Chapter 30
The dawn in Grìosach had a deceptive beauty.
The golden castle gleamed beneath the sunlight, majestic and imposing, living up to its name.
We advanced along the main road; I stood at the center, Leone to my left, and Malek to my right.
There was still no sign of Drak or Kristan, a silence that set my nerves on edge.
Even so, I forced myself to trust in my friend’s strength and in the loyalty of the orc to whom Malek had entrusted my life.
Upon our approach to the gates, we were stopped by a group of Autumn Court guards, armed and tense. The fear in their eyes at seeing Malek was obvious.
"Identify yourselves and declare your intentions," the captain of the guard ordered.
Leone stepped forward, his posture haughty. "I’m Lord Leone Kerridan, son of Lord Alasdair Kerridan and heir to the Throne of Ceilte. I demand an immediate audience with King Faélán."
"The King can’t receive visitors," the captain replied.
"He can," I said, taking a step forward and making sure he saw the axe. "We have an urgent matter to address with him."
The guard’s gaze flicked to my axe, then to the orc looming behind me like a sentinel, well over ten feet tall.
"Wait here," he said finally, and sent another guard running toward the castle.
The cursed king made us wait for a long time. I recognized this tactic; my father had employed it countless times in Ceilte. Making your enemies wait was a silent way of asserting power, of reminding them who dictated the rhythm of negotiations.
The tension between the guards of the Autumn Court was like a bomb about to explode. Malek remained by my side, his hand firm on the axe handle, ready to react to any threat.
Nearly an hour later, one of the guards returned, accompanied by a red-haired male dressed in fine clothes.
"Lord Leone, Lady Fionnuala, and the… orc," he announced, contempt dripping from his voice. "King Faélán is indisposed at the moment."
"We demand an audience," Leone said. He maintained his calm, but the authority in his voice was clear. "Our business concerns Lord Alasdair and treason against Ceilte."
A cold, calculated smile touched the red-haired lord’s lips, not reaching his eyes.
"I understand. Lord Fenric has already informed us about the situation. He said that the leader of the Oksha, the one called Ruk'hai, invaded Ceilte and took their heir. Lord Alasdair had to leave in a hurry to solve the crisis."
"That’s a lie," I retorted, fury igniting in my chest at Fenric's audacity to blame Malek for his own betrayal and at the Court's nerve to lie about my brother's kidnapping.
Malek took a step forward, and the red-haired lord instinctively recoiled. The orc said nothing, but the silent threat he exuded was more powerful than any word.
"As you can see, my lord, I wasn’t kidnapped by them, and my father didn’t flee," Leone retorted. "Fenric planned a coup and is now holding Alasdair prisoner in your Court. We demand his release and the right to present our evidence to King Faélán."
The red-haired lord shook his head, his smile widening into a sneer.
"Evidence? Lord Fenric is a respected noble. And you"—he swept his gaze from Malek to me, his contempt evident—"a cursed orc and a savage dare to suggest treason? The King won’t waste his time with slanders."
"Then Faélán has chosen his side," Malek growled, finally breaking his silence.
"The side of the truth, orc. You’re the invaders here."
"Fenric orchestrated the invasion of Oksha to incite a war," I said. "We’re here to stop it."
Leone, realizing that diplomacy had failed, stepped forward with a decisive stride.
"Tell the King he has ten minutes to receive us. Otherwise, we’ll storm the castle."
The red-haired lord gasped with indignation.
"You’re bluffing, Lord Leone. Ceilte doesn’t have enough soldiers to invade Brathadair."
"But we do," Malek said, pointing behind him.
The orc troop emerged from the forest, moving like a tempestuous and relentless wave.
The Okshai warriors, with their leather armor and axes, were the stuff of nightmares for many Fae.
Everyone in Tir Na Si knew that one orc warrior was equivalent to ten High Fae.
For this reason, despite the High Fae having superior numbers and many being able to use magic offensively, the orcs held firm in their fights.
"This is insane!" the red-haired lord gasped. "You’re declaring war against a Court?!"
"No, Lord," I replied. "We’re declaring war on a traitor. And King Faélán has nine minutes to decide whether he stands with him or with the truth."
The red-haired lord staggered before turning and walking quickly toward the castle, followed by the captain of the guard, who quickly abandoned his arrogant posture.
The minutes stretched like an eternity. I felt the inquisitive gazes of the Autumn Court guards as they watched us with a mixture of fear and hostility. The Okshai's imposing presence in the clearing was a clear warning that we weren't there to play games.
Malek stood like a pillar of stone at my side. His hand found mine, steady and sure. He didn’t need words to tell me he was there, ready for whatever came.
"They’re afraid," Leone whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. "They didn't expect us to go this far."
"Fenric must have painted a scenario where an attack was unfeasible," I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on the golden gates.
Before the time ran out, the castle gates opened with a metallic creak. A procession emerged, led by none other than King Faélán himself, flanked by his Royal Guard.
The King of the Autumn Court was a tall, slender Fae of impeccable posture.
His long red hair was braided with threads of gold, and his eyes, the color of amber, though cold, seemed to contain sunlight.
Upon his head rested the ancestral crown of Grìosach, made of twisted branches in shades of aged gold and bronze.
I had seen him a few times before, in situations vastly different from this one.
Once, my father had considered marrying me off to his son, Prince Fintan.
At the time, my mother had been against the idea, saying she didn’t want me moving away from Ceilte.
I had to thank her for sparing me from that fate.
Faélán's arrogance preceded him. King for thousands of years, with no signs of stepping down to make room for his son, he was known for having the temper of a volcano on the verge of eruption, and he was always trying to take advantage of everyone.
Fenric wasn’t with him—a minor disappointment. The traitor lacked the audacity to face us on the front lines. The king stopped a few feet from us, his gaze sweeping over the Okshai troop with visible contempt. He exuded authority, but I noticed a shadow of apprehension in his eyes.
“Lord Leone,” he greeted. “I must say your visit is... unexpected, and your escort, alarming.”
“Your Majesty,” Leone replied, performing a formal bow, which Malek and I pointedly ignored. “My escort proves the urgency of our matter and the alliance at stake, which I hope you understand before it’s too late.”
“An alliance with wildlings?” Faélán raised an eyebrow, his derision evident. “This is absurd, Lord Leone.”
A cacophony of growls echoed through the clearing.
“No, Your Highness, it’s the truth,” I said, stepping forward and forcing the King to focus his attention on me. “I’m Fionnuala Kerridan, Lady of Ceilte, and krash’uk of the Ruk’hai Malek. We’re here to speak about Fenric and Alasdair.”
King Faélán blinked slowly, processing the information.
“Krash’uk? Lady Fionnuala, what happened to your appearance?”
“She’s my mate and leader of the Okshai,” Malek intervened, his voice low but charged with a threat that made the King recoil. “The female who chose to walk by my side.”
King Faélán ignored Malek, turning back to Leone. His disdain for my orc only made my blood boil. The arrogance of the High Fae would one day be their undoing.
“Fenric is a loyal nobleman, Lord Leone. He informed me that the attack on the Oksha clan was retaliation for their having kidnapped you. Your poor father was so worried about you that he fell ill as soon as he arrived here.”
I stifled the gasp that threatened to escape. My father… ill?
“Fenric lied,” Leone countered. “He orchestrated a coup in Ceilte to depose Lord Alasdair, Your Highness.”
He ignored the part about our father having gone to Grìosach voluntarily and falling ill. Everyone present knew it was a preposterous lie, mainly because Fae didn’t fall ill unless something grave—such as poison—afflicted them.
“We have proof of Fenric’s treachery,” I intervened. “And the army of Ceilte, under Leone’s authority, is on our side. We came in peace, but prepared for war if necessary.”
The king pondered. His gaze fixed on Malek, weighing the orc’s power, and then slid toward the Okshai troop. He knew that the union of Ceilte and Oksha was a real threat to his dominion; it remained to be seen whether he would accept it to his advantage or continue with his boundless arrogance.
“What is it you want me to do, Lord Leone?” Faélán asked, his voice slightly softer.
“We want my father, Alasdair Kerridan, safe and sound, and Fenric tried for treason. And…” he paused, glancing briefly at Malek, “we want a treaty of peace and alliance between Ceilte and the Oksha clan, with the recognition of their rights over Marukoksha.”
King Faélán laughed, a humorless sound that grated on my ears.
“You’re asking for too much.”
“We’re asking for justice,” I countered. “If Alasdair isn’t released safely, we’ll consider the Autumn Court complicit in Fenric’s treason, and then, Your Highness, you’ll have a war that goes far beyond Ceilte and Oksha.”