The assassination attempts came in relentless waves. There was poisoned wine that Rowan’s earth magic detected before it could touch his lips. Archers learned that the fae prince’s command of wind and fire made their lethal arrows useless before being ensnared by his thorned ivy. The third attempt was an explosive device, hidden in a gift box meant for me.
The fae king’s final move was to send terms to Killian: Rowan’s life in exchange for the fae army’s support against Ruin.
Killian’s response had been pure chaos king: he sent back the messenger’s head in the same gift box, with a note written in the man’s blood:Try again, and I’ll deliver yours personally.
Through it all, Rowan had held back. He fought defensively against other fae, disabling rather than killing when he could, always trying to minimize the collateral damage. He was forever thinking of the innocents who were caught in a civil war.
Most of all, he worried about his mother.
“She’s in danger because of me,” he’d said, more than once. “I need to get her to safety before?—”
But “before” had come too late.
When he finally broke through the communication blockade and reached his mother’s lady-in-waiting, the news was a blade to the ribs: Queen Eleanor had been hanged for adultery that morning. The king had denied her even the dignity of funeral rites.
I found him sobbing in the bathtub, the fae prince who never cried.
“It’s my fault. I failed her,” he’d said over and over, his voice hollow.
I turned off the icy water. He was shivering, but not from the cold.
“This is not your fault,” I said, my voice firm and full of empathy. “None of this is your fault. It’s the crime of that sadistic bastard you once called father.”
“Because I exist.” He buried his face in my hair as I pulled him close, cradling him against my chest. “Because she loved me.” His voice turned to ice. “And now he dies, too.”
We stoodbefore the gates of the fae court, our warriors arrayed behind us in a battle formation.
The other heirs had offered to come with us. Silas had been particularly insistent.
“Let me bite your bastard father’s head off,” he’d suggested with disturbing enthusiasm. “Won’t even need my full form.”
But Rowan had declined with diplomatic grace. “This is fae business. I will not drag the other houses into our internal conflict.”
He wanted to minimize the bloodshed, still trying to be the good guy even with his mother’s blood crying for vengeance. He held only King Emyr responsible.
I would honor his wishes, but I also knew what had to be done.
No more hiding. No more pretending to be less than I was. No more making myself small so others could feel big.
On the fringe of the fae court, I unleashed my core magic. I showed every fae present who I truly was.
The stone floor cracked as flowers of impossible colors forced their way through. Dead wood exploded with new leaves so violently the crowd scrambled back in awe. The air thickened with the scent of magic, rich and intoxicating as the finest wine, and a pure, radiant light pulsed from every tree.
“Creation magic!” a voice cried out. “The rumors were true! It healed our warriors. The oldest magic is in our court!”
“Who are you?” asked a noble lady. She appeared young, as immortals do, but her blue eyes were ancient.
“I am Sy, mate to Prince Rowan, and I am the one who holds the old magic,” I declared, my voice carrying harmonics that made the air sing. It was easier to say it that way than to confess Iwasthe old magic in the flesh. “My sister, Goddess Barbie, brought me to this realm.”
Rowan pulled me closer, his pride a tangible fire that warmed me.
Every fae dropped to their knees, all of them feeling the magic they’d only heard of in ancient stories. Some wept openly. Others pressed their faces to the floor, overwhelmed by the proximity to a power their race had waited centuries to see return.
After that, we met no resistance. We trod all the way to the palace with a growing procession behind us, many joining our cause.
The guards at the entrance took one look and stepped aside. They had heard who I was—word traveled fast. They needed no further proof, not with the trail of vibrant greens and rainbow blossoms that sprang up in my wake.
No one would raise a weapon against us now. No one would stop Prince Rowan from challenging his father.
