Interlude
PRINCE RHISTEL AABERG, HEIR TO WINTER’S REALM, HOUSE OF THE WHITE BEAR
The uneven steps creaked as, guided by a single faelight, the heir descended into the ship’s stowage. The glow caught first on the bastardborn’s red hair. His half-brother, thanks to the harlot who had opened her legs for a merchant.
Rhistel’s face twisted into a smirk thinking of his mother.
Not long after they placed Inga in the dungeons, they’d began dosing her with a potion that nullified her magic and stripped away her life, only to give the queen the antidote just in time to keep her alive. She’d missed the most recent antidote.
Those who had taken Inga would be wise to take her death as a sign—an omen—that any resistance, any fight they put up was futile.
Especially now that Rhistel had the strongest and most respected warrior in the kingdom in his grasp.
Any worries those in the army might have had would vanish once they witnessed Vale fight for House Aaberg once again.
His feet struck the bottom of the stairs, and Rhistel directed the faelight to the back, where he found them waiting asleep, bound, and propped up against barrels of water for the long journey.
“Wake up,” he demanded.
His twin twitched awake. The Riis bastard was slower, his head lifting slowly, his gaze fixing on the prince. Glazed eyes, the both of them. He’d have to fix that.
Rhistel reached out with his magic, twisting and tweaking the control he had over their minds. With slight adjustments, the glazed appearance vanished. The pair looked like normal traitors now.
“Stand up, Vale. Put your left hand on that barrel.”
The irons around his ankles clanked as Vale did as the heir commanded.
Just like he had all those turns ago, when Rhistel had tested his emerging powers on Vale.
Back then, Rhistel had practiced with their mother watching, though he’d taken liberties at other times.
Times when she wasn’t looking. It was after one of those unsanctioned practice sessions that Vale realized what was happening.
The brothers had never been the same since.
Well, they were about as close as two could be now. Albeit in a different manner.
“Thantrel, get up. I want you to see this.”
The redhead got to his feet, and with the motion, the scent of burnt skin wafted up. Most races of fae were sensitive to iron, and whoever put on Thantrel’s shackles had not been careful. The exposed red skin welled and wept and as Thantrel swayed with the ship. the bastard nearly fell.
“I couldn’t help but notice something about you has changed, Brother.” Rhistel pulled a freshly sharpened dagger from a sheath strapped to his thigh. The weapon felt odd in the heir’s hand. He was more used to wielding a quill, knowledge, and secrets.
But sometimes steel was the only thing that would do the job.
He pressed the tip of the dagger to the finger bearing Vale’s soulmate mark. Snowflakes. The sight of them filled Rhistel with a quiet rage, and not because of the bond Vale had with the Falk whore. Snowflakes brought to mind Winter’s Realm—his kingdom.
Were the stars mocking Rhistel by painting them on his brother’s skin? On her skin?
If so, he’d delight in taking them from her too. Right before he took other things. Her body. Her mind. When he grew tired of it all, her life.
Once he and his father were done with the Falk whore and her sister, they would rue the day they dreamed of stealing the Crown of Winter.
“When did this happen?” Rhistel asked.
“Weeks ago.”
“Where?”
“In a cavern in the Red Mist Mountain Range.”
Rhistel cocked his head, feeling the connection he had with Vale.
His brother, unlike most fae, had developed a few feeble mental protections over the turns.
Not any strong enough to keep their mother or Rhistel out, but to resist in small ways.
There was something Vale didn’t want Rhistel to see, and he could guess what.
For a soulmate mark to appear, fae had to be intimate with one another in heart, body, and soul.
No doubt the Warrior Bear was trying to conceal his erotic memories of Isolde.
Let him keep those, Rhistel thought. I’ll have my own soon enough.
“Father and I were not pleased to see the mark.”
“He’s not our father.”
There it was—the fight he was used to. Slim but present.
“He’s my father in every way that matters. Unlike that commoner you’ve become attached to.” Rhistel teased the cold metal down Vale’s finger, drawing up a faint red line. “Not a smart choice, but then again, no one is surprised by that.”
Vale scowled. “He’s a good male.”
“We’ll have none of that.” He pushed his magic to feed his brother new lines. More appropriate lines.
“Lord Riis is a dirty commoner incapable of keeping his cock in his pants.”
“That’s better.”
Thantrel stood idly by. Not offended. Not a single unprompted thought in his pretty little head.
“We’re heading to the Mage Court,” Rhistel said. “When we get there, the two of you will speak on behalf of King Magnus. You will support him, and our ally, the Shadow King.”
That dark fae was on the ship with them.
Had been in Grindavik too, though few took note of him because they didn’t know who he was.
Only Lady Ithamai and her daughters were allowed proper introductions, as was the plan.
When the time came to reveal their alliance to the realm, they would need the support of powerful people.
“You will tell High King Tyra that Isolde Falk released the Shadow King, but he recognized a great darkness within her,” Rhistel added as he pressed the blade into his brother’s knuckle.
Blood welled, dark in the dim light and tainting the salty air with copper.
“You will say that she is a threat to the Crown of Winter. She plans to come for the throne of every court in retribution for them not aiding her father. And of course you will rebuke her. Say that she manipulated you into marrying her.”
True or not, the prince did not care. When he was in control of them, Rhistel’s whispering magic allowed him to force others to lie, and lie he would to keep the crown.
His eyes slid to Thantrel. “You will back him up.”
“My mate,” Thantrel said when Rhistel loosened control enough to get a response.
“The sister is your mate. We know.”
“Just as we know of your brother. The gatemaker.” A voice came from behind, startling Rhistel, though he didn’t let it show.
The heir turned. Somehow, the Shadow King had let himself in and descended the stairs with no one hearing. Rhistel could not help but be impressed, even as annoyed as he was.
“Apologies for intruding, Prince Rhistel.” King érebo smiled, and it was a dangerous thing. “I did not want to miss the show. Now, what is the gatemaker’s name again?”
“Luccan,” Thantrel said confusedly.
“That’s the one,” King érebo grinned. “Unless we find someone more powerful, I have a use for him.”
Rhistel arched his eyebrows, and the Shadow King’s grin widened. Numerous times he’d approached Rhistel. The prince got the sense that the Shadow Fae wanted an alliance with him, as much as he desired one with the King of Winter.
Perhaps after I’m done here, we will find a quiet place and discuss such matters . . .
Rhistel turned back to the pair under his control. “So, do you understand what you will do?”
Thantrel nodded.
“Vale?”
A low breath left his twin. “I’ll do what you say, won’t I?”
Rhistel’s laughter was a low, dangerous thing. Vale had no idea. This was merely phase one of his plan. Soon, he would stretch his magic, and they’d accomplish great and brutal things together.
“Speaking of doing what I say.” Rhistel offered his brother the hilt of the blade as he tightened his control over Vale once more. “Cut off the finger with the snowflakes. Use the weapon for nothing else.”
Rhistel took a few steps back and crossed his arms over his chest as Vale’s screams filled the underbelly of the ship.