36. Chapter Thirty-Five #3
The desire fizzled out almost instantly.
Although I was disgusted and angered by the cheering of the courtiers around me, there were fae that weren’t bloodthirsty, such as Owen and Lily, who were not partaking in the celebration.
I didn’t even want to harm the ones who were cheering, not truly.
I sighed, deflating. I was no killer, and I didn’t want to be.
Archer appeared, pushing through the throng and making his way past the flurry of activity—directly toward us—and his expression was sterner than I’d ever seen it. No charming smile. No careless, easy attitude. His eyes were dark, locking onto mine as if I were the only other person in the room.
“Allow the guards to bring the prisoner to me,” King Wystan announced in his booming voice, and the fae scattered.
At last, I had a view over Archer’s shoulder of the scene I’d dreaded.
Two guards gripped the arms of another chained prisoner, guiding him toward the throne.
As they pushed forward, they stepped into the flickering candlelight from one of the chandeliers overhead and were bathed in a golden glow that revealed their features.
My stomach bottomed out, my knees turning weak. Bren? I tried to catch my breath, realizing I was hyperventilating. Why was he here? What had happened? How had he allowed himself to get captured?
Tears burned my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. I had to stop it. I had to—
I stepped forward as Archer reached me, seizing my arm. “Isa.”
A tear escaped as I turned to Archer. “You can’t do this again. Not today.” My voice broke. I didn’t care if Owen and Lily overheard, for they felt the same. He’s Brenton, I sent into Archer’s mind. My brother.
Archer stiffened, his eyes widening as he searched my face.
“Please,” I whispered.
The prince reached up, brushing my tear away with his thumb. A thread of hope unspooled within me, dashed away almost just as fast by the king’s jarring voice.
“Archer, step forward. It’s time to test this prisoner and execute him.”
“Your Majesty,” one of the guards said, dipping his head. His shaggy, sandy hair hung into eyes that were as red as flames, and his mouth twisted in a cruel smile. “There is no need to test this one. We caught him shifting from his phoenix form right after he crossed into Rainsong.”
“Just as I’ve suspected,” King Wystan said, his voice a low, threatening growl.
“The fire demons are using their phoenix forms to breach the barrier. A nice little trick from that hag, Maris, to follow my request to the letter and not block out the one thing we need protection from the most. The barrier only keeps unwanted fae out…not animals.” He sneered.
My blood heated at the way he growled the word animals. Because that was what they thought of us: that we were unruly creatures to be put down.
Archer pulled away from me, walking unsteadily toward his father’s throne, his charming smile pasted back on his face. My blood thrummed in my ears.
With the way Bren was positioned before the throne, his face angled downward, he hadn’t found me in the crowd. Would he think I’d betrayed them all if he saw me dressed up for celebration with our enemies?
Shame burned through me at the memory of the searing kisses I’d shared with the crown prince only moments before, the one now walking forward to condemn my family.
“Father, this is not the way I wanted my birthday celebration to go,” Archer said, slurring his words.
King Wystan scowled down at him. “How much have you imbibed already, son?” he growled.
Archer laughed. “It’s my birthday!” He spun toward the crowd, lifting his hands in a grand gesture. “It’s a day for us all to celebrate and drink and eat to our hearts’ content.” He gave an exaggerated scowl. “Not the day for punishments.”
Murmurs arose throughout the ballroom, and a chill skated across my skin. What if the people, out of fear, rebelled against their beloved crown prince and insisted on an execution anyway?
“Lock him in the dungeons,” Archer continued, waving his arm carelessly. “We can plan a separate day to execute him properly.”
King Wystan’s gaze narrowed. “Because you are too drunk to wield your power properly?”
Nearby, Princess Briar sniggered.
Archer’s grin stretched wide, as if his insobriety was something to be proud of. “That.” He pointed toward the king. “That exactly, Father.”
“Then we’ll have someone else do it,” the king growled. “This isn’t the time to show the demons mercy.”
“Not mercy. Just delayed death. Let him suffer and fear it longer.” Archer scowled.
“After all, I really don’t want anyone getting blood on my decorations.
Plus it would ruin our appetite for the cake.
That would be a travesty. That thing is magnificent.
And so tall. I’d know…I had that ruler to measure it. ”
The king’s expression hardened, unmoved by Archer’s attempts at humor. “Very well. Take the prisoner away,” he ordered the guards. “But we will schedule a proper public execution, and soon.”