“I will have you forever, Reyna.”
* * *
He jolted awake, his heart hammering. Lorcan held on to the memories of their night together for as long as he could until the Cursed One ripped it away and pushed Lorcan aside.
Growling, the Cursed One jumped to his feet, hatred churning through his veins. Lorcan and his damn dreams. Somehow, he took control whenever they slept. And he couldn’t stop dreaming of that bloody ice fae. It was as if she was in his very blood. Her voice echoed in his ears. Her scent filled his mind. He couldn’t get rid of her.
Lorcan’s lips curved into a wicked smile. Soon, he would rip her head off her body and feast on her bones until there was nothing left of her but ash. And he would make the Pathetic One watch every single moment of it, pounding his fists against his own body until he lost the last shreds of his sanity. Even now, he was barely clinging on with jagged fingernails.
Lorcan laughed at the thought of it.
He threw his covers aside and strode down the corridor of his beloved tower, cloak billowing behind him like an ever-present shadow. Dawn speared the vine-covered walls with its pink and orange brilliance. Lorcan preferred the shadows himself. That was one thing he had in common with the Pathetic One.
When he strode into the meeting hall, several of the wood fae lords were waiting for him. He’d called them the night before, requesting their presence at once. According to his research, these lords had been loyal to Ulaid Molt and they worshipped Unseelie themselves. Thus, Molt had protected them. He’d never once feasted on any member of their families.
It would make his task difficult until they understood. If they were loyal to Molt, they would hate him. Or at least, they’d hate the Pathetic One. They’d adore the new Lorcan as soon as they knew his mind.
Lord Illernan was the first to step forward from the pack of them. He was a typical wood fae. His emerald hair hung down to his shoulders, and his sharp ears cut through the strands, parting them evenly on each side. A dyed green tunic hugged his wiry frame. Tall and reedy, he looked like a tree that would bend in the wind.
“Your Highness,” he said tightly. “The letters seemed urgent, and when we arrived, we were surprised to find the other kings have already returned to their realms. We hoped there hasn’t been some sort of issue with the alliance.”
Lorcan lifted his brows. “I would have thought the lords who were loyal to High King Ulaid Molt would have wanted the alliance to fall apart. As far as I’m aware, Molt didn’t want to sign a treaty. He aimed for greater things. An empire, yes?”
The lords exchanged uneasy glances with each other. “We don’t want any problems, Your Highness. We were loyal to our High King, but he’s no longer with us. You’re our High King now. We serve you and no one else.”
Interesting. They’d learned they could lie, at least until Thane undid the exile, which might never happen now that Reyna had gotten to him. Lorcan might very well have to stride into Tairngire and undo it himself.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Regardless of how you feel about me, you’re right about the alliance. It has not gone according to plan. There is someone working against us, and she’s whispering words to the northern kings. If we don’t stop her, they’ll end up joining their forces to attack this kingdom. The Ice, Air, and Sea Courts all combined against Wood and Shadow. Tell me, if that happens, do you believe we’d survive?”
Lord Illernan frowned. “We lost a lot of warriors in the battle for Findius.”
“Too many,” Lorcan said with a nod. “The Sea Court has lost scarcely any. All these years, they’ve stayed out of the conflict. It wasn’t until they took Tairngire that they joined the battles. And they were successful in their attack on that city. Tairngire fell easily.”
“So, what do you propose?” Lord Windin asked, an older wood fae with greying hair and a beard to match. He was beefier than the others but just as tall. “Molt was blessed by Unseelie. That’s how he planned to win. What have you got, High King Lorcan Rothach? Other than a bastard bloodline.”
Lorcan gave him a tight smile. “Molt thought ahead. He prepared for this.”
Lord Illernan cocked his head. “How so?”
“He made assurances in the form of a curse.” Lorcan smiled. “Really, it’s more of a blessing. Anyone who killed him would be bound to Unseelie. Molt’s gained magic would swirl through the killer’s veins, transforming him into a servant for his god. My power is not as great as Molt’s. Not yet. But it will be.”
The lords began murmuring, whispering amongst themselves as Lorcan strode toward them. “I understand your anger toward me, toward the fae I once was. But he is gone now. Molt saw to that. The High King who stands before you has been transformed into someone new, and I will lead us to victory over all of Tir Na Nog. We will conquer those northern kings, but we need time.”
Lord Illernan let out a shuddering breath and knelt before Lorcan. He bowed his head, his emerald hair curtaining his face. “Does Ulaid Molt live inside of you? Is our beloved High King still here with us now?”
Lorcan paused. There was one benefit to the exile. Lies. “In a way, yes.”
“Then we will serve you to the ends of the world.” Illernan tipped back his head and gazed up at him with clear adoration in his eyes. “What would you have us do?”
The other lords fell in line. Windin was the second to kneel, followed quickly by the rest. Lorcan’s chest rose as he stood tall over his subjects. One by one the lords would die. But not yet. Unseelie had use for them yet.
“Reyna Darragh has stolen a book from us, one that belonged to Ulaid Molt.”
The lords glanced up, frowning.
“That book holds every last detail about the curse, including how to find a way to undo it. If Reyna finds that information, she will use it against me. She’ll undo the blessing, killing me. We can’t let her do that.”
The lords murmured.
