The Unseelie Court. #2
Wolver was already devouring his food, his claws shredding meat from the bone with feral ease. Fitzroy watched, furrowing his brow in what I assumed to be a judgmental glare—until he put down his knife, grabbed a leg of meat in his fist, and began eating in the same bestial style as the wolfman.
A gentle tap against my forearm drew my attention to the other side of the table.
I met the green eyes of the auburn-haired woman who’d earlier warned of Regina’s arrival. A faint smile puckered her rosy lips. Her face bore small signs of aging—a slight looseness of her jawline, a heaviness to her eyelids—but she was still the most beautiful woman dining tonight.
“Elizebeth,” she said, leaning over Isobel to introduce herself. “Like you, I’m a witch.”
She presented her purple-tinged hand, and I gave her mine. As we shook, I felt magic coiling in her palms.
“This is Slaugh,” Elizebeth went on, gesturing to the figure cloaked in black. “He deals with the undead.”
Slaugh’s all-encompassing black cloak featured an elongated hood that hung far over what I presumed was his face; even his hands were hidden in long, billowing sleeves.
“Please excuse my discourtesy. The ongoing war has kept me busy,” a deep, ominous voice resonated from beneath the hood. “I’ve been constantly traveling between this realm and the next, guiding souls to the afterlife. It’s tiresome and unrewarding work.”
“What’s the afterlife like?” I dared to ask.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
Elizebeth nodded solemnly, confirming Slaugh’s words.
“Nephew,” Regina’s voice rang out, commanding attention. “You’ve met Wolver, my protector.” Wolver took her hand and tapped his doglike nose against the back of it. “He’s also the commander of my army.”
“It’s an honor to formally make your acquaintance,” Fitzroy said, dipping his head to Wolver.
Wolver let out a bark-like laugh. “We’ve met before—when you were small enough to fit in my paw,” he said, holding out his long and sinewy fingers.
Billy cleared his throat loudly, tilting his head in the general direction of Fitzroy. “Let’s skip the formalities. Tell us, what brings you to Annwn?”
“I’m here to seek an alliance,” Fitzroy declared, lifting his goblet as he spoke.
“Are you here for yourself, or on behalf of the false king?” Billy asked.
“Myself, and hopefully the people of Lyonesse,” Fitzroy explained, before taking a long sip of wine.
“My father prioritizes his feud with Your Highness over the happiness of his subjects. Famine ravages the villagers, disease spreads through overcrowded cities, and thousands of men have died fighting an unwinnable war against your formidable army.” He briefly rested a hand on Wolver’s forearm.
“I’m no longer a steadfast servant to the King—or rather, the usurper. ” He bowed his head toward Regina.
Fitzroy spoke with the perfect balance of flattery and conviction, projecting both loyalty and independence. For the first time, I understood why the soldiers found his commanding tone so magnetic.
Billy raised a finger as he swallowed a mouthful of bread. “And what benefit does the Queen have if she forms an alliance with you?”
“The knights and soldiers in Cambas would become turncoats if they believed the war would end,” explained Fitzroy as he held his cup over his shoulder while a goblin refilled it with wine.
“I propose a siege on the royal palace. My men would follow your army to the Walled City, using brute force to subdue any who resist. Once any rebellions are crushed, the knights will secure the city. Then, Your Highness can arrive on dragonback to oversee the execution of the King, his Queen, and their heirs—”
“Then who will rule the kingdom? You or me?” Regina interrupted, her tone bitterly cold.
“If you’re planning on returning Lyonesse to the days before my father’s rule, I’ll happily bow to you,” Fitzroy assured her, his voice steady.
Regina smiled. “Carry on.”
“Once you’re crowned ruler of Lyonesse, I’ll send my knights to every corner of the land, demanding all to swear allegiance to their new sovereign or face hanging.”
Regina inclined her head in support of his proposal.
“What about the men in the King’s Order?” Elizebeth asked. Her words were edged with skepticism, and her lips curled into a snarl—as if mentioning the Order churned her stomach. “Won’t they rally the villagers to defend their ruler?”
The hairs on the back of my neck rose, as if there were a ghostly presence. There was a recognizable cadence to Elizebeth’s soft voice. I studied the witch—her blushed cheeks, womanly frame, and natural elegance.
She caught my gaze and offered a forced smile.
There was something homely in her green eyes, something familiar in the way her cheeks dimpled.
But I couldn’t grasp what.
“They won’t risk losing their land or their titles,” Fitzroy said. “They won’t hesitate to double-cross him to protect their status.”
Wolver growled in agreement. “This alliance would be mutually beneficial. You need the Queen on your side, and we need manpower. My brutes fight savagely to the death, but they lack intelligence and discipline. Queen Regina cannot rule a prosperous kingdom with monsters as her subjects.”
I thought of Bronwyn—the goblinette who had arranged every aspect of my day. She seemed brighter than me, though I doubted outwitting a village girl was difficult. Uncertain if I was allowed to speak, I tentatively raised my hand.
Fitzroy chuckled as Regina gave me an affirming nod.
“Bronwyn, my chambermaid, seems very intelligent,” I said, aware that I was likely talking out of turn. “I think she could help make a kingdom prosper.”
Regina shook her head. “She may appear that way, but I assure you, these household spirits are merely good at following orders.”
A nearby goblinette glanced at me while she cleared empty plates, her sallow face crinkling into a half smile before she resumed her duties.
“What about Billy?” I asked, turning to the glassy-eyed goblin stuffing his mouth with boiled cabbage.
Billy slammed down his silver spoon. “My mother was a goblinette, but my father was a puck,” he stated, defending his place at the table. “A foreseer of good and bad fortune.”
Curious, I asked, “What does a puck look like?”
Before Billy answered, something thwacked my shin beneath the table. I glanced past the feast to meet Fitzroy’s warning glare. Shooting him a foul look in return, I realized my blunder—I’d forgotten Billy was blind.
Billy shrugged, unoffended. “No one knows. They are shape-shifters who only reveal their true form when in the presence of other pucks.”
Despite his claims of mixed lineage, I was unconvinced that Billy was anything more than a goblin.
“Are you certain your soldiers would turn against their King?” Wolver pressed, steering the conversation back to battle plans.
“My army trusts me,” Fitzroy declared, raising his goblet for a refill.
As the goblin approached with the decanter, Fitzroy snatched it from the creature’s hand, filling his cup to the brim before setting the jug within easy reach.
“They’re brave and loyal, yet terrified of being associated with magic.
If I revealed that I was a wizard and showed them there’s no shame in it, I believe more men would come forward and proudly claim the same. ”
I kicked Fitzroy’s leg, irked that he was regurgitating my words as his own. The corner of his lip twitched—a subtle acknowledgment of my annoyance.
“How many witches and wizards do you think are hiding in Lyonesse?” Regina asked, her tone commanding everyone’s attention.
“Many,” Fitzroy answered, his confidence unwavering.
I nodded in agreement. “I recently discovered that even my own brother’s a wizard.”
“Finn’s a wizard?” Fitzroy asked, surprise flickering across his features.
I nodded.
“Why didn’t you invite him on the trip to the Anchor?” he pressed.
“I’ve spent my life living in my brother’s shadow. I wanted this one thing for myself,” I admitted, my voice faltering as I realized how petty I sounded.
Regina studied me for a moment, then nodded sympathetically. “I understand.”
I smiled in gratitude—if anyone could relate to the rivalry between Finn and me, it was Regina. Her resentment toward her own brother had blemished her life.
“Queen Regina and I are the last sane witches on the Isle,” Elizebeth said, sighing softly at the confession. “There are a few decrepit sorcerers, but they’re about as useful as candles without wicks.”
“That surprises me,” Fitzroy remarked, pouring more wine into his cup. “It appears I have a stronger army of magical folk in Cambas than you do on the Isle, Your Highness.”
His smug smile disappeared into his goblet as he drank.
Anger simmered within me—Fitzroy had brazenly claimed credit for assembling the army I’d risked my life to build.
“Is that how you pushed back the selkies?” Regina asked, her gaze narrowing.
Fitzroy nodded while I seethed.
This was reminiscent of my days in the family smithy, where Finn took credit for my hard work. And now, once again, a man had stolen my praise from right beneath my nose.
Regina raised a brow. “I’d have thought my brother would’ve had you beheaded for meddling with magic,” she said, her words laced with bitterness. “Or has he become more lenient?”
“This army’s my secret,” Fitzroy replied.
Curiosity lit up Regina’s violet eyes. “How did you uncover so many wizards in hiding?”
Before I could chime in, desperate to explain my vital role in the discovery of witches, Fitzroy gestured toward me.
“Niamh rallied the army in my name,” he said.
A proud smile appeared on his face, one that made me feel appreciated.
Fitzroy, the man I often locked horns with, was the first person to give me—Niamh—credit.
I returned his smile, mine embellished with blushing cheeks, and wondered if, for all this time, I’d wildly misjudged him.
Regina shifted her gaze to me, clearly redirecting her question my way.