Since Isolde and Thyra Falk had become a genuine threat, the Clawsguards were increasingly careful about leaving the royal family alone. Even if they requested privacy.
“No,” Rhistel said. “I have other plans.”
Unsurprisingly, the prince found the king in his personal library.
The small space filled with books and warmth from an ever-burning hearth was a retreat for Rhistel’s father. He allowed only his family, and a select few others inside. However, today, a male the prince didn’t recognize sat across from the king.
The stranger dressed in a style of clothing common in old paintings, the attire centuries out of style. He had long black hair, nearly black eyes, and pale skin that made him appear almost vampiric, but his ears were pointed. No wings, or he had glamoured them. Perhaps they were ugly, mutilated things?
The king rose, confusion clear in his gaze. “Rhistel, I didn’t think you’d be joining us.”
“I expect not.” He sneered. “But I’m feeling much more myself.”
Understanding flashed across the king’s features. “Your mother?”
King Magnus didn’t love Inga, but he respected her. As an extension of his house, he protected the queen. Rhistel didn’t think that would last for long.
“She’s much like I was.” The prince strode deeper into the room and turned his back on the stranger. “I came here to speak with you. In private.”
“Very well,” the king replied. “Érebo if you wouldn’t mind?—”
“I would mind,” the other fae said.
Prince Rhistel spun on the spot.No onespoke to his father like that. But this fae, Érebo, only smirked at Rhistel’s astonishment.
“Who are you to talk to my father that way?” Rhistel glowered before his gaze slid to the male who had raised him. “It’s bad enough that Lord Roar is becoming so familiar, but I don’t even know this person.”
The stranger rose and acted as though the prince had not spoken. “We are allies, are we not, King Magnus? And before you arrived, Prince, your father and I were speaking of the war against the Falks. If what you have to say is so important, you will say it before me.”
This stranger saw himself as the heir’s equal. Rhistel’s fists clenched. “You dare command me?”
The odd-looking fae did not fail to notice, and his lips curled with amusement. “You’re not one to back down. I can respect that, and since we’ll be working together for some time, I shall be the one to bend a little in your direction.”
“Meaning?” Rhistel gritted out.
“I will give you the courtesy of a full introduction.” He inclined his head. “I am not some random fae. Not a wealthy merchant, or even a great lord. No, Prince, I am King Érebo of House Nikao, ruler of the Shadow Isles.”
“Shadow Isles . . . But no one has lived there for thousands of turns,” Rhistel replied.
He’d studied the histories of the lost fae culture. Some would say he’d been obsessed with them. Many accounts claimed that two of the Shadow Isles themselves weren’t even there any longer. That the land had disappeared, like the fae who had called them home so long ago. In their place, mountains of shadows swirled on the water, a caution to ships. “Are you saying you rule yourself? If so, I fail to see why my father would want you as an ally.”
Érebo chuckled. “I rule a people long banished by Queen Sassa Falk—my duplicitous mate. I rule a people who I plan to see return to Isila, with the help of your father.”
Érebo . . .the prince remembered a name long lost to history. King Érebo of House Nikao, ruler of the Shadow Isles, the name this male claimed was his own.
The hair on Rhistel’s arms stood on end, and he was thankful that the sleeves of his silken shirt covered them. Something told him this fae would catch that small tell.
“How are you alive? And here?” Rhistel asked.
“I’ve been alive all this time, my body testing the limits of age and vitality as faekind knows it. And as for where I’ve been—I was in the far west of your kingdom. Trapped within a Drassil tree.”
Was this a joke? Rhistel studied the male, was tempted to reach out and touch his mind, when the king spoke again.
“And as I was stuck in that tree for so long, I understand why you do not want me here, Prince Rhistel. Also, I can guess at what you wish to discuss with your father.”
“I doubt it.”
“You think your mother did not pray to the Faetia and the dead gods before the Drassils? That she did not beg them to keep her secret?” King Érebo’s reply sent Rhistel’s stomach plummeting. “The trees are all connected, and during my imprisonment, I learned how to see through them. Hence, I know her secret.And yours.”
