I take dark delight in the sight of the human soldiers rushing around on the battlements below. Even from this distance, I can sense their panic. It’s invigorating. I can’t wait to smell their blood. I can’t wait to smell their fearup close.
The steady flapping of wings reaches me, and I glance to my left. My most trusted comrade, Commander Ashvale, is treading air beside me. Lord Blackthorne, a skilled aerial scout, is with him.
“King Theron,” they say in unison.
“Commander Ashvale. Lord Blackthorne. So nice of you to join me on this most joyous occasion.”
I allow my gaze to wander through the sky. Over four hundred winged highborn fae are treading air, staring down at Braemar, poised for attack. Below us, nearly thirty thousand soldiers, regular faefolk but still quite skilled in battle, stand at attention, ready for war. Ready to spill the blood of humans.
“Numbers?” I ask with a glance at Lord Blackthorne.
“I counted slightly over two thousand soldiers on the battlements and near the castle.” As Lord Blackthorne speaks, his long black hair billows behind him. “Given the size of the city and the number of homes and buildings, I estimate the total population of Braemar is around twenty-six thousand.”
“I almost feel sorry for the humans.” Commander Ashvale chuckles. “Poor innocent things. I doubt the regular citizens of Braemar even know their soldiers attacked a homestead of faefolk.”
My lips twist with mirth. I doubt the commander feels an ounce of compassion for the citizens of Braemar. It’s why he’s my most trusted comrade. He’s as cold and brutal as I am. During the thousand years he’s served at my side, we’ve rarely lost a battle. We’ve certainly never lost a battle againsthumans.
Rather than immediately attack Braemar, we hold position for a while and keep watching. The longer we wait, the moreterrible it will be for the humans when we finally strike. By the time we attack, I imagine they’ll be drenched in fear, drowning in the terror that comes from knowing all hope is lost.
Surely the more sensible human soldiers know they will die today. It’s rather humorous to watch them scurry about the battlements, trying in vain to gather enough weapons and take the most opportune positions.
Archers line the walls of Braemar, and I make a note to take them out first. Though arrows rarely cause more than an inconvenient injury to a highborn fae such as myself, they often pose a threat to the regular faefolk in my army who aren’t as skilled in battle or as quick to heal as those of us positioned in the sky.
Unlike highborn fae, regular faefolk can’t summon wings, nor do they possess very much magic, particularly healing magic. But they are more formidable in battle than humans and orcs, as long as they aren’t significantly outnumbered.
Truly, Braemar doesn’t stand a chance. Thousands will perish by violence today. And those who are left living? They will remain in subjugation to my people until the end of their days.
They will remain at the mercy of the Winter Court.
“Look.” Commander Ashvale gestures at the mountains behind Braemar.
I follow his gaze and then I see it. The telltale glimmer on the vegetation that’s covering the mountains. It’s not covering the entire mountain range, but it’s just enough to verify that ussha, the lifeforce of fae magic, has finally spread this far south.
Soon, all the trees and plants will glimmer and glow with ussha, and vegetation native to fae lands will start growing too. Fae creatures will soon roam these parts as well.
“Praise be to the gods.” I ruffle my black, feathered wings, then continue treading air.
Ussha. It’s already here. Not that I had any doubt. The faefolk slaughtered by the human soldiers wouldn’t have built a family compound nearby if they hadn’t beendrawnto this area. Drawn by the power of ussha.
Though once solely confined to the four fae courts, ussha recently started spreading beyond the Winter, Spring, Summer, and Autumn courts into the human and orc lands. As ussha continues to spread, my people are compelled to follow it, as it fuels our magic, and the population of each once-bustling court has already dwindled by half. Sometimes I dream that I’m seated on a throne in a vast, empty banquet hall, and the throne crumbles to dust beneath me.
Our priestesses claim we’re on the verge of a new age, an age of total fae rule over the entire realm. They claim the four fae courts will eventually cease to exist. I can’t help but wonder if the courts will fade away gradually as more of my people leave, or if there will one day be a great calamity that finally destroys them. The two original fae courts, Seelie and Unseelie, are buried under volcanic ash.
The idea of the Winter Court, a glittering and expansive territory in the northernmost mountains, not only falling into ruin, but also ceasing to exist entirely, causes a feeling of desperation inside me.
My father died in battle when I was nine hundred and twenty, and I’ve sat on the Winter Court throne for over a thousand years. What will happen to me and other fae royals when the Winter, Spring, Summer, and Autumn courts are no more? Will a new type of court, or courts, form in the recently ussha-blessed lands we’ve migrated to?
I stare at the panicked human soldiers on the battlements, in the midst of an existential crisis of my own. But I maintain a fierce, calculated expression as I gaze down at Braemar. I don’t allow a flicker of doubt to cross my visage. One outward momentof weakness is sometimes all it takes for a royal to be challenged. I would know. One of my younger brothers once challenged me for the throne. I killed him. His skull is on display in the Winter Court’s main banquet hall, along with the skulls of many other enemies I’ve vanquished since ascending to the throne.
But not the skulls ofeveryenemy I’ve vanquished…
A growl builds in my throat, but I swallow it back.
There is one skull I couldn’t bear to put on display. A skull I keep wrapped in silk, hidden in a trunk in my bedchamber back at the Winter Court palace.
Elssandra. My fated mate.
The mate who betrayed me.
