearing a crown.
Roland presses on, undeterred. “Your brother will never allow this.” His breath comes quicker now, his shorter strides working twice as hard to keep up with mine.
I cast him a withering look. “My brother isn’t here right now, is he?”
His mouth presses into a firm line. He knows as well as I do that King Luceron’s absence is to my advantage.
“I don’t see how this solves our problem,” he argues. “Even if you force every woman here into the Conclave, one of them will still win. And if she’s strong enough to kill a Fae guard, she’s strong enough to win.”
“No one can predict who wins the Conclave,” I counter. “And besides, I only need to bide my time until I uncover who’s responsible for Kai’s death. Then we ensure she doesn’t win.” I glance at him. “I get my revenge. The king gets his marriage. No one is the wiser.”
Roland exhales sharply, his face reddening. “I simply don’t like it.”
I arch a brow. “I don’t recall asking for your approval.”
Nor do I need it.
With that, I push open the ballroom doors.
The room stills. Every head turns toward me. The only ones who remain unmoved are the Fae guards stationed at every exit, preventing anyone from leaving.
“Prince Derian!” King Eyrendor rises from his seat, his face flushed with barely contained anger. “What is the meaning of this? Your guards have no right to bar the doors!”
A prickle of awareness runs down my spine. I turn my head just slightly and lock eyes with Lady Lachlan.
Her expression is carefully blank, but those brilliantly calculating blue eyes narrow slightly as my name registers and she connects the stranger she met in the office with the prince from the Fae Kingdom. Even in the face of a brewing storm, though, she remains composed and unshaken.
Fascinating.
Despite the severity of the moment, I can’t help myself. I wink.
She doesn’t react, but I don’t miss the way her fingers tighten around the stem of her wineglass.
“King Eyrendor.” I sweep my arms wide as I approach the dais, my voice smooth and practiced. “You’ll forgive me, but I didn’t want anyone to leave before my announcement.”
A crease forms between the king’s brows. “Announcement?”
Roland murmurs under his breath, “I would be remiss if I didn’t caution you one last time.”
I ignore him.
I ascend the steps deliberately, standing before the king as the weight of the room presses in around us.
“There’s been a slight change to our alliance.”
Eyrendor sputters. “What?”
“No need to worry,” I say with an easy smile. “We are still willing to open our borders to your people, just as we expect you will still allow our people to explore the Wastelands off your border.”
The ballroom erupts. A collective gasp ripples through the gathered nobles.
Ah. So the good king hasn’t told his people about that part of the deal.
I smirk. I’m not surprised.
“You cannot do this!” someone shouts from the crowd. “The Fae will expand the Wastelands! They seek to kill us all!”
“Silence!” the king roars, his expression darkening. “King Luceron assures me this will not happen! The war between our peoples ended centuries ago. It is time to move forward.”
“Which is exactly what we’ll do,” I agree.
Eyrendor eyes me warily. “Then what about the alliance is changing?”
“There is an ancient tradition among my family,” I explain.
“My brother overlooked it when drafting the treaty, which is understandable, as it is a custom more common among the warriors of our bloodline. Luceron has always been more of a politician.” I allow a slow, wolfish smile.
“And I have always been… well, the more violent of the two of us.”
I practically feel Roland rolling his eyes behind me.
“Anyway,” I continue, turning slightly to address both the king and the crowd. “I’m officially calling for a Conclave.”
The princess speaks unprovoked for the first time, her voice careful but clear. “What is this Conclave?”
Roland, ever the diplomat, answers before I can. “It is a competition, Your Highness,” he explains, keeping his tone gentle, as if softening the words will dull their impact. “To determine who will wed Prince Derian.”
The king’s face purples with rage. “You have already agreed to marry my daughter! It is signed!”
He should count himself lucky I’m not forcing his daughter into this competition.
I purse my lips. “Don’t you consider all the citizens of your country to be your children? In a manner of speaking, at least.”
Eyrendor opens his mouth to protest, but then closes it.
I know I’ve won.
He is too desperate for our land, our resources, to fight me on this.
“So,” he says, his voice tight. “How do we proceed?”
My guards are already moving through the crowd, pulling forward every woman adorned in the slightest bit of silver. One by one, they gather before me, six in total, each looking unsteady on their feet.
It is hard to believe any of them could have killed a Fae.
But Mortal hatred has taken many of my people before. I will not allow the guilty party to slip away this time.
“The prince has chosen these young women to compete in the Conclave,” Roland announces. “They will leave with us for the Fae kingdom.”
“How will we come home?” a blonde woman in a navy-and-silver gown cries, her voice thick with fear.
Roland stiffens beside me.
m“You won’t return,” he says simply. “The Conclave is to prove your strength. It is a fight to the death. Only the strongest can marry a Silverthorn warrior.”
Chaos erupts.
Shouts of protest and confusion echo through the ballroom. The king rages as the nobles demand answers. My guards hold firm, barring the exits as some try to flee.
But I barely hear them.
Something is wrong.
My instincts tingle as I scan the gathered women, searching for the source of my unease.
And then…I realize.
We’re missing one.
I straighten, my gaze sweeping the room until it lands exactly where I expect it to.
Lady Lachlan.
She remains seated, her glass of wine still poised delicately in her grip.
Her expression is unreadable, but those eyes…
I smirk. “Lady Lachlan will also be coming with us.”
Her gaze flickers.
Not with fear, or even shock.
No, that cold calculation is back.