“The Equitae?” I ask, desperately trying to keep any emotion from my voice.
Fingers tighten to a grip where they rest on my leg and waist, his chest constricting with a sharp intake of breath. “Yes, those fuckers don’t know when to give up. Though the King seems quite pleased with himself after this recent encounter.”
“Has he never considered trying to stop The Corruption rather than destroying a whole Fae race?” I ask.
The origins of The Corruption remain a mystery, yet I’ve never understood the King’s reluctance to seek its source. In my mind’s eye, I can still see the Whispering Glade as it once was, emerald canopies filtering golden light. And the forests surrounding Heartwood alive with birdsong that seemed to dance on the breeze. Wouldn’t finding a way to heal our dying kingdom serve Kaladia better than endless bloodshed?
Kiernan’s chest rumbles. “The King was lost to any logic years ago, his own greed for control fuelled by vengeance that”—he sighs, then continues—"is less about rationality and more about love.”
A soft, barely audible “Love?” escapes my lips, sounding more like an expired breath than a word. “He doesn’t seem to hold much regard for love.”
“He did once, for my mother.” A finger traces idle patterns on my thigh.
I stroke his rough stubbled cheek, and he looks down at me, eyes gentle. “You’ve never mentioned your mother,” I reply, low and soothing.
“I don’t know much about her; she died when I was young. I do know their love burnt brighter than the sun, and when she was killed by the Equitae his darkness consumed him like The Corruption itself, until all that remained was his vengeance.” My hand pauses as I watch his eyes fill with a cold, flat darkness. “That is what love does to you if you let it.”
I freeze in his unblinking glare, the air around us motionless, as if holding its breath.
Is that what’s happening to me?
The thought strikes like a physical blow, sent with enough force to make the kingdom tilt.
Am I being consumed by loving too many, by wanting what I can’t have?
My mother said love endures when you choose it, but what happens when your heart has already chosen more than once?
I squirm to break free from his tight grip on my waist, but it doesn’t loosen. His lip curls as I feel his cock stir below me.
“We will be late for the evening meal if you keep doing that,” he says, breaking the awkward silence with a slap to my thigh as he rises and places me back on my feet. “Go cover that beautiful body before we start something we have no hope of finishing in time.” He leans down, brushing a kiss to my lips and pushing me towards the bedroom with a pat on my rear.
He turns and leans on the mantel above the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames as I walk into the bedroom to put on my dress.
Once I’m ready, I glance in the mirror of my dresser. My fingers drift to the wooden box upon it, almost of their ownaccord. I lift the lid and inside rests the horse figure beside the golden dagger, each groove worn smoother from touch. I press my thumb against its flank, remembering how Domanikk felt between my thighs as I rode his Horse Form. My chest tightens, and I swallow hard, closing the box with a soft click before turning to leave.
Kiernan fills the doorway, shoulders rigid beneath the black-and-golden robe he has now put on. His jaw twitches once, twice, a muscle pulsing at his temple. The temperature in the room drop as his gaze locks with mine, pupils constricted to pinpoints.
“We should leave.” The words are clipped, final.
The evening meal is as uncomfortable as the previous one. Kiernan doesn’t say a word the whole way to the Great Hall, just glares ahead, striding so fast I have to run to keep up.
The Great Hall’s stone floors echo with the click of jewelled slippers and the rustle of silken garments as we arrive. Fae Nobles huddle in clusters, their voices rising and falling punctuated by bursts of too-bright laughter. Along the walls, Thorn Guards stand motionless in their obsidian armour, thorny vines etched across their breastplates. Their presence casts long shadows that seem to reach across the floor towards the Fae, who glance nervously in their direction. I shiver, their forms stirring a deep fear inside me, remembering the night of my kidnapping.
“Father.” Kiernan nods a greeting once we get to the table, without even looking at the King, his jaw set tight and his eyes fixed on some distant point across the room. He pulls out his chair with a deliberate scrape of wooden legs on the cold stone floor, the sound echoing through the tense silence. He sitsrigidly, his back stiff and his arms crossed over his chest, every line of his body radiating barely contained anger.
Never once in all our years together has he broken royal etiquette. He has always ensured I am properly escorted to meals, my hand gently draped over his forearm. He has always pulled out my chair, waiting until I’m seated before taking his own place. But not today. Not now.
My heart hammers wildly in my chest, each beat feeling like it might burst through my ribs. With trembling hands, I reach for my own chair and pull it out myself, the scraping sound loud in the oppressive quiet. I sit slowly, feeling the weight of every eye in the room upon me.
The King throws back his head, his cackle slicing through the silence like a blade against stone; the sound carries no joy, only malice, sharp and cold as splintered glass.
“Trouble in paradise, Kiernan?” he asks, reaching over and pouring Fae Wine into the glass in front of his son. “You look like you need something a little stronger.”
Kiernan sits forwards, pulling his chair in further, and takes the glass, tipping the wine back until it’s empty. He extends his glass back towards the King, jaw clenched. “Everything is well.” The crystal catches the light as the King tips the decanter. Red liquid pools at the bottom, rising. “The last thing I need,” he says, voice low enough that the King must lean forwards to hear, “is your advice.”
A cold rush of dizziness washes over me, making the room swim and tilt. A prickle of unease needles at my skin.
The King waves at the wait staff and golden platters appear that smell delicious, but my appetite has left me. Each time I dare glance up from my plate, the King’s dark eyes catch mine, the corners of his mouth curled upward.
