Chapter Twenty-One
SCAR
Something moves across Titania’s face, old, unreadable, the expression of something that has lived long enough to recognize power in forms that don’t bow to it.
She gives a small nod.
It is barely anything. A tiny movement carrying far more weight than it has any right to. The kind of thing people spend entire conversations saying badly.
Something passes between them in that moment, old business finally getting squared away without either of them needing to say a word. Whatever the prince cost them, whatever his defeat put on the books, gets marked paid right there in the stillness.
Not forgotten.
Just settled.
Titania lets the quiet drift after Roxy falls, and it isn’t an absence of sound so much as a deliberate pause, the kind that reminds everyone in the room exactly whose Court this is and how quickly it can return to order once she decides it will.
When her attention returns to us, there’s no sign of disruption left in her posture or her expression, only that same composed stillness that has held this entire space in place since we arrived.
“You have upheld your side of the exchange,” she says, her voice smooth and measured, carrying easily without needing to be raised.
“It would be… impolite not to do the same.”
I hold her gaze as I step forward just enough to close the space without overstepping it, aware of every set of eyes still on us, of the guards who haven’t relaxed even a fraction despite the shift in tension.
“The Crimson Circle,” I say, not wasting the moment on anything else.
There’s the smallest change in her expression, not quite amusement, not quite approval, something that suggests the question is expected, if not entirely welcome.
“Mordain,” she replies, and the name lands with a weight that doesn’t need emphasis to carry.
She doesn’t rush what follows. “He is older than your records will tell you,” she continues, her tone even, each word placed with care, like she’s choosing exactly how much to give and how much to leave unsaid.
“Older than most would consider… manageable.”
Rhett shifts slightly beside me, just enough to signal attention without breaking his relaxed stance. “What is he?”
Titania’s gaze flicks to him for a moment, acknowledging the question, before returning to me like that’s where the answer belongs.
“An agreement,” she says, and there’s no softness in it, no attempt to frame it as anything other than what it is. “One my Court entered into a very long time ago.”
There’s no pride in the admission, but no apology either.
Just fact.
“A bargain…” she continues, her voice still steady, still precise, “… between something ancient and the Seelie Court. Sanctuary in exchange for service.”
My focus sharpens, attention narrowing around the edges of that statement. “What kind of service?”
Her mouth curves slightly, something more contained.
“The kind that benefits both sides,” she says.
I don’t let that stand. “Be specific.”
There’s a pause, not hesitation, but decision, the sense of her weighing exactly how much detail to release now that the question has been pushed.
“We gave him wards,” she says finally, her gaze steady on mine. “Protection. A place beyond easy reach.”
“And in return?”
She holds my gaze a fraction longer this time, something quieter settling under the surface of her composure.
“He gave us soldiers,” she says. “Warriors who do not age. Who do not break. Who do not refuse.”
The words land heavier than the ones before them, the implication settling into the space between us in a way that shifts the air, even if no one moves.
“Perfected,” she adds, almost idly, though there’s something underneath it that doesn’t quite align with indifference, something that suggests the term has been reconsidered since it was first used.
“You trusted him to build that?” I ask, letting the question sit where it is without softening it.
“We trusted the outcome,” she replies smoothly, correcting without raising her voice. “The distinction matters.”
“Does it?”
For a moment, something flickers in her expression, not quite irritation, not quite agreement. “It did,” she says. The smallest pause follows, just long enough to carry meaning. “Less so now.”
It’s the closest she comes to acknowledging it outright, and I let it sit without pressing further, shifting instead to what matters next. “Where is he?”
This time, she doesn’t answer immediately.
When she does, her voice drops just slightly, not in volume, but in tone, something more deliberate threading through it.
“Beneath your city,” she says. “In the spaces your kind built and abandoned when they outgrew them. Old tunnels, older than the infrastructure that now pretends to replace them.”
“Subway,” Raze mutters under his breath.
Titania inclines her head once. “Yes.” Her attention sharpens again, not outwardly, but in the way the room seems to align around her when she focuses. “The space is warded,” she continues. “Layered… reinforced. He has had time to make it… his.”
“How long?” Cali asks from where she’s still beside Roxy, her voice steady despite everything that’s just happened.
Titania’s gaze shifts to her briefly, measuring, before returning to me. “Long enough,” she says.
I take a small step forward, not enough to challenge the space, but enough to make the question land where I want it. “What aren’t you saying?”
That earns me a look that is sharper than anything she’s given so far, like I’ve stepped into the exact place she expected I would. “He is not who you remember,” she says, and this time there is care in the words, a precision that turns them into something more than information.
A warning.
“He has had time…” she continues, her gaze holding mine without wavering, “… and he has used it.” The meaning settles between us, reshaping everything she’s already said, everything we thought we knew walking into this.
I incline my head slightly, acknowledging the information without giving anything else away. “Good to know,” I say.
Her smile returns, soft, perfectly controlled in a way that feels far more deliberate than warm.
“Isn’t it?” she replies.
The exchange is finished.
I turn to leave, then she speaks, and every word arrives smooth as silk with something sharp hidden underneath. “My son was proud… inflexible.” Her gaze shifts, but not toward any of us, settling somewhere beyond the room, somewhere only she can see. “He would not have stopped.”
The words sit there, unchallenged. A pause follows, longer this time, deliberate in a way that feels chosen rather than necessary. “I did not send him after you.” Nothing in her tone changes when she says it—there is no emphasis or defense—just… truth.
Or something close enough to it that no one in the room moves to question it.
The words settle over the Court and stay there.
Nobody rushes to challenge them. Nobody scrambles to explain them away. They simply hang in the air, carrying the kind of weight that makes people think twice before stepping into their path.
Around me, the reactions are subtle.
Ruckus’ grin has disappeared.
Raze watches Titania with that steady, unreadable focus of his.
And somehow Rhett, who can usually find something smart-assed to say about anything, keeps his mouth firmly shut. Because there’s nothing to say that doesn’t shift the ground we’re standing on, and none of us are interested in doing that while we’re still inside it.
I incline my head once, the acknowledgment measured, offering just enough respect to close the exchange without reopening anything else.
“Your Majesty.”
She doesn’t respond.
She doesn’t need to.
The audience is over because she’s decided it is.
I turn first. Ruckus falls in beside me without hesitation, his posture as relaxed as it was on the way in, like none of this has touched him at all.
Rhett moves a step behind him, quiet but alert, his gaze already sweeping the room as if expecting something to change now that we’ve turned our backs.
Bennett follows on the other side, his presence steady and contained, the kind of calm that doesn’t draw attention but holds it once you notice it.
Raze lingers a fraction longer, his attention fixed on the throne, on Titania, on something unresolved that doesn’t belong here, but he moves when I do, falling back into step with a tension in him that hasn’t settled.
Cali helps Roxy to her feet, steadying her without making it obvious, and together they fall in behind us, Roxy leaning just enough to show the cost of what she’s done.
The Court watches us leave.
I feel it, the weight of their attention tracking us as we retrace our steps through the living corridors, the architecture shifting subtly around us, branches creaking softly overhead, pale stone catching the low light as if the space is aware of our exit.
No one stops us.
No one speaks.
But the pressure doesn’t ease.
Not yet.
We move back through the corridors at the same measured pace we entered with, the distance stretching just slightly longer than it should, like the Court is in no hurry to let us go, even if it isn’t stopping us either.
Rhett stays close, his awareness sharp, shoulders tight in a way that says he doesn’t trust the silence any more than I do.
Bennett’s presence is quieter, but no less deliberate, his attention moving differently, less reactive, more…
observant, like he’s reading something beneath the surface the rest of us can’t quite access.
The guards we passed on the way in are still there, their attention quieter now, but no less present.
Watching.
Waiting.
Remembering.
The archway eventually comes into view, though it takes longer than I expect. The forest beyond it is dim and still, its edges just slightly out of alignment with everything behind us.
Ruckus doesn’t break stride, nor do I.
I step through… and the shift hits on the next step.
The air changes first—thicker and colder.
Real, in a way, the Court wasn’t.
The ground settles under my boots, the subtle distortion of the fae realm falling away all at once like a pressure releasing.
Behind me, I hear the others follow, Rhett first, boots hitting the dirt with a muted thud, Bennett just after him, quieter and controlled, Ruckus follows with ease, then Raze, the tension in him still carrying through the movement.
Cali guides Roxy through last, her grip firm and steady, making sure she clears the threshold without stumbling.
The trees close in around us again, New Hampshire reclaiming the space without ceremony.
Raze exhales behind me, the sound rough, like he’s been holding it longer than he realized.
We don’t stop walking immediately, putting distance between ourselves and the archway, the instinct unspoken but shared, the need to be clear of it before anything else is said, sitting heavy between us.
Only when the forest settles fully around us, when the air tastes like dirt, cold, and something that doesn’t watch back, only then does the tension start to ease.
Rhett breaks first. “Did anyone else get the feeling that the fae queen wanted to eat us?” he says, his voice cutting through the quiet with a rough edge of disbelief.
“She’s fae,” Bennett says. “They all want to eat us.”
“Fair point.”
“She wanted Roxy.” Raze’s voice comes from the front, level, and certain.
Roxy tips her head. “She wanted my power, not me specifically.”
Raze pulls her closer without breaking stride. “Same thing.”
The quiet stretches just long enough to matter before Rhett shifts closer, dropping his voice toward Bennett, “You think she meant it? That she didn’t send the prince?”
Bennett takes a moment. A real one. “Fae can’t lie.”
The words hang there.
Rhett shifts his weight, then jerks his chin toward Cali and me.
Bennett follows it, watching for a second.
“So… that’s gonna be a thing,” he mutters.
Rhett huffs a quiet laugh. “Big thing.”
Bennett shakes his head slightly. “He’s older. More repressed.”
“Explosions are gonna be epic.”
“Agreed.”
I don’t turn around. “I can hear you assholes.”
“We know,” Rhett says.
“We don’t care,” Bennett adds.
The woodland path is dark, quiet, and I am extremely old and apparently the subject of my prospects’ betting pool, which is something I will be addressing in the morning. “Then you won’t care when I assign you both to scrub the fight cages for a month.”
Rhett clears his throat.
Bennett says nothing.
Cali walks beside me. No eye contact, no words, but the space between us is tight. Something’s been building there for a while, and it is not going anywhere.
The Court is behind us.
The tunnels are ahead.
Whatever is waiting beneath the city knows we’re coming. I can feel it, the same way I felt the guard’s controlled flicker when I named the queen, something that was almost concealed and wasn’t quite.
Mordain might know we’re coming, but he’s still in for one hell of a fight.
Because ‘Nobody fucks with the Kings,’ and Mordain, he tried to fuck us all.