Chapter 28

Nylren

When we step back into the well-lit and heavily-decorated corridors of the royal palace, Father pauses.

“Join me for dinner, General,” Father says, his words more command than request.

“The honor would be mine, your Majesty.”

I barely restrain the urge to roll my eyes at the transparent posturing unfolding before me. Clearly, Calen has mastered the dance between rulers and subjects, understanding when to duck and weave or simply mirror steps.

Moment later, they stride in tandem into one of the dining rooms as I trail behind, my knuckles whitening in my closed fist.

Servants scurry ahead of us to shake out tapestries, polish silver, and arrange chalices in a well-rehearsed ritual. Not one dares meet their sovereign’s eye, focusing only on preparations.

The restrained dance between cautious allies and proud ruler continues on as the general matches Father’s intricate steps fluidly and takes a seat.

Our trio now assembled around the polished table, an orchestra of servants presents dish after elaborate dish, roasted pheasant garnished with currants, venison pie dripping juices that scent the air with game and cloves, and various arrangements of winter vegetables.

Father eyes the spread, visibly weighing satisfaction. His mood is known to shift based on quality of the meal or accuracy of the preparations. Even Calen cannot restrain his admiration, his eyes darting between my father and the table befitting the highest nobility.

Silverware whispers over fine porcelain as Father slices into the pheasant, savoring a mouthful dramatically before nodding approval, and servants remaining in the room exhale in discreet relief.

“You must have fascinating stories, General, from years commanding armies,” Father remarks before sampling the venison.

Calen dabs his lips, buying a moment’s thought before answering.

“Too many to recount them all, and I’m sure far too boring for your table, your Majesty.” The General stabs at a piece of meat with his fork. “I must say, Averion pales in comparison to Nyths. The work you’ve done here is impressive.”

“I will have to visit soon,” Father answers.

“Of course, your Majesty. Once we’re done with the vermin in Ryrza and Brimora, your realm will extend as far as the eye can see.”

“Right to business, I see?”

“I am a pragmatic, your Majesty.”

“Very well, then. What of the leaders of the Fae factions in Lóna?”

“I’ve been assured of their cooperation. They understand that uniting under your banner will bring nothing but success and riches.”

“We’ll discuss commercial routes and tax treaties in due time.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

I spend the rest of the meal scrutinizing every word from Calen’s mouth, every change in his facial expression, what he chooses to eat, until the main courses are removed.

“When will you depart?” Father asks as cakes and pies are set before us.

“By morning, with your permission. I’m eager to serve you and prove my loyalty.”

“Hm.” Father finishes chewing.

“I’ve always been a man of action over words.” Calen shoots me a wink, but I remain perfectly stoic.

“We would expect nothing else from the traitor of Lóna,” I retort.

“One of many names I’ve been called.” Calen shrugs my comment off.

My lips remain sealed for the rest of the course. Finally, servants walk in to remove desserts and Calen clears his throat.

“Your Majesty, with your permission, I would like to make a brief stop by the dungeons before I go.” Father tilts his head, the only sign of his surprise. “I want to look that joke of a High Lord in the eyes one last time.”

A calculating smile appears on Father’s face, and I bite back the words forming on my tongue.

“But of course. Guards, escort him.”

Father always loved playing games, but I’m afraid this time he won’t win.

Calen stands and bows deeply before the King.

“Your Majesty.”

Turning to me, he inclines his head.

“Your Highness.”

Calen leaves the room, leaving me alone with my tormentor, a million questions burning my lips.

Father is still cleaning his plate, savoring a piece of orange cake as I wait patiently.

“Out with it.”

His harsh tone pierces me through the bone and I open my mouth.

“I do not trust him.”

“Nor do I, but wouldn’t life be dull without these games?”

“I’m merely trying to—“

“Do you think me an imbecile, boy?” I wince as Father cuts me off. “Do you think all this could have been achieved without risk?”

“Of course not, Father.”

I lower my head, letting humiliation wash over me until my resolve strengthens. He’s making a mistake, a mistake I wouldn’t make were I the one ruling Zetrea.

“Whatever the outcome, I will win. If Calen is lying, after serving me his strongest warriors on a silver platter for me to crush them, he will offer the perfect opportunity to bring our forces across seas. If not, he shall do my dirty work for me. Either way, Lóna is mine.”

I glance towards him, only to find him staring at the empty space next to him.

My footfalls vanish into the woven depths of the rugs adorning the floors of the palace as I make my way to my chambers.

Mere feet from my room, my head snaps to the side at the faintest click echoing from somewhere down the corridor, the sound no louder than the latch of a door lock falling back in its place.

I pause, straining to catch another whisper of movement in the ample silence enrobing the palace halls.

Curiosity stirs in my gut and I enter my bedroom, making no effort to muffle the sound of the door closing behind me.

In a few steps, I reach the tapestry lining the wall next to the intricate glass panel offering a high view of the courtyard. Lifting its corners, I slip through the hidden passageway behind it without a sound.

I steal into musty darkness, letting the heavy draperies fall back into place. Cool drafts swirl up from winding corridors as I vanish in shadow and sneak through narrow pathways built inside the walls themselves.

My fingertips trace along lichen-slicked stone until the faint outline of steep stairs takes shape in the gloom. Even in complete darkness, I know these corridors like the back of my hand. For years, this forgotten stairwell has granted me discreet access to all levels of the palace, including the servant’s quarters.

I push on, becoming one with the walls and shadows, a phantom visitor of the palace.

Dust fills my throat despite my countless prowls through these passages, but I focus on the stone beneath my palm.

Pressing deep inside this overlooked labyrinth, I pause when my hand finds the latch of a concealed wooden door.

I settle vigilantly into this spy nest that likely whispered a thousand secrets to others before me, and my fingers trail on the panel until I find what I seek.

Calming my racing heart with a deep breath, I bring my face an inch from the door and peek through the hole in the panel.

Perhaps tonight, this place will reveal one more secret, if fortune blesses this incursion.

My vision adjusts once I blink away the dust twirling in the stale air of the narrow passage and I still when a silhouette comes into view on the other side.

Our guest is walking to a double bed weighed down by a multitude of pillows, each a different hue of emerald and obsidian. Amrynn’s long blond hair cascades over her shoulders as she undoes the intricate hairdo at the back of her head and strips away her crimson dress.

Goosebumps flare over her arms as the silky fabric of a night robe caresses her skin, and her head snaps to the corner of the room I’m lurking behind.

Blood pumps loudly in my ears, but I remain frozen in place, not daring to breath or blink. A framed landscape painting covers the wall and the hole in its canvas is undetectable to a Fae’s eyes, but I’m in no habit of tempting fate.

Amrynn’s grey eyes dart around the room like a snake searching for a rodent to sink its fangs into for what feels like eternity before her shoulders relax.

Lifting the hem of her dress, now pooled on the floor, she pulls a thin blade from the fabric and tucks it beneath her pillow.

Even when Amrynn has fallen asleep, a hand gripping the knife beneath her head and her chest rising regularly, I remain behind the peephole a while longer.

The threads of the future remain tangled, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the Lady of the Moon Fae has loyalty for no one but herself. Her allegiance means nothing, and I don’t plan on letting anyone get the better of me.

So, I watch as Amrynn’s regular breathing fills the room.

I watch as dust settles around me, and I become the ghost of Nyths until my vision blurs and dark spots form in the corner of my eyes.

I watch as the scene before me transforms and a body takes shape at my feet. With lifeless viridian eyes and a mouth similar to mine, crimson pools beneath the corpse, the thick liquid spilling over the hardwood floors, permeating each crack in the boards, tracing a path towards me until the warm blood reaches my feet.

With Father’s cooling body mere feet away, my fingers fold into my palms, gripping metal. When I uncurl my fingers, a gold medallion sits in my palm.

My burning eyes blink away the vision and a grin forms on my face. The key to my freedom is within reach.

It’s well past midnight when I retreat to my chamber, a thousand scenarios running wild in my mind.

Father’s games could cost us everything, but I will not be another chess piece on his board or Amrynn’s. This is my game now.