Chapter 48

Forty-Eight

Bricriu

T he female’s face frosts over on a scream, and all of us cringe as Rose’s answering fear resonates through the Call. She may be sitting on the throne, but right now our Nicnevin would rather be anywhere else.

Cedwyn turns his attention to the next guard, a troll who’s already resigned to his fate, if the slump of his shoulders is anything to go by. I continue to hum softly beneath my breath, modulating the sound with my magic so it travels to Rose’s ears.

Blocking out their terror.

Caring for her is the only reason I’m not falling apart myself.

So far, Cedwyn has had every single guard responsible for Torrance’s confinement executed, and he’s ordered every known associate of the high fae who helped Torrance escape dragged into prison. Rose has witnessed it all, alongside a small group of trusted soldiers and generals Cedwyn has allowed into the throne room. A tiny disapproving frown is stuck on her face, but otherwise she’s doing a magnificent job of pretending this mess hasn’t left her anxious and upset.

The king is in a foul mood. Of course, outwardly he’s icily calm, but the anger is definitely there, hidden in the death he deals so casually. He stands before the throne, on the dais, so he can loom over the kneeling fae before us.

Hawkith has also wheedled her way into the room somehow and is waiting in the wings. Her pale eyes are eerily focused on her son, ignoring the fae being frozen to death in the middle of the room.

“Your Majesty.” A soldier with brown hair dares to enter the room, his eyes focused on Rose’s feet as he bows low before her. “We’ve found the traitor who switched the prisoner’s cuffs.”

I stopped humming the second I noticed him, and Rose tenses as all the sound returns to her in a rush.

“Bring him here,” Cedwyn orders, ignoring the fact that Rose was obviously the monarch being addressed.

“Regretfully, your Highness, Nicnevin Rhoswyn’s redcap killed him before we got the chance to apprehend him.”

Cedwyn turns his glare on Rose next, only to realise the error of his ways fairly quickly as Wraith looks up from his position curled around Rose’s throne and growls. I’m pretty sure Lore would’ve gutted the king for that look, but fortunately the redcap and the wolf shifter are out searching for my father.

I’d rather be out there with them, but Rose asked me to stay with her, and I can’t deny her.

So I glower at him from beside his own throne, with Caed and Drystan beside me. Together, we must be suitably threatening, because Cedwyn backtracks swiftly.

“I’m certain the Guard wouldn’t have done anything to hinder the investigation.”

“Wronggg,” Lore singsongs, blinking down from where he’s been lurking in the rafters. “He was rather uncomplimentary about my pretty mate. So he died. Such a shame.”

“We need to?—”

“It matters little.” Hawkith strides forward, her mere presence making the hair on the back of my arms stand up in warning.

That female is too familiar. Not because I’ve met her before, but because she shares Máel’s stalwart belief that the ends always justify the means. The similarity is only reinforced as she puffs herself up to address the Nicnevin, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

“Forgive my interruption, Your Majesty, but this would never have happened if we had a strong sovereign on the throne. Cedwyn is unfit to rule if Summer Court spies can break a prisoner out of one of the highest security cells so easily.”

Rose’s fear lessens, and I expect that irritation has probably taken its place. I don’t blame her. I’ve only been witness to the drama between Drystan’s parents for a few days, and already I wish they’d just fight to the death and get it over with.

Unfortunately, fire and ice are fairly evenly matched. I suspect any duel would either end with a draw, or Cedwyn’s death through foul play. Then Ashton would take the throne.

Speaking of… The prince remains uncomfortably close after the events of the day. Rose admitted that it was likely because Cedwyn has ordered him to offer her whatever she wants to rid him of the spirit tormenting him, but still, I dislike his presence.

He has an erratic energy that’s similar to the redcap’s but without the sunny disposition. My hands run anxiously over the tattoos on my wrists as I wait for him to do something—say something—but he’s silent as he watches Cedwyn round on the power-hungry female.

“Are you claiming to have some knowledge of this?” he demands. “Because if you had some way of preventing it and chose not to, I’ll gladly hold you as accountable as the rest.”

How in Danu’s name are those two mates? I can’t understand it.

Far from cowing her, his statement only seems to rile Hawkith up further.

“Granting them all a swift death is far too lenient. A true king of winter would’ve made an example of them.”

I doubt Rose agrees with her, and when our Nicnevin stands, her Guard shift closer.

“Enough,” she snaps. “What's done, is done. I want solutions, not squabbling.”

Both of them look at her with too little reverence for my taste. Evidently Wraith agrees, because he flashes his fangs.

“We have no idea how much his animal may have overheard while he was here,” Rose adds. “We’ll need to revise the war plans to account for that.”

That’s the part that scares me the most. Not only is my father out there again; he’s working for the enemy. Worse, I should’ve noticed that the rat was missing, or that his cuffs were fake. I know him. I know his tricks and how slippery he can be. Instead, I was too focused on Rose and the threat Ashton posed to notice Torrance escaping right under my nose until it was too late.

I barely managed to stop him from charming Rose.

He’s my burden to bear. He always has been. Some parents are there for their children, showering them with unconditional love. I’ve always known he wasn’t like that.

Even knowing how toxic he was, I still did everything to please him. I made excuses. Paid his debts and protected him. It wasn’t his fault; he was just with the wrong people. He was just addicted.

And the cost of that child-like willingness to forgive a parent for anything was centuries of imprisonment, and now it endangers my mate’s safety as well.

“A full scouting party has been sent to scour the mountains,” Cedwyn’s general pipes up when it becomes clear his king isn’t going to respond. “But with the storm rolling in and the amount of planning which clearly went into this, I doubt we’ll find anything.” Rose’s noise of frustration cuts me to the bone, and he hastens to continue. “The citadel watch is on high alert, just in case he hasn’t left.”

“If he’s found, kill him on sight.” I almost don’t realise I’ve spoken until everyone turns to look at me.

Rose’s violet eyes darken with sympathy until they’re a deep midnight purple, and her fear evaporates completely, giving me the boldness to continue.

“He’s a threat to the Nicnevin, and he’s already proven he’ll escape, given the chance. Death is the only option.”

Drystan is already nodding. “As much as I want him tried and executed publicly, I agree. It’s too risky. Set Lore on him. At least the redcap will make it hurt.”

My breath catches, the wounded child in me crying silently at the knowledge that it’s come to this. Approving my father’s death, knowing it will be painful.

Rose rounds on the dullahan, levelling him with a glare, but Hawkith is already there, interrupting.

“Excellent. Well, now that that’s settled, perhaps we can all retire for dinner. Nicnevin, has my son told you that I’ve arranged for us to share a meal? It’s not every day a female gains a daughter-by-mating, after all.”

The troll—the sole remaining survivor among the dead—dares to look up hopefully.

That’s his mistake. The movement draws Cedwyn’s attention, and the King’s frost-touched quicksilver blade takes his head. It rolls along the floor until it hits the foot of the dais, and Rose’s fear spikes until it takes my breath away.

Standing quickly, she heads straight for the toxic woman. “Yes, shall we go?”

Hawkith wastes no time linking her arm with the Nicnevin’s in a calculated display of unity that doesn’t go unnoticed by Cedwyn. The winter king catches Rose as she passes, leaning in to whisper something into her ear before Hawkith harshly yanks my mate away.

Wraith snarls again, and Rose looks back, giving us all a reassuring look, but I can’t take any comfort from it. Her fear might be lessened now that the executions are over, but in her haste to escape, I fear she’s put herself at the mercy of a fae who’s sizing her up like prey.

Hawkith’s rooms are darker than most in Calimnel. Cedwyn seems to have hidden his unwanted mate down in the bowels of the citadel, where the rooms are partly hewn from the rock of the mountain. There are fewer furs and less ice. It makes sense, given her fire magic, but as a result, the space has the atmosphere of a smoky dungeon.

I take the spot beside Rose at the large round table, ready to subtly resume tasting her food as soon as it’s served. So far, no one seems to have noticed the sips of drinks and tiny stolen bites of food Jaro and I have taken. I’m not sure the deception will hold up in a more intimate setting, but Drystan’s warnings about poison and the box full of nathairs in the closet weigh heavy on my mind.

Unseelie have no problem with underhanded trickery, and if Rose dies right now, she’ll land in the middle of Fomorian-occupied-Elfhame.

And Caed will die.

Not that I care much for the Fomorian, but she does. It’s written in every longing glance she sends his way when she thinks we aren’t looking. In quiet moments, watching them, I’ve begun to wonder if the reason he hasn’t earned my trust yet is because he hasn’t had the opportunity to.

If we left him alone with her, would he prove himself? I fear there’s only one way to find out. Yet still, I hesitate.

One of Hawkith’s servants shuts the door in the Fomorian’s face, and rather than objecting as perhaps I should, I turn my attention back to the deadly game before me.

Hawkith takes the seat directly across from Rose, leaving the others to fill in the gaps between us. I’m grateful when Drystan takes her other side, providing a buffer between our mate and his awful mother.

Now that there’s only the four of us around the table, the chilling feeling that accompanies Hawkith seems to intensify, until I may as well be staring down a giant spider who plans on devouring me, rather than the neatly presented vegetable starter.

The server pours the wine while I cast a glamour and surreptitiously help myself to a tiny bite of everything on Rose’s plate. Espen’s tongue sorts through the flavours, looking for a hint of anything that doesn’t belong. Many fae poisons are completely tasteless, but a nathair’s tongue is infinitely more sensitive, picking up what others might have missed.

At least in this, I can be useful.

“I can’t believe Cedwyn subjected us to such a boring display of fragile masculinity and poor leadership,” Hawkith complains. “He’s getting worse. Oh, I forgot to ask; I wished to ask a personal favour, in exchange for the warning I brought you.”

“A warning we didn’t need, and that no debt was demanded for.” Drystan raises a single brow. “The Nicnevin owes you nothing, Mother.”

“I merely want her to consider what you should already be focused on, yourself.” Hawkith swirls her wine, and at the reminder, I grab Rose’s crystal goblet and take a deep swig.

Only to still.

There’s something there…

“And what would that be?” Rose asks, taking a bite from her plate.

I gulp the rest of the wine before she can grab for the goblet, praying the contents aren’t meant to induce a painful death.

I could be wrong. It could simply be a strong vintage…

Just in case, I glamour the cup to give the illusion it’s still full as Rose takes the delicate stem between her fingers.

“An heir to the Winter Court, of course.” Hawkith shrugs. “When Cedwyn passes, one simply can’t fathom the throne falling to Ashton, and as Drystan is the last living heir…”

“Mother.” The dullahan’s eyes blaze dangerously.

“He needs to have a child, sooner rather than later.”

Rose has gone stock still; the vessel stopped halfway to her lips. “Having a child in the middle of the war is cruel,” she objects. “Not to mention, there’s no guarantee it would be Drystan’s, and there would be repercussions if the Nicnevin’s own son was the heir to a minor court.”

“I understand not wanting defective Froshtyn blood to dilute Danu’s line,” Hawkith continues, as if Rose hasn’t spoken. “Believe me, conceiving Drystan was enough of a trial. He has the misfortune to look so much like his father, which is a shame, really, but I’m sure with a glamour you could?—”

“This is not—” Drystan tries to talk over his mother as the candles around the room flare dangerously.

It’s hot in here, and that loss of power isn’t helping. I tug at the collar of my jacket, wondering how the temperature got so out of control so quickly.

Hawkith waves a hand to silence him. “Hush, child. The females are talking.”

Rose shakes her head, raises the glass to her lips, and tips it back. I have to give her credit; she doesn’t give away that it’s empty, even going so far as to fake a swallow.

My heartbeat does a little tha-thump at the way her throat bobs with the motion.

What will it look like as she swallows around my dick?

Wait, where did that thought come from?

“Well, we have time.” Rose is still trying to be diplomatic, despite how uncomfortable Hawkith is making her. “My fever just passed.”

Her fever. Just the mention of it has my cock aching. How many times can I force her to the edge and deny her when she’s so needy? Will she cry for me? Beg?

Ordinarily, those thoughts would make me bristle… now… Now they only serve to make me reckless.

My hand lands on her thigh, and I shudder at the contact.

“There are ways around that, Nicnevin.” Hawkith offers a patient smile. “With enough of the right herbs and potions, we females can master our own biology. And in the end, you wouldn’t even have to raise the child. I would gladly take him on. After all, outsiders wouldn’t be able to impart the traditions of our court onto the new king.”

My head is pounding, and my breaths are turning noticeably shallow.

With more effort than it should take, I direct a whisper of sound to Drystan.

“She put something in Rose’s wine. Glamour me.”

Amber eyes fix on me, concern barely hidden in their depths. Shit. He really needs to get control of his power. It’s too hot in here. My mouth is drier than the desert.

Whatever poison she used has every joint in my body aching, and the erection straining against my laces feels raw and swollen. I could’ve done without that particular symptom.

I woodenly raise my own fork to my lips, trying to ignore it.

Whatever this is, I can tough it out. Hopefully Rose won’t even realise how bad it is, as long as I don’t draw from her.

Sweat trickles down my neck, followed swiftly by the sensation of a glamour folding over me.