Abdicated

Chapter 1

I tug on my disgustingly rounded ears in irritation and invoke that moronic technique of counting to ten. But if Uncle Filip doesn’t drop this line of questioning, I swear to Gorok I’ll impale his wrinkled hand with my fork.

“Will you come home?” he prods, with the exhausting relentlessness of an Argos ghoul—or even a bridge troll. Though slightly more intelligent.

“You know very well,” I say flatly, slicing my pancakes into tiny pieces. Outside, the lake laps against the stone foundation of the estate, each gentle wave tapping in that calm, steady rhythm I used to love. “I don’t live there anymore.”

I have no right to call that castle my home. Not since the Passing Ceremony two years ago. Yet he doesn’t get it, I don’t know why. Anyone with a scrap of empathy would.

“It will always be your home, Seleste,” he hesitates, but speaks anyway. “I… I even ordered a redecoration of the throne room so you wouldn’t recognise it. It won’t be that bad.”

“Redecoration?” I echo. “You think new tapestries and shiny floors will cover the… horror that happened there?”

He shakes his head, letting out a long, exasperated sigh, as if I were the one being unreasonable, but lets the matter rest and moves on to another equally irritating question.

“After everything, you couldn’t even bother to show up for Samira and Nulok’s mating ceremony.” He leans forward, the edge of his charcoal scarf almost brushing his plate. “Why? Tell me. Help me understand you.”

I am ashamed to admit that my hands tremble as I push the pieces of pancake around my plate. The syrup glistens and pools, tempting me to soak them, but I resist. I can’t eat while he keeps torturing me.

“You were at Jestin’s court in Santorili for days, Seleste.

You attended six feasts in their honour.

You helped choose the gilded banners and flowered arches, and you spent Samira’s Last Alone Night with her—a final night to speak with those she trusted before her permanent bond.

You promised to be her witness, in the temple, before Gorok himself. ”

I almost flinch. Almost. But I keep still, biting my tongue. I just have to endure his tirade. Then he’ll resolve my gold issue, and I can crawl back to my hotel room.

How hard can it be?

He leans back and adjusts his scarf around his neck, the worn fabric twisting with the movement, betraying a nervous habit.

“And then… you vanished. Samira and Nulok waited. The high priest was furious. Guests had travelled across the Queendom just to see you, and gossip spread through the halls like ink seeping through parchment. Why abandon them at the last moment, after all that effort?”

I cross my legs under the table, my knee knocking against the edge, and cringe, biting back a curse.

To soothe myself, I let my gaze wander around Uncle Filip’s recently purchased lakeside estate. I own two myself, though one is completely trashed. If he doesn’t help me gain access to my vault, I’ll probably have to sell it.

“I left because I couldn’t stay. End of story.” I throw my fork a little too forcefully, the clatter on the plate louder than I intended. I reach for my glass of Fae wine and down half of it in one gulp, letting the familiar burn scorch my throat.

Fuck.

Finally, some relief.

He frowns, eyes narrowing. “Drinking isn’t a solution, child. You can’t keep using wine to escape.”

I snort, my mind clouded by the blissful curtain. “Escaping? There is no escaping. It only helps me function. And anyway, that is not your business, Uncle.”

I gulp the wine, letting it loosen my shoulders, unclench my jaw and slow the frantic carousel of my thoughts.

I rotate my shoulders, finally believing I can survive this dinner and achieve what I came here for.

He exhales sharply. “You need to get yourself together, Seleste. You can’t keep abandoning everyone every time it gets hard.”

I meet his gaze, the glass halfway empty.

“Can’t I? Who else in Hanovel has a higher rank than me?

” I laugh, annoyed with myself for letting him rattle me, for explaining myself.

Still, I offer one more truth. “And maybe this,” I gesture vaguely at the wine, “is the only way I get through it without losing what’s left of my mind. ”

“It’s been almost two years since they’ve been gone.” His voice is weighted with a weariness I rarely hear from him. “Are you coming home for the memorial, Seleste?”

I stiffen, feeling the weight of his words press down on my chest.

The memorial.

“Are you serious?” I murmur under my breath. “Do you honestly think I could just waltz back as if nothing happened?”

He doesn’t flinch at my tone, but his hands tighten around his glass. “Seleste, you can’t keep running forever. They were your family. You owe them—no, you owe yourself—this chance to remember them.”

I’ve had enough.

Before he can completely sour the mood, I shoot him my best menacing glare.

It lands.

Filip’s eyes, once so full of affection, are tired and uneasy, darting to meet mine across the oval table.

“Not another word,” I say, noting the hardening shadow in his gaze. He survived, but in his mind, he could’ve very well died with the rest of them.

I mirror the sentiment.

No one warns you about the force of grief until it hits you, like the very first blast of magic. Before it touched me, I thought grief was just sadness. A season. A phase. Something to get through.

But now? Now I know it’s a living parasite, clinging to me, eating away every good memory I have.

And the only way to pluck that worm out of my system?

Death. The sweet mercy of rest.

Only fools try to heal.

No one can blame me for tearing through my coins like greased lightning. Distractions are the only things that stop me from jumping off another cliff, or reopening my wrists with iron, praying to Gorok for mercy.

Sex helps. Fae wine too.

I lift the glass again, letting the remaining wine slide down my throat, while I keep holding his stare with the unyielding resolve drilled into me from the time I was still a pup.

Uncle Filip’s weathered face tightens, swollen and tense, yet he lowers his eyes, hiding whatever thought flickers there.

Good.

“You said you’d sort it out,” I say, finishing the glass. “So do it.”

I didn’t come to this pompous valley of summer houses for a fancy dinner. I have expenses: Fae wine, Curse Dice debts, food that doesn’t make me gag, clothes I’m not ashamed to be seen in, and other fancy shit.

If I don’t pay my debts, not even my heritage will grant me entry to another betting shop, and I crave that vicious game—the thrill of teetering between victory and my own undoing.

Even if no one dares call me out, I’m not about to make my already tarnished reputation any worse by skipping what I owe.

I need those coins. And Uncle Filip’s the best Fae to navigate the bureaucratic sewer between me and my birthright.

He reaches for a jug to refill our glasses. “I will. But eat first.” His eyes drift to my barely touched plate.

I sigh and reach for one of the cut pieces. The moment the buttery flavour hits my tongue, I dig in like a savage. Manners be damned. Two years outside the Capital, and I eat like I’ve never been trained to lift a fork properly.

Travesty.

Uncle Filip’s thin lips curve. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you doing, child?”

“Fine.”

How the hell does he think I’m doing?

His bushy brows snap together and I can already feel the question coming.

“Lord Navatian sent an orb,” he says, and I can’t stop my eyes from rolling. “You haven’t returned to Santorili’s court since the day of the mating ceremony. Where exactly are you staying?”

Of course Jestin told on me. Messenger orbs were the latest fashionable nuisance: glowing spheres bound to names and blood traces, capable of seeking their target across realms. One may contact any who has pledged their name and a vial of their blood to the registry in Tricity.

Even the Argos ghouls have been accepted into the network.

Much more convenient than fire pits. At least it’s a purely Fae invention. And those orbs don’t leave you reeking of smoke.

I inhale deeply, hoping the earthy scent of wet stones coming through the open window will soothe the fire in my chest.

“Tricity. Planning a visit?”

His mouth opens and closes as he weighs his words.

“What?” I wave a hand in a mockery of manners, my mouth still half full. “Out with it.”

“You must attend to your duties! Hanovel is in trouble, unstable. There are tasks only you can handle, and some nobles are taking advantage of your absence,” he blurts out.

He keeps nagging me, like I have a choice.

Chief Gerald will make sure I never set foot in that palace again.

Not that I want to. “You need to grit your teeth and pull yourself together. For the greater good.”

“I told you no!” The words tumble out before I can filter the fury. With them, my self-control hangs itself on the sparkling chandelier above us.

“Don’t you think you’ve roamed enough?” He throws his hands up, accidentally knocking over a wine glass. I can’t take my eyes off the red liquid soaking into the white cloth.

Then he says the one thing that makes me want to follow the wine’s example and bleed out on the linen.

“Please… return to the Capital, to your castle,” he says, trying to reason with me. “The consequences of your actions are far greater than you realise.”

“You think I don’t care about the consequences?” My magic stirs. It rattles against the restraints in my chest, begging to be unleashed. I can feel it thrumming beneath my skin, a living pulse of power that wants nothing more than to surge forward and answer him.

I force it down, letting only the faintest edge of frustration flare in my glare. I can’t afford to lose control—not again.