“Merrick.” She said my name sweetly, yet something I couldn't define lurked in her brown eyes. Her skin almost rippled with irritation, and I needed to find the cause and slay it. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Yes.” I narrowed my gaze on her face. “What aren't you telling me?”
“Telling you? What would I have to say to you other than good day, my king?”
Her subtle gouge shouldn't make my cock twitch with interest, but there it was.
I took her hand and waved to the thrones. “Come sit with me.”
With a dip of her head, she walked with me across the lushly carpeted dais. I waited while she sat on her throne, something else that made gasps ring out, but I wouldn't settle on my throne until she had taken hers. I deferred to her in all things, and so it should be.
She huffed, telling me shewasirritated, and heat flamed inside me.
After sending her a smile that told her the game was on,that I was looking forward to making my plays, I took my own seat.
Before I could gesture for my attendants to bring someone forward to speak of their needs, the doors at the end of the aisle thrust open and my mother stormed in.
“I'm sorry I'm late, dear.” She'd only made it partway along the red band of carpet before she came to a shuddering halt. “Sheis not queen. Why is she sitting in my chair?”
The titters her entourage released cut off with one look from me, and those who'd done so yesterday slunk behind my mother to hide. Too late. I'd already marked them.
“She’s my bride and my soon-to-be queen.” I lifted our linked hands and kissed Reyla's knuckles, noting how she shivered at my touch.
The game truly was on.
And I would be its victor.
“Where else would she sit?” I added blandly. “You're welcome to join us today, Mother.” I waved to the empty seats at the end of the aisle. I hadn't missed how she treated my wildfire yesterday, the way she'd slighted her, and I would not stand for it, especially from my beloved mother. She'd suffered greatly. There was no denying that. But in this, she was no different than any other queen of this kingdom.
The glare Mother shot Reyla would've impaled her to her throne, and I noted that as well. She wouldn't outright harm my wife, but she wasn't above making her life considerably uncomfortable. As long as I drew in breath and could make her behave, I would not allow this behavior.
She minced her way down the rest of the aisle and droppedinto a chair in the front row with a flounce. Her ladies fluttered around her, straightening her skirt and handing her a cluster of peolars, a flower with a strong scent often carried by the higher fae to overpower the “smell” of the lessers and powerless who'd come to make their pleas. They didn't smell; this was how it had always been in this kingdom until me.
I intended to break this tradition as well.
The atmosphere in the throne room shifted as lords and ladies dragged their attention away from my mother to focus on what they knew would come next. I waved to my attendants, indicating they should bring forth the first supplicant.
“Devron Bullipart,” one of the attendants intoned, staring forward blankly beside the others. Each had a hand on the hilt of the blades sheathed at their sides, but if need be, they'd handle anything unruly with magic. Only the best served me, and I regularly ensured their skills remained sharp, testing them myself rather than relying on others.
“My king.” Devron, wearing what could be his best tunic and pants, approached, stopping in the open area halfway between those watching and the dais. “My . . . glorious king.”
I nodded encouragingly. No matter how many times I strode among my people, asking how each member of their family fared, or how many times I brought food during the winter or wood to continue a fire, they still feared me. I'd done nothing to give them the impression I'd hurt them, but my forefathers surely had. That pattern had only started breaking with my father.
“Speak, Devron.” I kept my voice light, but the man still trembled.
His fists clenched at his sides, and his voice shook, but he lifted his chin. “My neighbor, Lord Hadrin of Mirkwood, stole two of my cows. I’ve come to seek justice.”
Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind stirring dead leaves. A few eyebrows rose at the mention of Hadrin, his high status and wealth lending him a false sense of invulnerability.
“Lord Hadrin?” I kept my expression neutral. “What do you have to say?”
The high lord who’d taken a seat near the front rose and strode over to stop behind Devron, looming over the lesser fae man as most high lords did. “This is nonsense. How could anyone believe I’ve done anything with his cows?”
“He’s evading the truth,” Devron blurted out, his gaze remaining on the floor. “He has them.” His voice weakened, telling me he believed he'd already been judged and that he'd leave here without being taken seriously.
I could ask Hadrin to outright state he had not stolen the cows, but I had other plans for how this could be handled.
When I turned seventeen and took over this role from my mother, I found her judgement carried a weighty hand. My father had been fairer, and he’d taught me. I'd loved him, and he’d loved me. He’d cared for her even if she’d never shown the same to him. Since I settled in this throne and assumed the duties that came with it, I'd done what I could to wipe clean the past, but I had a long way to go. While I’d allowed her to remain on the queen’s throne after that, I’d tempered her decisions, neutralizing some and negating others. Always trying to slowly bring about change.
