There was already a plan of how to use Vale. When the Warrior Bear reached the shores of Avaldenn and they positioned him before an army, he would be completely convincing.
“I was going to begin a transition of my brother’s mind on the ship, but if you insist on an earlier showing.”
“Make me believe it.”
Rhistel heard the words the High King was not saying. He wanted to witness total domination.
Who was Rhistel to say no?
The heir looked around the empty room, more opulent than the den they’d first been shown to. “Might you have an enemy lingering in your castle?”
“What king doesn’t have a quiet enemy or two?” King Tyra strode to the door and opened it to speak with the soldiers outside. When he joined them again, it was with a smug smile on his handsome face. “Lord Tyrili is a champion of the people, and they’re getting too many ideas for my liking.”
“How annoying,” Rhistel said, as if he weren’t about to witness this lord’s murder at the hand of his twin.
In no time at all, the guards had returned and shoved a mage into the room. The male fell to the ground, his hands catching him before his nose scraped the floor.
“My king! What is the meaning of this!” The lord rose from the ground, his face red with outrage.
“I told you to stop giving people ideas. As of this morning, I learned you did not listen.” The High King of the Mages smirked. “So I will warn you no more. Prince Rhistel?”
Magic spiked in the room, only to be joined by King Tyra’s own power and a visible whip of magic binding the lord.
“You’re sendinga faeto teach me a lesson? Pathetic!” Lord Tyrili spat.
“There are no more lessons.” The king chuckled. “Proceed, whisperer.”
The lord’s eyes went round. Rhistel thought he expected his mind to go blank. For a fae to infiltrate it.
Instead, Rhistel spoke into Vale’s mind, loud and clear and powerful.
Behead him. Make sure everyone knows you’re doing it for me.
A faint press of defiance came from Vale. Rhistel’s neck tightened. He’d allowed his brother to keep a few secrets, allowed him also to believe that Rhistel was not in total control. The time had come to shatter that illusion.
His mental fist tightened, and the pushback ceased. Vale strode over to the bound mage, his meaty hand on the hilt, the sword emerging from the scabbard.
When Vale was but two paces from the mage, he spoke as his brother commanded. “I take your life in the name of my brother, Prince Rhistel.”
The sword swung, blood sprayed, droplets spattering Rhistel’s face. His nose wrinkled.
“Ugh,” Noni muttered. “My gown is ruined.”
Rhistel’s eyebrows arched. He expected any daughter of King Tyra to be cold, but that—thatwas positively glacial.
King Tyra stepped through the blood continuing to pool on the rug. “To the ships then?”
Rhistel lingered on the upper deck. Below, sailors scurried about, preparing to hoist the anchor. Something about themreminded the prince of rats, and he thanked the stars that he didn’t have to sail often.
“Where is your new wife?” Érebo appeared and leaned over the railing, the wood groaning beneath his weight.
The heir scanned the king, seemingly in good health. Vital and vibrant even. How had the fae maintained his muscle mass when he had not been able to move for so long? Had the Drassil sustained him?
There was so much Rhistel wanted to ask the Shadow Fae, but he held his tongue. Too much curiosity could be taken advantage of.
“In a cabin,” Rhistel answered. “Settling in, I expect.”
“And you’re not eager to get to her? She’s a beauty.”
