Chapter Six
Prince Kiernan
I crack an eye, and the sunlight streaming in from the parted curtains has me groaning in protest. I stretch in the bed, my muscles tight and burning as I rise onto my elbow, scrubbing the sleep from my eyes. My hair is a tangled mess, and I rake my fingers through it without much success.
My mouth tastes like arse, and the room reeks of sweat and stale Fae Wine, the sour tang of sick making me heave. My bedroom is a disaster—clothes discarded in a path from the door, as if I shed them without thought on my way to the bed.
By the look of the sun, it’s late in the morning, maybe even coming up for midday.
Shit!
I’m due to meet up with my father and the Thorn Guard General today over lunch to discuss the Equitae. I can’t afford to be late again.
I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, another groan escaping as my head pounds with a wicked headache.
When I look down at my hands, the knuckles are swollen and bruised, with a few cuts and splits across my fingers.
I flex them both, and the pain is vicious, sharp enough to make me wince.
I rise and stumble into the bathroom, bracing myself over the sink to look into the mirror above it.
I look like hell.
My hair sticks up at odd angles, sweat dried into my fringe so it’s plastered to my brow.
Dark shadows hang under my bloodshot eyes, and dirt is smudged over my cheeks.
I quickly wash up and scrub out my mouth as I brush my teeth, getting rid of that Gods-awful taste.
There’s a shadow of stubble, but I don’t have time to shave.
I walk back into the bedroom and through to the huge walk-in dressing room, picking out a semi-formal robe and trousers to pull on over a white shirt before sitting on the stool to tug on some black boots.
As I walk into the main room, I notice two discarded blankets on the sofa.
Last night starts coming back to me in fragments.
Finding Liff and Xavier at Madame Eden’s, already drunk.
I stayed for a few too many, and then we left, stumbling out into the night.
Then seeing Alaya with that stable hand, his dirty hands clinging to her waist like he had some claim to her.
The rage that surged through me—why did I get so mad?
I hit him. More than once. The satisfying crack of his nose under my fist. He definitely deserved it.
Oh Gods.
What the fuck have we done?
She ran. The memory sharpens—we chased her, the thrill of the hunt making my blood sing, my adrenaline flowing hot and fast. I remember the rage burning through me that she looked so comfortable in his company, so at ease in a way she never had with me.
I wanted to teach her a lesson, to remind her who she belonged to.
Then Xavier took over, and when the haze of Fae Wine and fury wore off enough for me to see clearly, he was there, pawing at her, his hands all over her.
I could see exactly where it was going, and something in me snapped.
A wave of protectiveness tore out of me, and I grabbed him from her and beat the shit out of him.
At some point, she got hurt. I’m not sure when. I panicked when I saw her crumpled on the ground—not moving—but she was breathing. It just looked like she’d blacked out. And then … we left her there. Just left her lying in the dirt like she was nothing.
I hiss through my teeth and drop my head into my hands.
Why didn’t we bring her back?
Why did I let it go so far?
A pit of guilt grows in my chest; a dull throb of self-disgust that makes me feel nauseous.
I feel a deep need to go and check on her, to make sure she’s all right, but I just don’t have time—not unless I want to face my father’s wrath again for what feels like the fifth time this week.
I’ll drop by her suite when we’re finished with the meeting.
I have to.
I leave and quickly make my way through the dark halls of the castle, throwing out quick nods and murmurs to the few Royal Household staff and Nobility going about their own business.
King Malaxor’s Main Office is located just off the Throne Room, and as I pass through the large, echoing room, I take note someone has cleared up the bloody remains of Vale Cross since yesterday.
You wouldn’t be able to tell what happened here.
I know only too well the extent of the King’s power, but that shocked even me.
His cold indifference to what had happened made it all the more terrifying.
I rap on the wooden door and enter when bid to. I quickly scan the room and let out a quiet sigh when I realise the meeting doesn’t seem to have started yet.
The Main Office is the King’s hub for his reign.
It’s large enough that a huge square dark wooden table sits in the middle with a dozen chairs around it.
It doubles as his War Room, and a large map of Kaladia hangs on the wall, various coloured pins spotting the landscape.
Of course, the map has changed drastically over the years as The Corruption takes more of our Kingdom.
Only two green areas remain: Heartwood to the north and the Castle of Thorns to the south.
The rest is a barren shade of light sand colour.
King Malaxor is at the head of the table looking relaxed, sitting back in his chair watching me.
To his left sits the Thorn Guard General, Samil Atticus.
He’s not a Thorn Guard as such, but he’s the most powerful Warrior Fae we have, and he commands King Malaxor’s dark army with brutal accuracy.
The man is huge, his broad shoulders and chest and immense six-foot-five height making him quite intimidating in battle.
Rough red long hair and a beard frame a strong jaw, sharp nose and piercing amber eyes.
“I thought I may have to send for you again, Kiernan,” the King drawls.
The General lets out a gruff laugh from behind his bushy beard.
“I didn’t think I was late,” I reply, my jaw clenched, a muscle twitching at my temple as I pull out the seat to my father’s right and sit down. I notice a few papers in front of him.
“Something amusing?” I ask, my voice dangerously soft.
The King takes in my appearance and slowly smirks.
“What bar were you propping up last night? You smell like the slops at the bottom of a tankard. I’m surprised you managed to drag yourself out of bed this morning.”
“I’m here, Father. Are we waiting for anyone else?” My shoulders stiffen and I hold in my retort. I thought I’d done a better job at cleaning up but obviously not.
“No, what we need to discuss stays with us.” He pulls out a piece of paper from the stack. “The General sent me this report of movements from the Equitae, which is concerning. General?” He waves his hand for the General to continue, and I scan the report.
“The Equitae have generally kept to Heartwood since the last serious encounter with them some years ago. Yet, we have noticed recently that small groups have been spotted further south, some crossing Deeproot Crevice. We have no idea why, but seeing them so far south is worrying. The Thorn Guards have managed to scare them back without engaging. Though we must prepare and be more vigilant. We don’t know if they are scouting to attempt an attack or just becoming bolder. ”
“Any sign of the Ghost?” I ask.
Reth Whiteborn—the Ghost—is their leader and, as Horse Shifter Fae, their Alpha Stallion.
I’ve been into battle with the Thorn Guards before.
I’ve come up against Reth Whiteborn a few times, generally in his powerful Horse Form.
The bastard is brutal and merciless, like all of his kind.
That glowing Enchantra gem sunken into his chest—the Goddess’s blessing to her precious Guardians—makes him even more dangerous.
It amplifies what he can already do, makes him stronger. Makes killing him nearly impossible.
The Equitae hold Heartwood, that vast lush valley between the mountains in the far north. The only other fertile land left in Kaladia besides our own.
And my father is determined to wipe them from existence, hungry for their land and the power in those gems.
“No, not that we are aware,” the General replies. “Though we are not even sure if he is still alive. He was hurt during the last battle, and we have not encountered him since.”
“I would like you to go on some patrols with the Thorn Guards and see if we can scare them back into their land,” The King says “I don’t want to alarm the castle to their continued close presence, so this must be kept to ourselves.
The workers don’t need any more excuses to slack on their productions.
” The word ‘excuses’ stretched thin, dragged out at a high, tight pitch.
“Yes, Father,” I reply. This wasn’t a request. It was an order.
“We can’t have them interfering at this critical time before the wedding. It is imperative that everything goes smoothly,” he adds.
A not-so-gentle reminder of my responsibilities to the Thorn Court.
My temper rises into my throat like burning acid.
I know what a disappointment I am to him.
I know he is relying on the Marriage Bond to enhance my Gift, to enable me to amplify a wider part of the Thorn Guard during battles.
Currently I can only encompass two or three at a time. He finds it lacking.
I have known since birth my fate as heir.
One day I will lead the Earthbound Fae as their King.
It has been years since Alaya was brought to the castle as my future wife.
My choices have never been my own, and it fuels the anger and resentment I feel towards a life I never chose.
Yet I find myself accepting my destiny. Still seeking my father’s non-existent approval.
“Speaking of which, you need to bring that girl to heel.”
“I thought I smoothed that over?” I ask. It had taken me a while to assure my father that Alaya’s outburst at the meal had been no more than nerves before the wedding.