“High King Sloane Selkirk,” Lorcan replied. But of course, he did not need to tell his father that. Bolg Rothach would know exactly who ruled over the Air Court. The Selkirks had been the one to exile his kingdom, after all.
“That’s right,” Bolg said, smiling. “Sloane. I hear his bones are turning to dust. He will be lucky to live even twenty years more.”
Lorcan frowned. “Is that why you brought me here? To ask me questions about the air king? Because you’ll be gravely disappointed, I’m afraid,Father. I’m just a villager who plucks wheat. I know nothing about court and very little about the king himself.”
“You’ve got fire.” Bolg grunted. “Like your mother. She was always my favorite.”
A chill swept down Lorcan’s spine. He doubted that very much indeed.
“Do not speak about my mother,” he said through gritted teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nollaig and Segonax shift closer to the king.
Bolg merely waved them aside. “My advisors tell me she wasn’t in your village when they collected you.”
“No, she wasn’t. She died ten years ago.”
Bolg had the decency to look surprised. “From old age? Ten years ago? She would have been scarcely thirty, if that. Even with the Fall, surely she should have lived—”
“Our village was attacked,” Lorcan cut in. He could not bear to listen to his father discuss his mother’s age and her lost life like it was nothing more than the weather.
His father cocked his head. “Attacked by whom?”
Lorcan remained silent. He would not lie about this, even if he could, but he would not admit the truth to his father either. The king would either think Lorcan mad or he would demand to hear every last detail about that night. And he would not relive it. Not in front of this king.
His heart would break all over again.
“Hmph.” His father sighed and sat back in his chair. “Do you know why I’ve summoned you here, Lorcan?”
“No, but I’m certain I will be endlessly thrilled by whatever it is.”
Bolg arched a brow. “Even fire can make my bones feel cold. Do not think that because you’re my son, I will allow you to disrespect me in front of my court.”
It wasn’t much of a court, Lorcan couldn’t help but think. Where were the fawning lords and ladies? Where was the table dressed up for a feast? He knew little of courtly life, but he knew this vacant hall with his handful of advisors was nothing like the court back home.
Home. His heart squeezed. This place would never be his home.
Everything about it was empty, just like the power of his father’s title.
When Lorcan didn’t answer, Bolg continued. “I called you here because I am in need of a prince. As your mother was my favorite, I thought you should be the one to get that honor.”
Lorcan fisted his hands. They shook in anger. “Honor?”
“Of course. What else would it be but honor? You would be my legitimized son. A prince in his own right. Heir to this great kingdom.”
“It is a fate worse than death,” Lorcan sneered. “A punishment fit for a murderer.”
Bolg sighed. “I thought you might say something like that. Your mother’s grudge against me has clearly lingered in your blood.”
“She had a grudge against you because you raped her!” Lorcan’s voice echoed off the walls, drowning out the murmurs of the king’s advisors.
Slowly, Bolg pushed against the arms of his throne and stood as tall as he could. Which was not very tall indeed. If it wasn’t for the raised dais, Lorcan could crush him beneath his boot. “Your mother made that same treasonous claim, and yet I let her live because I cared for her. I do not know you, bastard son of mine. And I have other bastards.”
“You’re denying it?”
Bolg smiled. “A king cannot rape when every female in his kingdom belongs to him.”
Revulsion swept through Lorcan, threatening to drown him beneath the weight of it. “That is one of the vilest things I have ever heard.”
“Welcome to court,” Nollaig muttered so low that Lorcan could not be certain if he’d imagined it or not.
