Page 50 of The Fox Heir

“Do you feel betrayed, Granddaughter?”

“Yes,” I whisper, because it’s true. Ever since I discovered who she is—what she is—I haven’t been able to love her. And I spent my entire life loving her memory. Fiercely. Obsessively. I no longer know who I am now that I know the truth.

“You shouldn’t.” The Dead Queen’s voice echoes throughout the hall, sharp and unemotional. It grates like a knife against bone.

“And why not, exactly?”

“Because I did it all for you.”

My ears ring. “Me? How could I possibly have anything to do with this?” I wave toward her grotesque body hidden beneath midnight silks. We both know that behind her veil, her gown, and her long gloves is a body of rot and decay. A skeleton without a soul.

My voice rises in pitch. Without even meaning to, I’m yelling. All the anger and hurt inside of me is spilling out.

“You’re trying to overthrow the kingdom that I was slated to rule one day! How was this for me?”

She watches me for a long moment. “Because you deserve a better world than one ruled by greed and monstrous men.”

I breathe deep, trying to steady my heartbeat.

The queen stands from her throne, bones popping with the movement. Her black gown sweeps the ground like smoke. “I hope you understand that I have shared this information as an olive branch. You do not trust me. But I assure you, I have your best interests at heart.”

For some reason, the mention of her heart makes my stomach turn. She doesn’t have a heart. Only a twisted, rotten organ inside her chest.

She lifts a hand to dismiss me.

I step forward. “I have one more question.”

She lowers her hand and settles into a patient stillness. “Go on.”

“What happened to the fae?”

She cocks her head. The movement is sharp, birdlike and unsettling. “You know what happened to them. Your ancestors chased them out of Llwyn. In the north, they died out. Dwindled to negligible numbers.”

I shake my head. “Dwindled maybe, but not gone.”

She nods in agreement. “No. Not entirely gone.”

“What fae are left? Why don’t they help fight my father’s armies?”

The queen pauses for a long while. “You did not grow up with the fae, Granddaughter, so I will forgive your ignorance in this. As all northern children know, the fae are allies against the south, in a sense. But they are not to be trusted.”

“Why?”

“Because some fae are fickle and take joy in creating mischief … and worse.”

“Then why tolerate them here in Gwyllion?”

The queen stills. “Be careful, Sienna,” she warns, her voice low. “If you keep thinking like that, you’ll turn into your Fox King father.”

My cheeks burn, and I snap my lips closed.

The queen walks past me, her steps unnaturally graceful as she crosses the throne room. Nalina trails behind her, her boots striking hard against the stone. She glances at me once, sharp and appraising, before she vanishes through the doors.

Outside, the storm howls on.

Chapter 17

The ruins of an old temple stand haloed in the moonlight. Frozen vines curl around the ancient stone pillars, peppering them with decayed purple flowers that must bloom here in the summer. The vines wind through the crumbling masonry like veins through a corpse.