Chapter 20 Rue #2
My instincts have never steered me wrong, and right now they’re screaming danger.
Before the person can swing open the door on the king’s invitation, I slip into the veil once more, my form dissolving into shadow and possibility.
The magic wraps around me like a protective cloak, rendering me invisible to all but the most powerful of seers.
“Enter,” the king calls, his voice carefully neutral.
The door swings open with deliberate slowness, and General Erron steps inside like he owns not just the castle but the very air within it.
Silver hair perfectly styled, sharp jaw set with military precision, armor gleaming like his damned ego.
Everything about him radiates controlled power and barely contained ambition.
“Sire,” he bows with exactly the right amount of deference, not too much to seem subservient, not too little to appear disrespectful. The man has turned political maneuvering into an art form.
“General. Any news from the outer villages?” The king’s tone is carefully measured, giving nothing away.
General Erron waves a dismissive hand, his gauntlets catching the light from the magical sconces. “The usual rabble, Your Majesty. A few border scuffles with some restless Light Court mountain villages, easily handled by our patrol units. Nothing that requires your immediate attention.”
“And the queen? Any word of her whereabouts?”
The general’s smile doesn’t reach his pale eyes, it’s the kind of expression a shark might wear before striking.
“I have heard no news of her sighting, though I have my best soldiers in pursuit, of course. Your daughter, sire. . .” He pauses, letting the weight of unspoken criticism hang in the air.
“I am surprised you haven’t mentioned her whereabouts.
I assume you’ve heard nothing, or you would have told me immediately. ”
“She’s with Locke and her mate, Sam. She is safe,” The king’s reply comes out cooler than winter frost, each word carefully enunciated.
“Of course. We all pray for her safety.” The words drip with false sincerity. “The court is concerned, however. The rumors of her bloodline, her lack of magical stability, her show of strength in the Great Hall. Some are saying she’s a wild card, unpredictable. Dangerous.”
“She is my heir.” The king’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, leaving no room for argument.
“Indeed. But. . .forgive me, sire, some might say she’s not fit to rule. She’s fractured, partly mortal, emotionally unstable. The court whispers that her presence brings chaos,” Sylviane’s tone remains respectful, but there’s an undercurrent of challenge that makes my blood run cold.
The king’s voice drops to a temperature that could freeze hellfire. “You forget yourself, General.”
“Forgive me. I’m only voicing what others are too afraid to say to your face.
” He bows again, the gesture somehow managing to convey both apology and defiance.
“But if I may speak freely, perhaps it’s time to consider sending her back to the Mortal Realm permanently.
For her own safety, you understand. It’s clear her presence has disturbed the delicate balance of the court. ”
The king rises slowly from his chair, power radiating from him like heat from a forge. “Just whose safety are you referring to, Sylviane?”
The general turns to leave, his movements controlled and precise. Then he pauses at the door, and I hear the soft click of the lock sliding into place. The sound sends ice through my veins, and I fight to maintain my hold on the veil as every instinct screams danger.
“You said the wrong thing, old friend.” Sylviane’s voice has changed completely, dropping all pretense of respect or loyalty. “You should have never claimed her, never allowed her to taint the sanctity of the Great Hall with her mongrel blood.”
Everything happens so fast that there’s little chance to warn the king, though I try, my magic flickering as shock threatens my concentration.
Queen Lucelle materializes behind the King like a nightmare given form, stepping out of her own shadows draped in crimson silk and cloth-of-gold, her dark eyes burning with triumphant hatred.
In her perfectly manicured hands, she holds an iron collar forged with binding runes that reek of suppression magic so powerful it makes my stomach turn.
The king stumbles backward, his hands already moving to summon his power, but he’s too slow, caught off guard by the betrayal of those he trusted most. The collar snaps around his throat with a sound like breaking bones.
He gags, clawing at the metal as his magic shudders and collapses in on itself like a dying star.
More figures pour from the shadows like water from a broken dam, soldiers cloaked in black, but their loyalty clearly lies elsewhere. They move with practiced efficiency, seizing the weakened king and clamping iron manacles around his wrists that match the collar’s suppressive enchantments.
“Lucelle, what is this treachery?” The king snarls as he bucks and thrashes under the weight of the soldiers pinning him down, his voice hoarse from the collar’s effects.
I watch in disgust as the general observes this tableau with a wicked gleam of satisfaction in his cold eyes, like a cat watching mice trapped in a maze.
The queen’s smile is all sharp edges and poisoned honey.
“Darling husband, don’t act so surprised.
Did you think I wouldn’t return to claim what is rightfully mine?
I told you the halfling bastard would never rule, not while I draw breath.
You thought you could parade her through my court, present her to my nobles, and crown her in my place?
” Her voice rises with each word, decades of resentment and fury finally given voice.
“In the place of the child I could never give you? You disgrace me, shame me in front of the entire court. Never again!”
“She is your stepdaughter, my blood, my heir—”
“She is a blight upon this realm. A witch-born mistake that should have been drowned at birth.” The queen’s beautiful face twists with hatred so pure it’s almost artistic.
“You allow that witch, Cashira, to live in my forest. You chose her over me all along, chose your precious lover over your wife. So now that you’ve made your choice, chosen your heir, I will choose power. ”
“You’ll never rule legitimately, the nobles will never accept—”
“But I already am ruling, my dear husband,” she croons, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carries more menace than her screaming.
“Until you come to your senses and renounce her publicly. Until you admit your mistake and name a proper heir. Or until she dies. She will die first, I promise you that. In fact, she might already be on her way back to you. . .her bastard head on a silver platter.”
My pulse quickens as I try desperately to hold my magic in place, sweat beading on my forehead as the emotional turmoil threatens to shatter my carefully maintained invisibility.
I’ve never lost control of my power, not once in all my years of training, but seeing the king brought low by those he trusted most sends rage coursing through my veins like molten metal.
As the guards begin to drag the weakened king toward the door, my magic falters for the first time in my life.
My emotions break through my carefully controlled barriers like water through a crack.
I grab desperately at the fraying threads of my power, the glitch lasting only a heartbeat, but long enough for the queen’s sharp eyes to catch the shimmer of my form in the corner of the room.
“Rue!” she shouts my name in shock and fury, her voice echoing off the stone walls.
The only fae privy to the full extent of my shadow magic are the king and Locke.
Not even the general knows what I’m truly capable of, and I’d planned to keep it that way.
A quick glance at Sylviane shows me just how furious he is at this revelation, his face contorting with rage at being kept in the dark.
“Kill him!” he roars, too much of a coward to come at me himself. He quickly pushes the guards and their royal prisoner out of the door as the queen vanishes from sight like smoke, leaving me alone with a room full of soldiers who look eager to spill blood.
I throw off the veil with a snarl that would possibly make Sam proud and draw both curved blades from the hidden sheaths at my sides, the familiar weight of the weapons centering me in the chaos.
The nearest guard lunges with his sword raised high, and I pivot on my heel, driving a dagger under his chin with surgical precision.
I laugh as his blood sprays across the rug at his feet, painting the ancient threads crimson.
Another soldier comes from the left, and I roll beneath his wild swing, slashing him open from thigh to hip with a move that would make my old sword master weep with pride.
His screams echo through the hall as I cut a bloody path through the king’s guards-turned-traitors, my blades singing through the air like deadly birds.
The queen’s voice rings out through the castle like a bell tolling doom, making my escape a very public announcement that will have every guard in the realm hunting for me.
“We have a traitor in our midst! Seize him! They’ve taken the king!
Don’t let Ruelira leave this castle alive! Bring me his head!”
I kick open the study door with enough force to splinter the ancient wood, pausing only long enough to stab another soldier in the chest before leaping over the corridor banister.
I crash into a side hallway, rolling to absorb the impact, and keep running through passages I could navigate blindfolded.
A blade catches my shoulder, slicing through silk and skin with equal ease. I hiss at the sharp pain but don’t stop moving. I can’t afford to stop when half the castle is hunting me. My midnight-blue cloak flaps behind me like wings, the expensive fabric now soaked red with my blood.
I know every shortcut, every secret passage, every hidden door from years of exploring the castle’s depths. The knowledge serves me well now as I make my escape, slipping through cracks in the walls that most fae don’t even know exist.
I don’t stop running until I collapse against the rough bark of an old oak, my chest heaving as I veil myself once more with shaking hands.
My breath comes in ragged gasps as warm blood from my shoulder wound drips steadily into the tree’s gnarled roots, feeding the earth with evidence of tonight’s betrayal.
Somewhere behind me I can hear the distant sounds of shouts and hoofbeats, the search party already spreading out through the forest like a plague.
“Well, shit just got real,” I pant to myself, pressing my palm against the wound to slow the bleeding. The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of going unnoticed, and now I’m the most wanted fae in the realm.
I make my way back to where I left my horse, moving carefully through the underbrush.
The faithful mare whickers softly when she sees me, her dark eyes reflecting concern as she scents the blood.
No one notices as I mount and gallop away from the castle, disappearing into the deep forest where the shadows are thick enough to hide even a bleeding fool with a target on his back.
I’ve seen enough. I know enough. The political landscape of Vanir has shifted beneath our feet like sand in an earthquake, and everyone I care about is now in mortal danger. I have to get to Locke, Esme and the wolf, they need to know what’s happened, need to understand that everything has changed.
We are now all we have. The entire realm will be hunting Esme before the sun rises, every soldier and bounty hunter eager to claim the price on her head.
They’ll paint her as a usurper, a dangerous half-blood who corrupted the king’s mind with forbidden magic.
Kidnapped him—or so they will be made to believe.
The king is gone, imprisoned in his own castle by those he trusted most.
Esme will be hunted like a rabid dog until we can find a way to free him and restore the rightful order. The High Bells have sounded, for civil war brewing. A war the Night Court can’t afford to wage against itself, but one that seems inevitable now.
I press my hand tighter against my wound and close my eyes briefly as I urge my horse to move faster through the treacherous forest paths. The pain is nothing compared to the weight of what I’ve witnessed, the knowledge that sits like a stone in my chest.
Our lives, our very survival, now depends entirely on Esme regaining her powers, the magic that was stripped from her by the very goddess who was supposed to have her back in the Mortal Realm.
Is there no trust anywhere? Fuck them all!
We don’t need them. Esme gave us all a tantalizing glimpse of her true potential in the Great Hall that day, power that made the very air tremble with possibility.
They’ve reacted with fear and chose betrayal, striking out like cornered animals rather than trying to understand what she could become.
They will all pay for their treachery, every last one of them. The queen, the general, the soldiers who turned their backs on their oaths. I’ll see them all brought low before this is over.
“They don’t know what’s coming,” I whisper to myself, my words carried away by the wind rushing past my face. The forest seems to listen, the ancient trees bearing witness to my vow. “But I do.”
When the reckoning comes, when Esme reclaims her birthright and her power. I’ll be there to watch their perfect little coup crumble to ash.