She rolled her eyes. “You know nothing about me.”
“You’re thinking about how you might kill every single one of us in order to hatch your escape, including me.”
Reyna could hear the smile on Nollaig’s face, even if she couldn’t see it.
“You’re right,” Reyna said, seeing no reason to mince her words. Even within the exiled shadow kingdom, lies died on her tongue like bitter ash. The deep dark magic of the fae realms knew what she was. She’d been born in ice, she’d bled on fields of ice, and she hoped that when her death day finally came that she would be buried in ice.
“But you won’t make the attempt,” Nollaig added. “Especially once you hear what our king means to propose to you.”
Reyna cut her eyes toward Nollaig’s cloaked form. “It better not be an actual proposal. I am already betrothed to another prince, and I would not marry Lorcan if he was the last male alive on this godforsaken continent.”
Nollaig actually chuckled. The sound was odd coming from the hooded form that seemed to eke shadows and darkness with every move she made. But she seemed legitimately...amused, almost. Reyna did not quite know what to make of it.
“The High King has a far more important proposal than that. Arranged marriages and sneaky intrigues are for petty kings.”
Reyna frowned. “And your king isn’t a petty one?”
“Certainly not.” Her voice held a snap, the level tone now replaced by a dangerous edge.
“What is he then, if not petty?” Reyna asked despite Nollaig’s reaction. She saw no reason to mince her words here. She was already a prisoner, one they clearly did not wish to kill. “Most kings are.”If not them all, she thought.
“Clever and purposeful.”
Reyna lifted a brow but said nothing more, storing away that small bit of insight into the king. It might prove useful down the line. Clever and purposeful, which meant he was no doubt in possession of ambitious plans. That did not mean he wasn’t also petty.
Nothing more passed between Nollaig and Reyna other than their whispered footsteps down the long and mist-enshrouded corridors. As they approached the great, looming doors of the throne room, tendrils of darkness seemed to curl from the depths of the walls.
Reyna could not help but shudder. She had yet to become accustomed to the strange darkness that seemed to lurk in every corner of this strange realm.
The throne room was not far from what Reyna had imagined. Large and lofty, thick black pillars were scattered throughout, bracing the high ceiling. The shadows were deep and dark where every wall—and the very floor itself—had been built from that black stone so present in Findius. Bolg sat idly on his throne, a crown of twisting antlers perched on his tiny head. He was flanked by guards, all donning grey scale armor and helmets made from shadowsteel.
Bolg’s black stone throne was a strange little thing, particularly compared to the other Seats of Power that Reyna had set her eyes upon. In the Ice Court, the majestic throne of her father grew from the very ground itself, so much so that the ancient castle had been builtaroundthe throne, rather than the other way around. It rose high, a hulking, glistening seat of ice that never melted. When she had been little more than a girl, Reyna had watched one of her cousins try to burn it with a torch. The old ice throne had done nothing more than continue to sit there, and Reyna swore she had felt it frown.
“Your Majesty,” Nollaig said, bowing slightly. “I have brought the Princess Reyna Darragh of the Ice Court, as requested.”
Reyna stared up at the king. He still looked small and strange, just as she remembered, but there was a glint in his eye. That cleverness Nollaig spoke of.
“High King Rothach,” Reyna said. “The throne suits you, it seems. I’m sure you feel it’s a shame your having it does not mean your kingdom is no longer exiled. I should offer my condolences.”
Inwardly, Reyna smiled. Sheshouldoffer her condolences, but she wouldn’t. And she would certainly take every opportunity to remind the bastard that try as he might, he was still an exiled king. Nothing had changed.
“Blah, blah, blah,” the High King said, waving his hand dismissively. “I care little for these faux niceties. Your words are layered with the truth, and I have more important things to do than dance around pretending that we like each other. I had you brought here for a reason. Let’s get on with it.”
“You won’t get very far with the kings and lords of Tir Na Nog if you refuse to play their games,” Reyna said frankly.
He grinned. “Swords are sharper than words.”
“Then, you have never parried with my father.”
“Yes, yes,” he said, leaning back into his onyx throne. “Your family is why I have brought you here. I have your sister.”
A heavy slab of iron dropped into Reyna’s stomach, burning up her gut. The world seemed to tip sideways as she stared at the king, certain that she could not have heard the truth of his words. Her legs slightly trembled as she took a step toward him, and a dozen swords sang in the air around her.
“Best not step any closer, Shieldmaiden,” Nollaig muttered.
Reyna froze, glaring at the king. “You’re lying. You can lie.”
“You are right, of course. I can. But lying rarely does me any favors. It is a weapon best used scarcely.” He shrugged. “I have your sister.”
