2. The Fae King
Heavy is the head that wears the crown. No truer words have ever been spoken, especially when one is a twice-cursed fae king with more adversaries than dinner plates.
I was trying to relax in my bedchamber and enjoy the blissful nothingness of a goblet of wine. Yet, my oldest friend and most loyal servant was insistent that I listen to him.
”Your council of advisors is talking,” he warned.
I sighed and stared out at the moonlight dancing across the distant ocean waves. Couldn’t my council just leave me in peace? Didn’t they have enough years of experience and political finesse to leave me alone for just a few days?
But my friend, Harry, wasn’t going to let this go, so I replied, ”Isn’t that what advisors are supposed to do?”
He ran a nervous hand through his light brown curly hair. ”That’s not-”
I held up my hand. ”Peace, Harry. I understand your intent. What did they call me this time? A drunk, a womanizer, a worthless heir? I’ve heard it all before.”
Of course, I had. It was part of my plan. If they believed I was a spoiled king who overindulged, they might brush away my frequent absences. I couldn’t let any of them know how I truly spent my days.
Harry shook his head. ”That’s not what they’re saying.”
I heard the sliver of fear in his tone, and I turned to face him. We’d known each other since we were boys. I knew that tone, and it spelled trouble. ”What are they saying?” I prompted.
”Soul rot.” The words slipped through his teeth like poison. ”They believed you may have soul rot, my king.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Was I really doing such a poor job of masking? Could they so easily see behind my false smiles and feigned energy? The stories of drink and women? Did they... see me?
A thrill of terror ripped through me, and dread began to pool in my stomach. ”Were they sincere?” I asked.
A measure of relief crossed his face. ”Not yet. It was merely one of numerous possibilities bandied about.”
”Then it’s fine,” I said hopefully.
He frowned. ”There was silence after the suggestion. No one laughed.”
”So, they considered it?”
He nodded slowly. ”I think they’ll be watching more carefully from now on.”
”Damn them. Who started such dangerous talk?” I demanded.
”Hawthorne.”
I nodded. ”It has long been rumored he maintains more than a casual connection with the unseelie court. He’d like nothing more than to see my reign end. I should have banished him long ago.”
”It would be easier for him to work in shadows than light,” Harry reminded me.
”The idea was to keep him close. Not give him the means to sway my own advisory council against me.” I paused and took a swig from my goblet. ”Is there anything you can do to end the rumors?”
”Any interference on my part would only give his claim legitimacy.”
I nodded. ”Of course. Then it is up to me.”
”You?” he echoed.
I should have been offended by the surprise on his face, but I wasn’t. The truth was I’d rather end this conversation and return to bed. I could sink beneath the covers, drown myself in drink, and stare up at the blighted stars.
The ones that had cursed my fate.
He turned to me with concern. Slowly, uncertainly, he said, ”I know this curse weighs upon you. I know the realm does too. But you don’t have... you’d say if…”
I glared at him, leaving his question unanswered.
He bowed. A formality we usually skipped. ”I’ll take my leave then. If there’s anything I can do, if…” he trailed off and then turned away.
”Thank you,” I said weakly as the door closed between us.
So, my advisors believed I had soul rot.
I snagged my goblet and made the slow procession to my inner chambers. I collapsed into my four-poster bed. No longer desiring the company of my council or any other. Not that night.
Soul rot was when melancholy ate away at a fae’s spirit, withering their essence until it crackled like decomposing leaves and blew away on the wind. A nasty business. Gruesome even for those who attended to the rotting.
A death sentence.
Mydeath sentence.