Chapter 46
The size of the Alaiann royal palace was dizzying, even compared to the castle the Ivreian monarchs called their home. Fae seemed to prefer everything bigger and more ostentatious, mirroring their personalities.
The chamberlain herded me for a perceived eternity, passing plenty of doors protected by impressive warriors. As we reached a massive wooden door decorated with carvings of battle, I was utterly lost in the maze of corridors.
Four guards—heavily armed with a multitude of weapons—secured the entrance, and the bad feeling in my stomach intensified.
When we approached, the sentries parted. Simultaneously, the door swung open.
My guide nodded to a female servant waiting inside and, without a word, left us alone. Observing the room, which resembled the antechamber in Dion’s suite—only this was more luxurious—might not have been polite, but since no one expected me to have manners, why not live up to their expectations?
After a short perusal, I was pretty sure these were the private quarters of the High King, and that didn’t bode well, no matter which scenario was playing out in my mind.
In the end, I nodded to the female, who glared as if I were the bane of her existence.
The servant, nameless again, glowered at me, then approached another set of doors without acknowledging me, and I followed her.
A spike of dread shot through me as I realized I’d forgotten to leave a note for Dion and that none of my friends had any idea where I’d been summoned to.
Gods, how could I have been so careless?
The bitter taste of regret coated my tongue as the next door opened, and the female ushered me into a richly decorated dining room.
Art on the walls depicted plenty of war scenes, and another section displayed portraits of the royal family.
There was even one of a younger Antas—without his mask—and some of Dion.
If I should survive my morning tea, I would tease both males relentlessly over their likenesses in their king’s personal chambers.
The furniture, positioned on plush emerald carpeting, was finely crafted but oddly cozy for a tyrant like Galrach. I’d have expected a massive dining table, but instead found four chairs surrounding a much smaller version of the one my imagination had conjured.
Tea and small bites of fruit and candy were plated on top of a decorative emerald runner, and a tempting smell made my mouth water, even if my throat tightened with fear—there was a real chance that the food was poisoned.
The table was set for two, which meant either Galrach wanted to converse with me alone, or I wasn’t supposed to eat and drink as yet another way to degrade me.
When I’d entered the room, the High King had ascended from his chair. I decided not to antagonize him more than my sole existence did already and dropped into a deep curtsy.
The intensity of how his stare lingered on me reminded me of Dion, although Galrach’s gaze was very different. There was no mistaking it, he was glaring at me with barely veiled loathing, and my skin crawled in return.
“You may rise, Eachtrannach.”
Again and again, he called me a foreigner, although I suspected the idiom had another meaning that my base understanding of Galantian didn’t cover. Dion had been very cagey when I’d interrogated him, so my assumption that the term must be a slur wasn’t too improbable.
“Thank you for the invitation and the attire, Your Royal Majesty. Both came as a surprise.”
“Have a seat. Do not sully anything with your human filth.” Galrach’s voice froze the air around me and held a threatening undertone, matching the hostile words he spat at me.
His usual composed features had settled into a perpetual sneer.
If he wanted to come across as menacing, he’d succeed, much to my dismay.
“I would never, Your Royal Majesty.” The second set of tableware was placed opposite Galrach’s, and I maneuvered myself into the chair—of course, no one offered to help me.
The female servant served tea, first to the king, then to me, albeit with a grimace on her face, before she was dismissed.
My fear coiled even tighter when I found myself completely alone with the cruel High King, mere hours after his precious weapon had defied him—and maybe declared a war—because of me, a lowly human. This didn’t bode well.
“This will be quick. I am not in the mood to spend any time with you, but here we are. You are allowed to speak freely.”
“Then why did you invite me, Your Royal Majesty?”
“You are not very bright, are you? Or did it slip your mind that my grandson decided to threaten my entire High Court in a misguided notion to defend your honor before announcing you as his passing fancy?”
“With all due respect, I can’t be held responsible for your heir’s actions.”
“But you also do not have to fuck him to supply magic.”
After I had almost spit out the sip of tea I’d dared to drink—a tasty blend of lavender, honey blossom, and something I couldn’t identify—I collected my jaw from the ground.
Great, there would be no beating around the bush during this conversation.
My hands shook with anger, and I glared at Galrach before I reminded myself of my manners. To minimize the danger of spilling tea, I placed the cup back onto the dainty saucer. “I’m not.”
“Then continue keeping your legs together.” The king’s eyes drilled into mine.
“Also, I do not care how many gods were present to witness Scriosta executing the First Act of Courtship. It would not even have mattered if the Triad had been there in person, brought all the godlings and resurrected godkin with them, or sat down and eaten dinner with you. Nothing will change reality.”
“Which reality?”
“The one in which you will turn down my grandson. If an ignominious human like you indulges in our traditions for a while means nothing to me, but one fine day, when the Rite of Courting comes to an end, you will not entertain even a single thought on assenting to become fae royalty, however tempting such a sentiment may be to a plain, pathetic creature like yourself. Instead, you will reject Scriosta in front of the entire High Court, and the more pain you will cause him, the better.”
Ah, there was the loophole I’d expected him to find ever since Dion had assured me that even Galrach had to honor the rites.
Straightening my shoulders, I dropped my own pretense of politeness. If he wanted to kill me, he would have done so already and not ordered me into an elaborate scheme to break the prince’s heart. At least I hoped so.
“I don’t do well with any kind of authority intending to meddle in my private affairs, Your Royal Majesty.” Rage and temper ignited like wildfire in my veins, battled my fears—and won.
Just like Dion, Galrach was an apex predator, but while my Wielder contained all the feline grace of a leopard or panther, the king held more resemblance to a common wolf.
“Your sensitivities are insignificant to me. You will follow my decree down to the last letter. There is much I can do to a frail creature like you, should you not comply.”
“Humor me.”
“I have been most generous with you so far, Eachtrannach. Galanta is a dangerous place to be, especially for a fragile human female. Who could foresee what would happen if I withdrew my protective hand from over your head? You may be under the impression that my grandson will protect you, but that is an illusion. For example, where is he now while you are alone with me?”
Great. There was the death threat I’d been waiting for, and his promise couldn’t even be described as thinly veiled.
And I didn’t doubt for a second that I’d be dead if I refused to play by his rules. Galrach had identified me as a bad influence for his precious weapon, and he wouldn’t tolerate this development. “Why does every male in my life presume that I want their protection?”
In an attempt not to appear as frightened as I was, I selected a piece of confectionery and picked up the delicacy.
Hopefully, sugar would soothe my anger and my nerves.
Biting into the petite, pink square filled with cake and cream, I failed to meet the king’s gaze on purpose, in feigned indignation. This move I’d learned from Dion.
The treat tasted like vanilla and was delicious. Small wins mattered too, and this slice of perfection counted as one.
Galrach focused his scrutiny solely on me, his eyes narrowing to slits as if he were trying to solve a riddle. Or a problem.
I expected another threat when he unexpectedly changed the topic. It shouldn’t have been possible, but he sounded even sharper and more aggressive.
“Since when have you been marked by an Enamcoharta?”
Lines formed on my forehead. This term—I’d heard the word before, and only after a while did I remember that Dion had called the weird spot under my collarbone by that name.
Absent-mindedly, I allowed my fingertips to ghost over the mark, which had been red and itchy in the beginning.
But I hadn’t felt the urge to scratch the specks in a long time.
Only recently had I discovered that some blue and purple hues had joined the red, resembling more and more a design, albeit an unfinished one. Marked by magic had been the prince’s explanation, and he’d ensured that whatever this was would likely vanish again. “Since last Samhain.”
“Who has the counterpart?”
“What do I know? Do you have one? And why is my skin of any importance to you?”
“It is peculiar for an Eachtrannach to wear this particular divine symbol, that is why. They are not for your kind.” He regarded me as if I were a nasty disease.
Divine symbol? Counterpart? What in the gods’ good names?
Confusion held me firmly in its grip, one I didn’t want Galrach to witness.
Bad enough that Dion was constantly keeping things from me, but before I pressed his grandfather for answers, I’d rather find out first-hand why he considered the Breocharn an unpleasant landmark. So, a distraction was in order.
Gathering all my composure so I wouldn’t snap at the dangerous fae in front of me, I kept my gaze glued to his. “What makes you so afraid that you cling to every shred of control like a drowning person to a piece of driftwood?”
Definitely the wrong thing to say if Galrach’s facial color was any indication.
“Be very cautious. I told you before, I do not care about you, only about the potential power you bring by proxy to my supremacy, my rule, and my kingdom, and for that, you do not need to be of sound mind. Or able-bodied.” His lips curved into a wicked smirk.
“You seem to forget that you are surrounded by a vastly superior species possessing enough magic to wipe out each and every one of your kind if I gave the order.”
My teeth sank into my lower lip before I even noticed. “So, that’s your plan?”
“A weak, miserable Eachtrannach does not have the intelligence to understand even a fraction of my intentions.” Galrach lifted his hand to stop me from speaking.
“However, I will repeat myself one last time as a courtesy to your limited intellect. When the Rite of Courting comes to an end, not earlier, not later, you will reject Scriosta or face the consequences of your actions. And it goes without saying that this agreement between us will stay within this room. Whine to my weapon, and you will spend the rest of your pathetic life as a withered husk.” He rose to his feet and stared at me. “You are dismissed.”
Hot, fiery anger was burning in my chest, destroying any fear Galrach’s words would have induced in me under normal circumstances.
With rare clarity, I admitted to myself how much I hated him—more than it was healthy, and even the knowledge that this loathing was mutual didn’t help.
He despised me because I was human and threatened his control over Dion and thus, his sovereignty; I detested him because he was an even bigger asshole than Perran and Jelric Feroy combined.
Rising to my feet, I nodded at him instead of curtsying, blatantly disregarding court protocol, and snatched a few more pieces of confectionery before I made my exit.