THERON
The next evening,I sit on the throne in the banquet hall, presiding over yet another evening of post-battle merriment. Tomorrow is Tribute Day, and I can sense the excitement of my people, the rising bloodlust over the prospect of taking more human slaves.
My brother is seated at a table near Commander Ashvale and Lord Blackthorne, clearly trying to garner their favor. I exchange an amused look with Commander Ashvale when Prince Alaric isn’t paying attention.
Though I can’t hear the story my brother is regaling the entire table with, given the blood that was covering his boots when he entered the hall earlier, I suspect he’s describing his day spent patrolling the streets of Braemar, which apparently involved a bit of bloodsport.
Occasionally, some of the highborn fae at the table laugh, though I also notice them exchanging telling glances with one another, as though they’re eager to extricate themselves from Alaric’s presence.
I sigh and sit taller on the throne, my gaze sweeping around the hall. In a darkened corner, a fae male is nuzzling his face against a poor, trembling servant girl. Normally, such a scene wouldn’t affect me. But this time… I find myself thinking about Helena. If she were being tormented by another fae, it would enrage me to the point of committing murder.
In fact, I’d been ready to commit murder on her behalf just last night. Fucking fires, I’d been on my way to slaughter my own brother just because I thought he was responsible for the bruises on her arms.
As I watch him rise from the table, I realize that yes, I would’ve killed him for daring to leave marks on Helena. I wonder if he has any idea how close he came to death yesterday. Given his arrogance and his inability to understand when others wish to escape his presence, likely not. Yet another reason he’s not fit for command.
The evening continues, and my thoughts soon return to Helena. The pretty human female who’s currently in my bedchamber. The human female who stacked pillows between us on the bed last night. I almost grin as I recall the flippant look she gave me before erecting the wall of pillows, as though mere pillows could keep me away from her.
And yet, I didn’t knock the pillows over and draw her close to my body, despite how badly I ached to feel her warmth. I’d wanted her to feel safe in my presence, so I respected her boundaries, in a way. I ordered her to sleep in my bed, but I didn’t force my touch on her.
My cock thickens as I imagine the night to come. Perhaps tonight she won’t stack so many pillows between us. Perhaps she’ll allow me to hold her. I think about my predicament, my lack of an heir.
What might she want in return for having my child?
A growl resounds in my throat when I think of the one thing she would likely ask for.Freedom.
My mood instantly darkens.
A trembling servant brings me a glass of wine, and I take a long drink as I consider Tribute Day and the future of Braemar. I spot Commander Harann across the banquet hall, quietly conversing with some of the regular faefolk who’ve joined us for the evening. I rise from the throne and approach the group.
The faefolk begin to scatter, but before they walk away, they offer a deep nod and murmur, “My king,” or “King Theron,” in the respectful tone I’m used to hearing.
“King Theron.” Commander Harann gives me a wry grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?” Completely at ease in my presence, he downs the remainder of his wine and gives me an expectant look.
I study the highborn male for a moment, appreciating that he doesn’t wear a false face in front of me, as most of my people do. I can’t claim to know him well, even though he’s served in the Winter Court army longer than I have, but he’s a well-respected commander who’s always quick to follow orders. He’s also ruthless in battle, and I believe he would do a fine job of keeping the humans of Braemar in proper subjugation. He would crush any uprisings and prevent the citizens of Braemar from attacking any more fae settlements in the surrounding areas.
I clear my throat and give him a direct look. “I am appointing you to be the Warden of Braemar, effective immediately. You will select one hundred soldiers, faefolk, not highborn, to keep with you in Braemar.”
Slow, deliberate clapping sounds behind me, and I spare a glance over my shoulder in time to see my brother approaching. Fucking Alaric.
Ignoring my brother, I return my gaze to Commander Harann, awaiting his response. Of course, the only proper reply is to agree to the posting, and surely, he must know that. To refuse an order from his king would mean certain death. Annoyance flickers in the commander’s eyes, but it fades the second Alaric stops clapping.
“Thank you for the appointment,” Commander Harann says with a deep nod. “I accept with great honor.”
“Congratulations, Commander,” Alaric says, coming to a stop beside me.
Not for the first time in my life, I resist the urge to rip his beating heart from his chest.
“Must you insert yourself into every conversation in this hall?” I ask with a cutting glance at my brother.
Alaric sways on his feet and places a hand on my shoulder. I glare until he lets go and retreats a few steps. He pales a bit, and I take delight in the fear that flashes in his eyes.
“Forgive me, brother, my king…” His voice trails off. “I believe I’ve imbibed too much whiskey.” He spins on his heel and staggers away.
Commander Harann snorts. “I know you said I must only select faefolk, but if you would like to leave your highborn brother behind as part of the Braemar contingent, I would not object.”
I chuckle. “Don’t tempt me.” I pause as I consider Alaric’s true motives, whether he’s plotting my downfall so he might take the Winter Court throne for himself. “I appreciate the offer, Commander. However, I think the prince’s talents are best utilized in battle.”
“Of course, my king. How wise you are.”
