Interlude #2
The stranger rose and acted as though the prince had not spoken. “We are allies, are we not, King Magnus? And before you arrived, Prince, your father and I were speaking of the war against the Falks. If what you have to say is so important, you will say it before me.”
This stranger saw himself as the heir’s equal. Rhistel’s fists clenched. “You dare command me?”
The odd-looking fae did not fail to notice, and his lips curled with amusement. “You’re not one to back down. I can respect that, and since we’ll be working together for some time, I shall be the one to bend a little in your direction.”
“Meaning?” Rhistel gritted out.
“I will give you the courtesy of a full introduction.” He inclined his head. “I am not some random fae. Not a wealthy merchant, or even a great lord. No, Prince, I am King érebo of House Nikao, ruler of the Shadow Isles.”
“Shadow Isles . . . But no one has lived there for thousands of turns,” Rhistel replied.
He’d studied the histories of the lost fae culture.
Some would say he’d been obsessed with them.
Many accounts claimed that two of the Shadow Isles themselves weren’t even there any longer.
That the land had disappeared, like the fae who had called them home so long ago.
In their place, mountains of shadows swirled on the water, a caution to ships.
“Are you saying you rule yourself? If so, I fail to see why my father would want you as an ally.”
érebo chuckled. “I rule a people long banished by Queen Sassa Falk—my duplicitous mate. I rule a people who I plan to see return to Isila, with the help of your father.”
érebo . . . the prince remembered a name long lost to history. King érebo of House Nikao, ruler of the Shadow Isles, the name this male claimed was his own.
The hair on Rhistel’s arms stood on end, and he was thankful that the sleeves of his silken shirt covered them. Something told him this fae would catch that small tell.
“How are you alive? And here?” Rhistel asked.
“I’ve been alive all this time, my body testing the limits of age and vitality as faekind knows it. And as for where I’ve been—I was in the far west of your kingdom. Trapped within a Drassil tree.”
Was this a joke? Rhistel studied the male, was tempted to reach out and touch his mind, when the king spoke again.
“And as I was stuck in that tree for so long, I understand why you do not want me here, Prince Rhistel. Also, I can guess at what you wish to discuss with your father.”
“I doubt it.”
“You think your mother did not pray to the Faetia and the dead gods before the Drassils? That she did not beg them to keep her secret?” King érebo’s reply sent Rhistel’s stomach plummeting.
“The trees are all connected, and during my imprisonment, I learned how to see through them. Hence, I know her secret. And yours.”
A long pause drew out between the three males, a pause in which Rhistel considered killing the fae.
“Don’t you think a fae who has learned many secrets would be worth teaming up with, Rhistel?” The King of Shadows made it sound like more of a statement than a question.
“Tell me what you know first.” Rhistel’s studies told him that Shadow Fae, unlike fae from other cultures, could lie. It was yet another quality that made their kind feared. It was what made him so like them, for whisperers could lie too.
The Shadow King loosed a long-suffering sigh. “Would you like me to enlighten the king of your other secret? The one you share with your mother and brother?”
“No,” Rhistel whispered, taken aback. So this fae did know things. How . . . infuriating.
The prince took a deep breath, trying to center himself. He wanted to seize control of the situation, as much as he could, anyway, when he felt like he was walking on the slipperiest ice. “I will tell him.”
The prince turned to his father. “Mother said she was keeping me prisoner of her magic because I threatened Saga.”
“Is it true?” the king asked.
Saga had always been his favorite.
“Yes, but I had a good reason. One that, while you might not agree with, you’ll understand.” His father had ordered his kin killed in a rebellion to seize the throne. This was not so different.
“Tell me.” The king didn’t look upset when he spoke. Saga was far away by now, and undoubtedly the king harbored guilt about having his heir trapped.
“Vale and I are not your sons by blood.” Rhistel swallowed, and knowing he would do well to show humility, the prince went down on one knee. “But I beg of you, Father, to not disown me. I have not forsaken you.”
He stared up at the king, at the red splotches of anger blooming on Magnus’s face. Saw the realization come in waves as the truth hit him again and again.
“Who?” Magnus asked and answered his own question in the next breath. “It’s Lord Riis, isn’t it?”
So he’d always suspected. If only in the back of his mind.
“Yes,” Rhistel said. “That is why I threatened Saga. She’s the only trueborn Aaberg, and I couldn’t stand to be put aside. Could not stand to lose the connection with you and all that I’ve worked so hard for in my life.”
Silence rang through the library until his father grunted. “Stand.”
Rhistel did, and though anger vibrated in the lines of his father’s body, his eyes were different. Not so hard.
“I cannot allow you to harm Saga in the future, but we will resolve that score later. I will also not disown you as my birth father did. You are an Aaberg, Rhistel. Mine. And my heir.”
The prince breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
Magnus nodded. “You think you can control your mother for an extended period of time?”
“I believe so.”
“Then sit.” The king gestured to the chairs. “King érebo and I were discussing how best to discredit Princess Isolde from claiming the throne.”
Rhistel grinned. “I have a few ideas I’d like to share.”