Chapter 43

Forty-Three

Rhoswyn

T he ice palace is a complete departure from the residences of the other minor royals. It’s nearly silent, eerily perfect, with a hushed atmosphere that reminds me a little too much of Reverend Michael’s imposing church.

There’s a strange kind of fog that lingers across the floor, sweeping around Wraith’s legs as he walks, cushioning the sound of his claws on the floor. Even the doors are silent as the males guarding them shove them open, revealing an audience hall with immense vaulted ceilings crisscrossed with ice beams. They’re translucent enough that I can make out the crystal tree above, lighting the space, and my eyes catch on a handful of odd, dark splotches visible through the ice.

A slight shuffle to my left draws my attention back to the crowd of fae wearing white furs draped over gowns and robes of pale blue and dove grey.

They scatter as they realise who I am, shifting to make a path towards the throne and the black-haired man sitting atop it. He’s frozen with his mouth open, spine stiffening as he forgets about the group of prisoners chained at his feet and focuses instead on me.

Don’t look down, I coach myself, holding onto Danu a little tighter as my glamoured wings flutter nervously along my spine. I’m a queen. He rules by my leave. I’m in charge here.

Cedwyn’s eyes find mine, then drop to the barghest I’m riding. I follow his path as he notes Jaro’s wolf, lingers on Bree and Lore, then frowns at Drystan and Hawkith on my other side, before his jaw snaps closed at the sight of Caed on my far left.

“Hey, redcap,” the Fomorian mutters, just loud enough for our group to hear. “Shame there aren’t any violet roses around, huh?”

From the corner of my eye, I see Lore miss a step, then continue walking as if nothing’s happened. I’m unable to repress my incredulous smile as I realise Caed did this on purpose—making Lore walk through a crowd of fae with his dick vibrating.

“Joke’s on you, blue. This isn’t the largest crowd that’s ever seen me come in my pants.”

It isn’t?

“Enough, you two,” Drystan hisses, too tense to appreciate the humour.

His tone is sobering, and I sigh as Lore reluctantly turns off the enchantment and I have to draw my focus back to the enormous room.

They’re all staring at me.

“This hearing is over,” I announce, with a boldness I don’t feel. “Everyone, out.”

The fae courtiers don’t argue. They file from the room in graceful lines, shooting me indecipherable looks as they go. Even a few of Cedwyn’s guards file out, leaving the king sitting on his throne of delicate filigree ice with Ashton right beside him. As if taking that as her cue, Hawkith moves to stand on his other side.

No one seems to notice the prisoners forgotten on the floor. Or at least, they’re too busy following my orders to deal with them, so the five huge males remain in place as Wraith stalks forward.

“Who’s that?” one of the captives mutters, and I jolt as I realise they’re speaking the mortal tongue.

They’re not mortal. Not even close. But they’re not fae either—not all of them, at least. Two are twins—though one of them is blind, if his white eyes are anything to go by. One is easily as huge as Jaro, with dark skin, red eyes, and fangs that jut down to his chin. The fourth is blond and tattooed, wearing little more than a white kilt despite the cold.

Who are they?

Their final member, a black-haired fae—who looks a little too much like Cedwyn and Drystan for the resemblance to be coincidence—shoves his shoulder into his companion. “Hush, you idiot. That’s the Nicnevin.”

“The high queen?” the blonde in the kilt asks.

“Aye. Lower your eyes, before her Guard take them.”

“That’s my uncle, Kieran,” Drystan says, moving closer to me so he can keep his voice quiet enough to avoid being overheard. “Cedwyn’s youngest brother.”

“Another uncle?” My brows rise, ire growing as I imagine what horrors this one is responsible for.

“He spared my life once,” Drystan mutters. “If it comes down to it, I would prefer he lived.”

He’s deferring to me, asking rather than demanding, and I offer him a tiny nod. Danu might be filling me with protective fury, but if this male is somehow the only good one left in the Winter Court, that’s worth preserving.

“Nicnevin Rhoswyn.” Cedwyn shoves to his feet, but his expression is perfectly calm. “I’m in the middle of sentencing these?—”

“No need. The prisoners may go.” I snap my fingers, and one of the few guards still lingering in the wings rushes forward to obey.

Cedwyn’s expression is neutral, but I can see tiny wisps of his aura that he hasn’t quite managed to shield, and it’s turning an ugly shade of puce. “My brother was exiled and returned; he must face?—”

“For the last time, Ced, I’m not here for your crown.” Kieran rubs his wrists in exasperation. “My mate has a job to do, and we’re just passing through. Besides, the curse is gone—as you well know—so my exile is over, anyway.”

“Mate?” Drystan’s eyebrows rise. “You’ve mated? Who?”

A female dressed in black steps from the shadows—literally materialising from the darkness before my eyes—and takes Kieran’s hand. The other four males gather around them, towering over her even though she’s easily taller than me. As soon as the red-eyed one touches her, his fangs retract and his stare darkens to a rich brown.

“Your Majesty,” she says in heavily accented Fae. “My mates’ freedom is appreciated.”

Such careful wording , I note with amusement. Little does she know I’m the least likely fae in the realm likely to ever call in a debt. Still, there’s respect in her tone and the flashing blue of her eyes.

“Oooh, that knife is pretty,” Lore croons, blinking until he’s crouched in the middle of the group. His face is practically smooshed into the black-handled blade at her hip. There are gems in the handle, and Danu stirs within me at the sight of it. That is no mere knife she carries, and I frown at the unexpected knowledge.

One of her men—the one in the kilt—reaches for my redcap, likely to drag him away, but Lore blinks before anything can happen.

“Lorcan, no playing with off-realm weapons,” Drystan snaps.

The urgency in his tone makes my gut clench, but thankfully Lore steps back, pouting.

“Why are you here?” I ask, suppressing the urge to grin as Cedwyn goes to interrupt, only to find himself unable to speak.

Bree has silenced the Winter King, and a sideways glance shows it was entirely intentional.

The female swishes her black hair out of her face, displaying a line of dark tattoos along the back of her arm, and studies me.

“The Moon Goddess has ordered me to kill a human.” Her words are slow, but her Fae is otherwise perfect. “A woman named Marianne. She has long hair and a scarred arm.”

Recognition hits hard. Is she talking about the human woman Máel so callously showed off at the Summer Court ball? The one I sent Lore to rescue?

My thoughts must show on my face, because her eyes narrow.

“You’ve seen her.”

Do I tell her? Should I interfere more than I already have? Within me, Danu is quiet, and that in itself seems telling. Perhaps she isn’t on speaking terms with this Moon Goddess, or maybe there are rules about interfering with devotees of other divine beings. Regardless, if the Goddess doesn’t want to get involved, then neither do I.

“I’ve freed your mates at my Guard’s request, to repay a debt.” I sit a little straighter on Wraith’s back. “But it is not Danu’s place to meddle in the affairs of other deities.”

“Just tell me where you saw her,” Kieran’s mate pushes.

My Guard bristles, and Kieran lays a restraining hand on her arm.

“We’ll find her,” he promises, before addressing me. “She means no offence, Nicnevin. She doesn’t know the ways of the fae.”

That makes two of us. “None was taken. Good luck on your hunt…”

“Nilsa,” she finishes, deliberately withholding her full name. “A pleasure to meet you, Nicnevin.”

Her males are already pulling her away, and I listen shamelessly to them banter between themselves as they head for the door, giving us a wide berth.

“Val’s gonna be so pissed. We weren’t supposed to be gone this long.”

Nilsa scoffs. “Well, he should’ve come with us instead of babying his boat.”

“Ship, princess. It’s a ship.”

“You know she only calls it a boat to mess with the captain, right?”

The doors close behind them, and I sigh, resisting the urge to run after them and interrogate them. Learning about their realm and their Goddess would be so much more interesting than dealing with Cedwyn, Hawkith, and the rest of these assholes.

I nod to Bree, who releases the magic on a suspiciously calm Cedwyn. One glance at the stray wisps of his aura reveals it’s a fa?ade. That awful puce colour has deepened, becoming twisted with shoots of red rage.

That’s fine. I’m furious, too. I swing down from Wraith’s saddle and take a step forward, my hand finding Jaro’s fur as I use his presence to steady myself.

“I will be blunt. I have been played for a fool by every single minor royal I’ve encountered so far, King Cedwyn. So whatever excuses you have undoubtedly saved up, I don’t care to hear them. I am owed your vow of allegiance, and you will give it to me. Your army will join Spring and Autumn and help me reclaim Elfhame City from the Fomorians before any more of my people are killed. Are we clear?”

I stride forwards as I speak, drawing closer and closer to the throne.

“I don’t have to—” he begins, every inch the confident, unaffected ruler.

“You don’t.” I call his bluff. “But I have very little patience remaining. If you refuse, I have a hungry barghest and a bored redcap who would be happy to fix our little issue, and you have a brother who can inherit your throne. I’m tempted to do it myself simply for how you’ve treated my mate. I am not pleased with either of the noble houses of Winter.”

That last sentence is all Danu. The two of us are so closely entwined right now that I can’t tell where she ends and I begin. The Goddess is right there with me as I stare down the King of Winter and his… mate.

The king’s aura is reaching for her, and though Hawkith’s is perfectly shielded, I imagine hers must be the same. It’s a phenomenon I’ve noticed before with Prae and Gryffin.

“You’re mates,” I whisper, eyes darting between him and Hawkith. “Danu made you mates, and you… you twisted that gift into something that’s brought ruin to everyone around you.”

It’s there between them, so obvious to anyone with the sight who cares to look. But everyone else in the room has turned to literal stone at the revelation.

“It is no gift,” Hawkith retorts calmly. “No worthy mate would do half of what?—”

“As if I would ever mate the female whose father murdered my parents, and who tries to have me killed at every turn,” Cedwyn says at the same time, looking pointedly between me and Caed. “Not all of us are so eager to side with the enemy?—”

“I side with peace .” Danu’s power ratchets up a notch, my body no longer my own as she shoves forward. “My Nicnevin works to bring about an era where all those who live in my realm may do so in harmony.”

Her power fades a little, giving me just enough room to take back control, and I work hard to summon the calming breath I need to continue.

“It is none of my business what you two choose to do to each other. Now give me your vow and send your armies to Elfhame.”

I don’t bother repeating my earlier threat. I let it shine in my eyes instead, the promise of violence there at my fingertips as Maeve and Mab crowd me on both sides, ready if I need them.

The seconds stretch on, becoming silent minutes as we size each other up. Danu is right there—probably the only reason I haven’t lost my nerve yet. Alone, I have no delusions about how much of a threat I am, but with the Goddess and my mates around me, I’m stronger than he is.

Just when I think he’ll call my bluff, he sighs and slips from his throne.

“I hope Danu knows what she’s doing, providing such an emotional Nicnevin to deal with the largest threat Faerie has ever seen,” he grumbles as he sinks to one knee. “I swear my fealty to Nicnevin Rhoswyn. Never will my deeds bring harm to her, nor shall I hear of harm to her, unless it is to obstruct it. I accept her as my Nicnevin, on condition that she rule my subjects with the Goddess’s fairness, and that she will perform all duties as they are written in the Treaty of Marlen. May Danu witness my vow and strike me down if I recant.”

The words are smooth, with only the slightest hint of reticence colouring his tone.

“Accepted,” I announce, before he can take it back somehow. “Now, we’ll need rooms for the night, and you might as well open up the city to all the fae who accompanied us on the pilgrimage.”

It’s rude and presumptuous, but honestly, he’s earned it. He should be lucky I’m letting him live.

After weeks of trekking through the snow and the cold, I want nothing more than a bed, and I imagine the same is true for the fae who faithfully followed us here.

I turn to Drystan, letting my shoulders fall just the slightest when I see the way his molten eyes have lit slightly with surprise. He didn’t think I could do it.

Okay, if I’m honest, neither did I, but that’s neither here nor there, really.

Sure, it’s not the easy vow I’d hoped for, nor a declaration of devoted loyalty, but I’ve done what we came for. Given the harm these three fae have done to Drystan, they’re lucky Danu didn’t just smite them.

“Oh.” I turn on my heel, finding the three royals still gathered around the throne. “I want Torrance Lyarthorn. He’s here somewhere, or so I’m told. Find him and have him put in the dungeons.”

In my peripheral vision, Bree stiffens.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Cedwyn grates out.

“Already done, Nicnevin.” Hawkith’s bland smile and half-bow have my hackles raising for no reason. “I had my people arrest him on my return.”

“Good. I’ll deal with him tomorrow.” I turn back to Drystan. “Do you have a room here?”

“Kitarni arranged for us to stay with your brother before we left Elfhame,” Drystan adds. “Prince Roark’s mate is a duchess, and her citadel apartments are at our disposal.”

Thank the Goddess. Calimnel may be cold, but at least within the ice walls that awful wind is gone, and I can feel my toes. Once we escape the frozen stare of the Froshtyn King and his Iceblyd mate, perhaps my breath will stop misting in front of me.