Page 2 of The Fallen Fae King

Da’s skin is waxy; I can tell that he is struggling to hide his pain as we weave toward the Mound, which is the open-air center of the court — its sacred heart.

The King and Queen’s thrones stand proudly on the Mound.

I can’t look away from them.

Will I live to sit on them?

They look too large. I’m too small.

I’m not ready.

Da’s eyes crinkle softly at the sides, as he glances over his shoulder at me. “By the holy fae, you look smart. You haven’t even torn a hole in your robe yet or stained it with berries.”

I smooth my hand down the emerald silk robes, which match Da’s for the first time. “I’d better not escape to the Thorn Wilds and climb any trees with Ciara then?”

Ciara is my best friend.

And escaping to the Thorn Wilds with Ciara was exactly what I was planning to do, as soon as everyone was distracted by the feast.

“You mean like you did last week when you were meant to be studying in Rune Forest with the elders?” Da arches his brow. “Of course, also making yourself vulnerable to attack from our enemies since we’re at war.”

I swallow.

Does Da have some kind of magical ability to know every time that I play truant? Or do the Druids snitch on me?

Then I grin, mischievously. “Aye, just like that.”

“You’re reckless…like me.” Da’s eyes twinkle. “Don’t tell your Ma, but I did the same thing at the feast, which announced me as crown prince. I spent most of it at the Sacred Blossom Tree, insisting that I didn’t want to be a daft king.”

I let out a startled laugh. “You never.”

Da spins elegantly like he is dancing, and his wings spread out.

He looks dangerous.

Then he leans close to me to whisper, “Only the best kings don’t want to rule. Watch out for those who are hungry for kingship because those are the tyrants.”

When he reaches to tuck a strand of my unruly silver curls behind my ear, he staggers.

For a moment, I think that he is about to collapse.

I grab him by the elbow to disguise his weakness from the fae who are dancing, singing, and celebrating at the bottom of the Mound.

“Here.” I help Da to settle onto one of the giant thrones.

The throne is decorated with bronze feathers entwined with thorns.

“You’re a good lad, Daire.” Da’s hand rests on my shoulder.

Morrigan caws her agreement.

Da’s eyes close.

I can’t look away from the dark veins, which are clawing up his throat. They are the symptoms of iron poisoning.

He’s dying.

The thought hits me.