“My reputation proceeds me,” she said, amused.
“Something like that.”
“He told you I tried to kill him, didn’t he? Did father tell you he’s a liar?”
“Cass actually told me you tried to kill him. But don’t worry. I know she’s a liar too.”
Ursa snorted.
“She trips all over herself trying to follow in his footsteps,” Ursa told me, the cruel condescension clear in her tone.
“And you?” I asked, raising a brow in her direction. “Who do you follow?”
She grinned again.
“Never mind,” I said. “You’d probably just lie to me.”
“You’re better equipped for this place than I thought, Mortal.”
I am now, I thought but I kept my mouth shut as we reached a massive set of double doors and the guards on either side pushed them open. I expected to emerge at the end of the hall, facing the throne and the man upon it. I expected to be able to merge into the back of the crowd, unseen. But we had entered from the front, through doors directly behind the throne, where all eyes were directed.
Everyone was already gathered and I became very aware of three things at once. One, the King had provided me with a time later than the true start of court so that I could make this dramatic entrance at his behest. He was grinning from ear to ear as the onlookers, the entire gathered court, stared at me in a mixture of shock and awe. Two, that I was wearing my family’s colors, Court of Peace and Pride colors. And three, that a very familiar intense gaze was burning into me from where I stood on the dais.
Lark was standing directly in front of his father, his wrists still bound in the magic-suppressing chains which they had captured him in. His eyes were darker than usual, bruised a deep purple around the sockets. He had a cut on his bottom lip that looked fresh. It dripped bright red onto the black onyx floor below. Nearby, Rook kneeled on the cold floor, his hands bound behind him in the same chains, his face gaunt and haunted.
I tried not to think about how Rook had saved me from falling off a cliff or how much I had worried for him in those weeks he had to stay away from the court we all took refuge in. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes and I turned away from the kneeling Fae.
“Father,” a familiar voice gasped.
I did my best not to look at Casseiopia but I couldn’t help it. Her dress was a shimmer of black diamonds when she lurched forward, toward the dais, toward me, and was blocked by her sister. Ursa was there in a flash, holding her back with a lip curled in disgust. Cass looked from her to her father, her eyes wide, pleading, as a tendril of hair fell down the side of her face in a dark curl.
“Silence,” the King commanded and the hall obeyed. He rapped his fingers against the arm of his throne, gaze narrowing in examination of his son, the traitor.
All attention went to the king. All but Lark’s. His gaze bore into me until it forced me to meet it. The emotion in those dark eyes hit me like a punch to the gut. I sucked in a quick gasp. The torturous pain he was in, the deep well of sorrow he was feeling, the hopelessness, the despair. He wanted me to know it. He wanted me to feel it. He didn’t look away. Even when I schooled my features into a glare to convey as much hatred as I could, even when I looked at him like I had never known him and never wanted to again. He held my gaze, firm and strong and full of meaning
“Canis Morningstar,” the King cried out into the silence, “you were banished for a term of one hundred years sixty years ago. And yet you’re back.”
Lark did not respond and behind him, kneeling on the ground, Rook hung his head.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
At that, Lark’s gaze finally turned away from mine, his eyes narrowing, jaw setting, lips thinning, as he faced his father.
“Nothing that I haven’t said before,” he growled so lowly that the onlookers were leaning forward so that they could hear him.
My heart threatened to beat straight through my chest but I fought to maintain my composure as the sound of his voice ricocheted around my heart.
“You have nothing to offer in your own defense?” The King asked and I could hear the hint of surprise in his tone. Maybe he was so used to arguing with his son that the possibility of Lark going to his fate without a fight was more stunning to him than anything he could possibly say instead.
“I have plenty to offer,” Lark answered. “But none could penetrate your sheer determination not to believe me.”
The King’s lip twitched in annoyance.
“Try,” the King barked.
My gaze snapped to the man on the throne. He was radiating anger, white-hot rage at his son’s disobedience, at his impertinence. But there was something else just beneath that fury. A desperate affection. He was a father, this was his son. He was giving Lark a chance to justify his actions, to save himself. And it was only infuriating him more that the man wasn’t taking it.
“I made my arguments against exile when you passed your last sentence. I told you why I did what I did. I told you my justifications. You chose not to hear them,” Lark said and I felt rage burning inside me at the casual nature in which he was discussing my kidnapping. “I imagine this time will be much of the same but, if you’re so insistent, I’ll tell you. I came back because a full grown and heavily armed minotaur fell through a hole in the sky of the mortal realm. I came back because my sister showed up and tried to kill me. I came back because things are changing in our plane, things that the mortals are noticing, things that impact all of us. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to ignore the signs like everyone else.”
