38. Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Eight
T he castle wakes to the sound of screaming.
As do I.
With nothing but the moonlight to guide him through the darkness, Viridian rises, springing to his feet the moment his eyes open. I’m up almost a second after, frantically lighting the candle by my bedside. Candelabra in my grasp, I follow him, darting into the hall.
Voices ring out from across the way, and it takes less than a moment to find the source.
“Come,” Viridian urges, moving with a sense of grave purpose.
But I’m already ahead of him, practically flying through the hall past the gold-rimmed windows and into the foyer at the top of the main staircase.
The flicker of candlelight is dim, but it’s enough to make out the grisly scene that waits before us.
There, with a sword plunged through his chest, pinning his limp body to the wall several feet above the ground, is the High King.
Viridian pales. His body goes deathly still.
Behind us, someone vomits. There’s a shuffling of feet, and the sound of someone being whisked away.
I stare up in horror. Nausea grips my stomach. Closing my mouth, I swallow hard, unable to turn my face away.
Vorr’s head lolls to one side, his face gaunt and ashen. His torso slumps forward, flesh digging into sharpened steel. Blood still drips from his body, a mass of dark red staining the stone walls and gathering in a puddle on the floor beneath him. There’s a gaping hole where his heart should be. His chest is mangled around the sword wound, as if his killer drove the weapon through him multiple times before piercing his heart.
Below him, sitting in the pool of his blood, is his bronze crown.
My breaths turn shallow.
This was no accident.
Someone killed Vorr and put what’s left of him on display, for everyone to see. Even his crown has been purposefully placed, as if symbolic of the murderer’s intent .
An end to the Bronze Court’s hold over the Inatian throne.
Though, if that truly is their aim, they didn’t finish the job. Then, I remember Vorr’s last words to Viridian and me.
“My sins have come for me.”
He must have known his wrongdoing—whatever mistake he attributes the curse to—would end his life. That even though the curse itself wouldn’t take him directly, its icy hold would still direct the sword that ended him.
But now, Vorr isn’t my concern.
Viridian just stands there, eyes fixed on his father’s lifeless form.
I see everything he doesn’t say aloud.
The grief. The shock. The apologies that will forever remain unsaid, forever waiting on his tongue.
I do the only thing I can. I wrap my arms around him, offering support with my body. I send whatever comfort I can give down the bond, hoping it’s enough to soothe him, if only a little. In response, he leans into me, unsteady. Though he still doesn’t look away.
Maybe he can’t look away.
I finally turn my face. When I do, the realization settles over me.
“Viridian,” I start. As far as we know, Vorr had yet to lift the command on High Keep preventing anyone from entering or exiting. The gates have remained locked, keeping everyone inside. “The one responsible for this is still—”
“Here, among us.” He scans the small crowd gathered around us. They’re all servants, mostly, some lesser fae diplomats spread out amongst them.
“I don’t think it’s any of them,” I tell him. I look at each of their faces. At the horror, the shock, and the fear I see there. Most of them are human, whose families have served for years.
“Neither do I.” Viridian’s voice hardens, quiet rage seeping from his expression. There’s that electric pulse again, buzzing in the air around us. “I want to see the High King’s council,” he announces, demanding the immediate attention of all those who still linger here. “ Now .”
Without another word, Viridian moves to the staircase, amber storms raging in his eyes. Free of any hesitation, I go where he goes, close by his side. Electricity fills the air around him, so palpable, I feel as though I can almost reach out and touch it. Through the bond, I can sense the power roaring inside him, just beneath the surface. Now, I know there’s more untapped power dwelling inside him than I ever could have known.
Perhaps even more than Viridian himself knows is there.
With a wave, Viridian slams the door into the council chamber open. The wood slams against stone, so hard I think it may splinter.
“Viridian,” I say, with a touch to his back.
My voice seems to snap him out of whatever frenzy had taken control over him. His eyes widen, looking at the open door .
He takes a breath, deeply inhaling. “I’m sorry. I lost control of myself.”
“It’s all right,” I tell him, sending more waves of calm through the bond. I feel his thundering emotions on the other end, wrath and grief and fear swirling around themselves into a lethal tempest. “You have every right to be feeling the way you do.”
“But I am the High King now,” Viridian finishes for me, taking another long breath. “And I must maintain decorum.”
“Yes.” I nod. Reaching for him, I press my palm to his cheek. “You’re not alone. Not now, not ever. I am with you, every step of the way.”
Viridian touches his forehead to mine. “Thank you.”
The chamber door opens, and Viridian and I both straighten our postures. Hopefully, we look every bit the High King and Queen we have to be, in this dark hour. I don’t have to see Viridian’s face to know he’s unsure of himself. I am, too. Neither of us knew we’d be forced to begin our reign like this, in the wake of such tragedy.
And because of that, our appearance before the council is more important than ever.
We must stand united in our strength.
Once everyone is seated around the long table, I nod to Viridian. Placing my hand on his upper arm, I give his shoulder a light squeeze and find his eyes.
He dips his head to me, before facing ahead.
“What is the meaning of this? Surely, you know it is the dead of night?” a noble fae male with dark hair and silvery eyes—who I recognize as Head of House Larmanne—asks. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, the slight movement potent with annoyance. Asheros Larmanne sits beside him, looking equally as tired, but lacks his father’s irritation.
“I have summoned you here, Lord Larmanne,” Viridian says, looking at him with a shrouded expression, “because my father is dead.”
The elder Silver Court lord’s face falls. The annoyance coloring his expression vanishes, leaving no trace behind. “His Majesty is…”
“Dead,” Viridian repeats. “Yes.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “He was murdered. And the murderer is still in the castle, somewhere among us.”
While he speaks, I search the councilor’s faces, looking for any sign that something might be off. If someone here is to blame for the High King’s death, they may falter. Even if only for a moment.
Viridian and I stand at the head of the table—me to the left, and Viridian to the right. To Viridian’s right, sit Tanyl and Myrdin, representing House Tarrantree, of course. Myrdin’s brows are wound tight with pain, and he leans forward toward Viridian, as if to offer him comfort. Tanyl shares his son’s expression, only, he hangs his head, muttering a soft prayer.
I doubt that Myrdin or Tanyl are responsible, though, I can’t be sure. I can’t think of what either would have to gain by killing Vorr—if the murder was a grab for power, why would they spare Viridian? As long as he lives, the Bronze Court’s claim to the throne is secure.
Though, with Vorr gone, I fear Viridian may have a target on his back.
Next, I look further down the table, to Tanyl’s left. Representing the Silver Court are Lord Eldred and Asheros. The former still looks as if he’s seen a ghost, face void of color. Asheros has gone still, brows raised in shock.
I don’t know much about the Silver Court’s allegiances, but Myrdin’s told me they stand on shaky ground with the Bronze Court. Gold and Silver have been allied for decades, but in more recent times, House Larmanne has cooperated with House Avanos. It doesn’t clear them of fault, but their ties to the throne are long-distant, making them lack the motivation.
Then, I direct my attention to my side of the table. Directly to my left, sit the Steel Court representatives. Lymseia’s mother and sister: Head of House, Lady Kylantha Wynterliff, and heir-apparent, Vestella Wynterliff. Myrdin’s told me that the Steel and Bronze Courts have been allied for decades, sharing common goals for peace and stability for the kingdom. Given Lymseia’s position as Captain of the High King’s guard, it seems that they’d be unlikely to murder the High King and jeopardize her place here. Then again, with Lymseia’s proximity to the High King, it’s possible that they conspired together.
No .
I trust Lymseia. She wouldn’t do this. And if her mother and sister are responsible—which I have no reason to believe they are—then they would have done so without her knowing.
Which only leaves one court left. The one noble House that has always contended the Bronze Court’s rule.
Just as my eyes land on her, Head of House, Lady Maelyrra Pelleveron, opens her mouth.
“With our kingdom weak, now more than ever, we need fae sitting on the throne,” Maelyrra interjects, mouth curled with distaste. To her side, a young fae male hardens his expression. His head of dark red hair, sun-kissed skin tone, and yellow eyes tells me that he’s Maelyrra’s son, Nisroth Pelleveron. To be here, at her side, he must also be the Gold Court’s heir-apparent.
“I’d suggest you tread very lightly, Lady Pelleveron,” Viridian warns, blue flickers of electricity twisting up his arms, “before you say another word about my wife.”
Most Heads of House and their heir-apparents gasp, all focus trained on the blue ripples circling Viridian’s forearms. Taken aback, confusion and fear etches into their faces. The room falls eerily silent. Eyeing Viridian, Nisroth places his palms to the table, poised to stand. Watching. Waiting to see what Viridian will do next.
I let their shock set in for a moment, before clearing my throat.
“I am your High Queen. And I am fae.” My voice echoes through the chamber, and I move my eyes to each of the council members. All of whom stare at me. “But I am also human.”
“Even worse,” Maelyrra retorts, making no effort to hide her disdain. “A half-breed .”
Nisroth makes a face I can’t read.
Viridian curls his fist, gathering his power.
But I don’t give him the chance to wield it. “Then I am your half-breed. I am of your blood—Pelleveron blood.”
Maelyrra’s eyes widen, but Nisroth only furrows his brow. It’s clear by the look on her face that she knows that I’m Helenia’s daughter. Her niece. She lowers her voice. “I thought I’d had you disposed of.”
“Well, I wasn’t,” I grind out, suppressing my anger. “And you will bow before me, or you will make an enemy of the crown.” I raise my chin. “So, choose wisely.”
Maelyrra clenches her jaw, face red with fury. Making a much wiser decision than I thought her to be capable of, she stays silent. But Nisroth only narrows his eyes, his focus falling to the table.
“Your Majesty,” Lady Kylantha says to Viridian. “You believe the late High King’s murderer is still in the castle, correct?”
“Yes.” Viridian nods, relaxing his shoulders. The blue electricity fades, until there aren’t any sparks left. “As of right now, my father’s orders not to open the castle gates are still in effect. “With the drawbridge down and the gates closed, no one should have been able to enter or exit without the guards hearing of it.”
“But how exactly can we be sure of this?” Maelyrra crosses her arms, leaning back in her padded chair. “For all we know, the killer was able to sneak in and out, undetected.”
Viridian glowers at her. “Why such doubt, Lady Maelyrra? Do you have something to hide from the crown?”
“Not at all, Your Majesty,” Maelyrra says, sticking out her chin. She looks like she’s about to say something but decides not to.
“With all due respect, your Majesty,” Lord Eldred Larmanne cuts in, without once looking in my direction. “How can we be sure that Her Majesty the queen is free from any doubt? One could think that the…circumstances of your marriage and your father’s involvement may serve as a reason for—for the late king’s unfortunate end.”
I take a deep breath. He’s right. I do have reason to want the High King dead. To escape this place, this marriage, one could believe that I’d do anything to clear my path—even if it was the High King himself that stood in my way.
But I love Viridian. I want this marriage and to be here with him. To rule by his side.
I have no fear of the council’s suspicion. Because I know Viridian knows my heart, my intentions. And with the mate bond in place, I couldn’t lie to him, even if I tried. He’d know.
“I understand your reservations, Lord Larmanne,” Viridian says. “But my wife was with me all night. And as some of you may know, mates can sense through their bond when their partner is dishonest.” Now, he looks at me. “Cryssa, did you murder High King Vorr?”
The look in his eyes tells me that this is all just for show.
So, I play along.
“No,” I tell him, shaking my head. My voice is genuine, because I am being genuine. “I was beside you the entire night, until we woke to the screams.”
Viridian’s gaze voices his thanks. He turns to the council, palms facing upward. “She speaks the truth.”
Eldred Larmanne seems to redden and withdraw into himself. The rest of the council tenses, exchanging hushed whispers and nervous glances.
“Following this meeting, I will speak to the Captain of the Guard and immediately begin investigating this.” Viridian promises, his quiet rage seeping from his words, “I will do everything in my power to find my father’s killer and make them pay dearly for it.”
He waits a moment, looking to me as if for permission before continuing.
I meet his gaze and nod.
Then, Viridian continues. “This council is now adj—”
His head snaps to the door. As does mine.
“Is that?” he asks, voice trailing off.
“Yes,” I breathe, panic rising in my chest. The sounds of struggle echo in the hallway, not far from the council chamber. “We’re under attack.”