Chapter 38
MAE
We get my cuffs off—thanks to a hybrid who used to work as a blacksmith—and Asmo funnels all of us to the entrance of House Ursidae’s court.
This is not the same forest we visited before.
The scene before us is a wasteland. Trees are scorched and barren, the ground is black and charred, animal corpses lay rotting in piles.
The sickly-sweet stench of death hangs in the air. Asmo pulls me closer to him.
“Mother…” someone curses under their breath.
Chills skitter across my skin as I recall Her warning to me. These woods are too close to the prophesized end that She warned me of.
Everyone is silent as we walk to the now charred entrance to the cabin, as if someone fired flames—or black magic—at it repeatedly. But it held strong.
It swings open as we approach. Barrett stands in the doorway, his eyes hollow, his face gaunt, and his cheery affect long gone. He ushers us inside quickly, eyes wild as he watches the forest behind us.
“Bar—” I start, but he whirls toward me with a finger over his mouth. How bad is it here? He ushers Etta in without so much as a second glance. He gestures for us to follow him before flying down the stairs.
We do, our footsteps hurried as we try to keep up with him. Nobody speaks. The court is darker than last time, the lights extinguished as we descend. The only light comes from the windows that line the very top of the building.
Barrett’s tension seems to ease the further we descend. He comes to a stop before a set of double doors and places his palm flat on their surface. They unlock and he pushes both doors open.
The room inside is massive, roughly the same size as the throne room floors above.
Love seats, sofas, and armchairs take up the center of the room.
Chess sets sit on worn tables and stacks of books serve as end tables.
Blankets are thrown over the backs of every sitting surface.
Hallways branch off, leading to more doorways and hidden destinations.
Barrett turns back to me. “Sorry about the welcome. It’s been…Well, I’m sure you saw how it’s been since you were last here.” He glances around and throws his hands up. “Welcome to our bunker, also called The Den. We’ve moved down here just in case.”
“In case what?” I ask, but I saw the way the front door had been attacked.
He rubs his jawline, at the week’s worth of stubble that lines it. “The witches have been trying to get in. Every night it gets worse. As soon as the sun goes down, the screaming begins. The magic that protects the door is ancient and it should hold, but…You never know with dark magic.”
The terror they must feel every night, hearing evil literally knocking at their door, wondering if each blow will be the last.
“I’m so glad to see you, though,” Barrett says, forcing a smile to his face.
“We’ve been waiting for your return,” he says, gaze now roaming over the small group of people that I guess I now call my court—Amaris, Holly, Ivan, Asmo, Basil, and Etta.
“I assume everyone here is a trusted member of your…” He trails off when he gets to Etta.
He raises a shaky finger in her direction, mouth falling open, then snapping shut. “H-how?”
“It’s a long story, but it’s her,” I say.
“How do you know?” he asks as he stares at her.
“I was gifted the ability to discern truth from fiction,” I answer. “It comes in handy.”
His jaw drops again. “That is not something you’ve shared before, Mae.” He attempts a smile, but it falls flat.
I return it anyway. “There’s a lot to share. Where are Torben and Artis?”
He motions down a hallway. “They’ll be eager to see you.”
Hope blooms in my chest, but I squash it. I was hopeful they would provide more assistance last time, and they didn’t.
He opens a curved walnut door. Over his shoulder, I get a glimpse of King Torben and Queen Artis seated around a table. They turn at the intrusion. Artis’s hand covers her mouth, and she sets a fork down on the table. We must have interrupted dinner.
“Barrett—” Torben starts as he pushes back and stands from the table. His protest dies as our gazes connect. He forms a deep bow, as does Artis.
Huh. A very different reception than the last time we were here.
“Your Highness,” he greets me.
“Hello, King Torben, Queen Artis,” I say pleasantly as I nod toward each of them. “I’m sorry at the intrusion, especially during your meal. However, I come with some important updates that are a bit time-sensitive.”
Torben nods quickly, his beard shaking at the impact. “Of course, of course. Barrett, more chairs, boy.”
Wow, I get a chair this time? I bite my tongue, the question barely restrained. Even if Torben’s attitude is different today, I will not forget the way he treated me last time. Like I was some na?ve girl. Not the High Queen.
Barrett disappears down the hallway, returning moments later with several wooden dining chairs floating behind him. He arranges them into a circle, and I motion for everyone to sit.
“Where are your daughters? The princesses?” I ask Torben.
He waves the question away. “They’re off reading their books somewhere.”
“I’d actually like for them to join, if you don’t mind.”
He furrows his brow at the request. “Why?”
I motion to Barrett. “Your son is here. Why should your daughters not also be involved in this conversation?”
Barrett hides a smile, then stands and exits the room, presumably to find his sisters. It doesn’t take long; he returns within moments, Princesses Arella and Eden in his wake. They bow when they see me, then offer a shy glance at Asmo beside me.
“Wonderful,” I say. “Arella and Eden. Thank you for joining us.” They dip their chins, cheeks turning pink. “King Torben, Queen Artis. Thank you for allowing me into your home once more.”
Torben leans back in his chair, one hand gripping the arm rest, just like on his throne. He clears his throat, but Artis speaks first. “Thank you for coming, Your Highness. We have been awaiting your return.” Her tone is gracious and welcoming.
I narrow my gaze. Again, I can’t help but notice how this reception is vastly different than the last one.
The chair creaks as I lean back and survey them.
Torben’s shoulders are slumped, and there’s an air to him that wasn’t there the last time.
His gaze, previously unyielding, feels softer.
“All due respect, but the last time I was here, you laughed in my face and all but kicked me out. What changed?”
A pink flush crawls up Torben’s neck. “Yes, well. You were right.” The admission is gruff, like it took all of his effort to say it.
I tilt my head. “About?”
He shifts in his chair, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
“Marik and Cora called all the kings and queens for a council meeting. Cora told us that you’re dead, which we knew to be false.
But then she threatened our children’s lives if we didn’t unanimously vote the witches in as a High House. ”
I glance at Asmo, who watches Torben like a hawk. I wonder what he thinks about his brother agreeing to kill the other princes and princesses. He did try to kill Etta, after all. What would it matter to Marik to kill the others?
“After the meeting, she instructed us that it was time to host a witch inside our court,” Torben continues, “But we refused. That wasn’t a part of the deal.”
“So, they’ve been attacking your court ever since?” I ask.
Torben nods, gaze falling to the floor. Funny how quickly the bravado fades when a man realizes he’s wrong.
Artis places a comforting hand on her husband’s thick forearm. A topaz ring glints underneath the overhead light. “We fear that you were right,” she says softly, “If we do nothing, our people will still die.”
The urge to yell I know I’m right!, to lean back in my chair and laugh, to give them the same treatment they gave me, is overwhelming. I sigh and force the thought away. They still haven’t outright said they’d help us. Yet.
“Alright,” I say, “Then there’s a lot to discuss. Before we do, I’d like to introduce you to my court.”
Artis smiles and squeezes Torben’s forearm, then drops her hand back into her lap.
“You’ve met Ivan and Holly before. They are my advisors.” I gesture to each of them. “They sacrificed a lot to be here with me. I owe them my life.” I gesture to Basil, who straightens and puffs his chest. “Basil is an owl shifter. He has also been instrumental in advising me.”
Amaris remains leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other.
“This is Amaris.” She grunts when I motion to her.
Their eyes flare when they see her. I don’t blame them.
Seeing her for the first time shocked me, too.
It’s not just her, impressive and intimidating as she is.
It’s the swirling tattoos, the raw power emanating from her, the size of her. It’s the fact that she’s clearly Fae.
I gesture to Etta, and Torben and Artis do double-takes.
“Basil is responsible for saving Princess Etta’s life,” I say.
“In return, Etta has been leading a group of Lower House members and the Fae who have been fighting against the witches. We have assisted them with facilitating the rescues of several prisoners set to be hanged.” I leave out the bit about the resistance.
I’m not sure where Torben and Artis fall on their approval of the Lower House becoming a formal House, and I’m not particularly interested in losing their help yet.
“I do not bring you the support of House Panthera, but I do bring you Etta’s forces. They are prepared to fight.”
Artis nods once. She doesn’t look at Torben or even pretend to consider my proposal. “We will help you.”