26. Veyka

The terrestrials' gasps and screams of surprise were as good as any dessert or crusty bread. Nearly as good as an orgasm.

They fell back from where Cyara and I appeared in the center of the great hall, giving us a wide berth. The males' eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as they got a good look at my outfit. Many of the females, as well. More than one set of eyes began to glow with desire, the curse of our passionate race.

Good. If they were busy lusting after me, they'd be distracted from plotting.

Even Elayne and Pant had fallen back, the latter's hand on the sword at his waist. Arran's mother was a second from shifting. I'd spent enough time with Arran and Gwen to recognize the signs—the clenched fists, the feral gleam in the eyes, the curve of the body that was not fae at all. Pure beast.

A low growl rumbled in my mind.

I nearly fell over.

Impossible.

None of them noticed; too busy gaping.

It was an aching memory that threatened to derail my resolve. I shoved it down. Later, I promised myself. An hour, maybe two. Then I could sleep and dream of him.

Elayne regained herself first, gliding around the long table situated at the head of the hall. "Your Majesty, we did not expect you so—"

"So soon? So suddenly? So lovely, considering the state I arrived in?" I cut in, flashing a long leg as I walked to meet her.

"So comfortable as to appear among us without a formal announcement," Elayne said smoothly, taking my hands and squeezing. A mother-in-law greeting her son's wife, rather than a subject meeting her queen. An interesting way to play it. "But you do indeed live up to the rumors."

"You shall have to tell me which ones." I winked for everyone to see.

Irreverence—I could play that. It was a cousin to apathy, which I'd worn so well for so many months after Arthur's death. No amount of jesting or wicked laughs could melt the ice in my heart. Only one thing—one male—could achieve that.

The great hall had been transformed in the time we'd been upstairs. The tables that had occupied the space were now lined up against the walls, creating at wide rectangle in the middle. They were draped with thick embroidered tablecloths, sumptuous golden place settings, endless bottles of wine down the middle of each in lieu of a centerpiece.

Nothing to compare to the opulence of Baylaur, but it was wealth all the same. The terrestrial fae lining the walls, standing behind each chair, reeked of it. Standing as they stared at me. Every pair of eyes, trained and waiting.

They would not sit until I did, I guessed.

I skimmed my gaze over all of them, trying to detect who was fauna or flora gifted among them. I failed, but flashed a small, knowing smile anyway before I gave my attention back to Elayne.

"I was under the impression that you did not stand on ceremony in the terrestrial kingdom," I said.

"You are correct, of course." She waved her hand, and a small army of servants appeared. "Begin."

There was a flurry of action and sound, as it all did, fully, begin.

Trays heaped with food appeared balanced on servants' shoulders. Different from the fare in the elemental kingdom, but no less appealing. Thick cuts of meat, seared crisp on the outside, crusted with nuts, bathed in a thick wine sauce that had me licking my lips. There were vegetables I did not recognize, roasted whole and stuffed with herbs and grains.

I willed my stomach to silence. It did not obey. A tick in Elayne's cheek was the only sign she'd heard it.

Like mother like son.

Arran's cheek did just that when he was trying to keep something in.

My heart threatened to break. I reached for a bottle of wine. Cyara must have sensed something was wrong. She swooped in, filling my glass before I could reveal my shaking hand.

I took one long gulp. Another. It wasn't nearly sharp enough—not like the aural that had drowned my pain after Arthur's death.

Arran is not dead.

Arran is healing in Avalon.

Arran is safe with Isolde.

I drained the goblet. Lifted it in mock salute to the crowd, many still watching me, and then held it out for Cyara to refill. She did, but the warning in her aquamarine eyes was clear.

I slowed to a sip, rather than a gulp. Then a trickle on my tongue. When I lowered the glass back to the tablecloth, my hand was steady.

Ice, my ass. I was a sheet of ice above a frigid sea, one good knock away from shattering.

But I did not let myself look at Elayne to judge her reaction, to try to read what she'd seen in my face. Instead, I stared at the spectacle unfolding in the center of the hall.

It was not just the meal that she'd signaled—but the entertainment as well.

A huge cage had appeared, borne in by four males with muscles popping against their wool tunics. A beast of nightmares waited inside.

If the dank scent coming off of it hadn't been enough, the massive claws made it clear that whatever it was, it came from the depths of the lake outside of Eilean Gayl's walls. My first thought was of the scorpions that lurked in the mountains surrounding the Effren Valley. Those were intimidating enough—tails as long as my arm, with a stinger that would render an immortal unconscious long enough for the venom to kill. But this creature of the deep was bigger than Arran, even though it stood no more than three feet tall. A thick shell covered the incredible width of its body, its claws the size of my entire torso. The pointed spikes that covered the thick umber shell promised to impale anyone who got too close in any futile attempt to pierce the armor.

But that was precisely what was about to happen, I realized. Even as the lake beast thrashed against the metal bounds of the cage, the crowd's attention shifted to a slender female on the other side of the empty rectangle. An arena. For the battle about to begin.

A parade of servants delivered platter after platter of food, but no one noticed. Not as that impossibly small female shifted, a giant serpent appearing in her stead.

The door of the cage lifted. The serpent did not waste a second before swiping, fangs the size of my daggers flashing.

My mate had described the communal meals, the brawls that often broke out, but Arran had not warned me about this. I recognized it for what it was—a test. Fifty terrestrials, servants, lords, guards, watched to see how I would react in the face of this brutality.

And maybe if I had not been tortured for twenty years, or had not lived through the massacre of Baylaur and the Battle of Avalon, maybe my stomach would have turned at the sight of the shifter and the beast ripping each other to shreds.

Instead, I sat down and helped myself to a bowl of candied nuts. I popped one into my mouth, the thick toffee sticking in my teeth as the serpent wrapped herself around the creature's claws—and lost the end of her tail for her trouble.

Blood spewed.

I drank my wine.

Whether my lack of reaction disappointed or impressed them, the terrestrials started claiming seats for themselves. I watched idly, dragging a finger around the rim of my wineglass, trying to detect if there was an order or hierarchy to the positions they took.

They seemed most interested in drinking and watching the spectacle.

"Is this exhibition on my behalf, or is this your usual nightly entertainment?" I asked my hosts. Elayne had taken the seat directly to my left, Cyara on my right. Pant was on the other side of his wife. They were all watching me, rather than the brawl happening before us.

I would make sure I gave a performance worth watching.

"The fuath has been terrorizing the village on the other side of the lake for some time. It happened to be captured this morning," Elayne said smoothly.

Not an answer to my question.

I helped myself to the food sitting untouched before us. We had been travelling for months; I was not about to let a little blood dissuade me from a real meal. "And the fauna-gifted female?"

"The one who caught the beast," Elayne explained, serving herself as well. "From a low-born family in the village. She hopes to win a place here at Eilean Gayl by defeating it."

That fit with my understanding of the terrestrial kingdom. To be born into a family of power was a start, but if you did not exhibit strength of your own, you would never rise. Never gain true standing. Strength mattered here above all else.

The serpent leapt from a coil, aiming for the tiny strip of exposed flesh where the fuath's claws met its body. She missed. She was slowing.

"My gold is on the fuath," Pant interjected, leaning around his wife.

They were a startling pair. Elegant, composed Elayne and brash, quick-talking Pant. Not at all what I had expected from Arran's parents. Not what I'd hoped. No, it was too soon to make that judgment.

Elayne delicately cut a slice of meat, chewing it fully before speaking again. "What sort of entertainment is favored in Baylaur?"

My finger paused its tracing. "I like to watch the acolytes dance."

Cyara snorted into her wineglass.

Elayne cut her a look , then opened her mouth to say more. But I spared her the explanation. "Is your priestess here as infuriating as the one in my own court?"

It was all mine, I remembered. Eilean Gayl, Wolf Bay, Baylaur. My court. I could take this ancient castle, Arran's birthright, as a private holiday residence and kick every occupant into the frigid lake outside.

And I would pay the consequences.

Torn allegiances. Uprising. Coup attempts. I'd dealt with enough of that shit already.

But the power thrumming in my veins, the blades at my hips, they begged me to do it. To make myself a queen of blood, not just in name.

"They are mostly docile, since the Great War," Elayne said. "They steep themselves in prophecies and lore, and only come out to bother us at festival time."

Prophecies and lore. I'd had enough of that nonsense as well. But if the priestess here was a student of history, if she studied the prophecies of old… maybe she would know something about the succubus, even if it was called by a different name. Maybe she would have theories about the missing Ethereal queen. If Parys was right, and the Ethereal and Void Prophecies were really one, then that was the only missing piece.

Pant propped one elbow on the table, ripping into a leg of lamb with his teeth. "Are you so devout yourself, Majesty? Arran was only ever interested in the festivals that involved fucking." He punctuated his statement with a broad wink.

Elayne did not tense at his brazen implication. She did not even roll her eyes—as if she was used to it by now. A theory began to form in my mind as I sipped my wine and lifted an imperious eyebrow at the Lord of Eilean Gayl.

"Hardly," I said. "My interests are well aligned with my mate's."

Elayne did stiffen then, at that word. Mate. A fairytale, a myth. An inexplicable, unforeseen link between her beloved son and me.

Let them remember—he may be their son, their heir. Even their king. But he was my mate. And if they did not understand what that meant, I did. If Arran returned—when he returned—they would learn as well.

Pant could make his crass jokes to try and unbalance me. Elayne would let him, slipping in her perfectly timed, polite questions. A cleverly orchestrated partnership. But nothing compared to the twisted threads of the elemental court where I'd been raised. Nearly murdered.

Elayne refilled my wine herself. "We were shocked to hear of your mating," she said. "And pleased."

Was she trying to get me inebriated so my mask would slip? It would take more than three glasses of wine.

I took a deep drink and smiled, letting just a hint of wickedness show. "Weren't we all."

Ask about my power.

It was the next logical question. She'd even implied it. Shocked to hear about your mating—and the mysterious explosion of power that had poured from me. I'd appeared from nothingness into the middle of the hall. Every terrestrial in this castle was wondering about my power and what it meant.

But Elayne held her silence.

"Arran always was a protective bastard," Pant chortled, rubbing his finger and thumb over the close-cropped beard the covered his chin. Such an irreverent way of referring to the protective instincts that governed Arran's every action. That had almost torn us apart. Did they truly not know him? Or were they betting that I didn't?

"We doubted he'd ever marry," the lord continued. "Let alone take a mate, only to let her go running across the kingdom without him."

Well-played.

So masterful, it was almost worthy of an elemental. They'd been building to this since the beginning of the conversation. Every word chosen to get to this question—where was Arran?

Like hell was I going to tell them the truth. I needed to rally the terrestrial kingdom to push back the succubus. Trying to explain that I'd nearly killed their King was more than a mistake. It was gambling with my own life as well.

Even if these were Arran's parents.

Even if this castle felt like home. A place I belonged, when all I'd had were gilded cages.

Being myself here was dangerous. Especially without Arran to guard my back.

"The King and I were forced to separate temporarily," I said smoothly. A bit of creamed potatoes. "We are united in mind and purpose." A bite of sweet glazed carrot.

A crash drew our eyes back to the fight in front of us. The terrestrial had wrapped her powerful body around one of the fuath's claws and was attempting to squeeze it off with the ever-constricting pressure of her coils. It wasn't going to work.

I kept my eyes on the spectacle as I spoke, underlaying the boredom with command. "I wish to inspect the amorite mines. I am given to believe they are nearby?"

Elayne blinked. At her side, Pant sank back in his chair, huffing out a chuckle that was half sigh.

"Nearness is relative, I suppose," Elayne said, brow creasing. "They lay to the west, where the Split Sea yields to the Northern Way." She wanted to ask why I was interested in them. I had not decided yet what I would tell her. When—because the eventuality of the succubus was inevitable.

Eyes still fixed, I withdrew the dagger from the jeweled scabbard on my hip. "How many days' journey?"

Pant shifted in his seat. To make the sword that hung at his side easier to grasp, I'd imagine. It was treason to pull it on his queen, but Arran had told me of the love between his mother and father. I knew firsthand how that particular emotion did not play by the rules.

Meanwhile, Elayne lifted both of her hands to the tabletop and placed them palm-up. Showing she was unarmed. A gesture of submission. "It would depend whether you travel alone or with your human guests."

"Prisoners," I corrected. "Would you like to hear how I acquired them?"

An elegantly inclined head.

I stroked my thumb over the pommel, tracing the familiar grooves of the wolf carved there. Another piece of the puzzle that I had not yet unraveled—Arthur had gifted me daggers carved with white wolves… only for me to mate a terrestrial male whose beast form matched my prized blades.

No time for mulling over Arthur.

Or Arran.

Everyone I love suffers.

Find the ice. Bathe in it. Let it seep into your soul.

"One of them slid a knife into my golden knight's back," I said, my voice cold. "The other used her feeble magic to lure me into the clutches of my lifelong enemy."

No one moved. Not even a shuffle of Cyara's wings.

"And yet you keep them alive," Elayne said softly.

The battle had reached its zenith. Both serpent and fuath were bloodied. The former had gotten in a few jabs into the tender flesh that was mostly protected by the fuath's shell, but not enough to inflict fatal damage. The serpent was in worse shape—missing her tapered tail, green and black scales awash with blood that did not seem to clot. Some strange magic of the fuath, no doubt.

But there was still plenty of fight left in the serpent's dark eyes. Wrath, and a desire to win that went beyond the sentience in the monster she faced.

I already knew how it would end.

I pricked my finger with the tip of the dagger. Lifted it to my mouth. Painted my lips with my own blood. "The King taught me many things about punishing one's enemies."

They scented it. Elongated canines emerged, so much more prominent in the terrestrials, revealed as their lips pulled back and their noses lifted to trace the scent on the air. Primal power. That was what they could scent in my blood.

The tick in Elayne's cheek moved furiously. Enough, she pretended to tuck back an invisible hair to cover the tell.

I doubted the scent of my power was what unnerved her. No, it was Arran—his blood had twined with mine at the Joining. Even now, it ran through my veins. Sat on my lips, red and vibrant and with a power all its own.

"Yule is only a few days away. After, we will send you with an escort to the mines," Elayne said. To her credit, the strain was barely noticeable.

"After we've recovered from the celebrations," Pant chuckled, clapping his wife on the shoulder, attempting to lighten the moment.

I drained my third glass of wine.

"I look forward to it." Punishment, Yule, the mines. Let them sort out what I meant.

I leaned back in my chair and watched with mild interest as the fuath ate what remained of the terrestrial serpent.