Chapter 3

UNA

The room was warm, but I still shivered. Sometime in the night, the blizzard had died. And with it, an impending doom settled over me. I had hardly slept since I'd been imprisoned in this room several days ago.

In the fireplace, they burned blue coal—a heat source quarried in their mountains. It gave off a pale luminescent blue light. It should've given me comfort, reminding me of the moonlit temple in my home of Valla Lokkyr. It did not. There was a solemn coldness to the light, casting its hue across the luxurious chamber.

When a servant had brought warm tea at dawn, she'd ordered me to change into the gown I now wore since I'd be presented at court today. Someone had crudely cut openings for my wings in the back since the gown was apparently made for a wingless dark fae.

Though the single window in this room was boarded shut, I could see through the cracks. The gray skies brightened as the morning waned.

The first few days here, I'd remained in the practical blue gown I'd been captured in. It was soiled with drops of blood from Min and filth from the journey. I'd allowed myself those days to mourn and grieve what I'd lost, but I also understood that being presented at court would mean that I'd face my people's greatest enemy—King Xakiel, the Demon King of Northgall.

I had to shed my mourning shroud to face him. The dress I'd been given to wear wasn't obscene in any way, other than the fact that it was pearlescent white. I wasn't a fool. I understood what was happening. It was the color of innocence and purity and moon fae royalty.

King Xakiel wanted me dressed in pristine white, like the moon fae princess I was, to show his court he had captured the one who'd started the war in the first place. It was my capture and torture that had compelled my father to act so many years ago.

Here I was again in this hellish place, now a tool in the Demon King's quest to force my people to surrender. But I wouldn't go to him defeated and terrified. I'd swallow my fear and behave according to my station, no matter what he planned to do to me.

Still, I bit my lip, worrying over what Baelynn must be going through, not knowing where I was and fearing the worst. At least my father was bedridden and barely lucid. Small blessings for his illness now.

The bolt on the outside of the door clicked, and the door opened. A tall wraith fae wearing the black cloak of the guards stepped inside. He wasn't one of the wraith fae who'd abducted me. Thankfully, I hadn't seen anyone but maidservants since I'd been here. This warrior wore the black hood up over the horns that curled back along his head.

"Princess Una," he said with gravity. "Come with us."

I wondered briefly if this would be the march to my death, my pulse thumping in my throat. As I promised myself, I held my head high and walked straight-backed through the open door. There were three others, all hooded, waiting to escort me. One of them stepped beside me on my left—taller than the others—but he didn't look at me or say a word.

The other one who'd opened my chamber door took his place on my right and moved forward. We made our solemn march through the black-walled castle.

After my capture, I'd become morbidly fascinated with the dark fae and their royal castle N?kt Mir. It was built on top of Vixet Krone, the former volcano that was the center of their realm. The castle's walls were carved from volcanic glass. The last time I was here in the dank, ghastly dungeon, I imagined that the upper palace must've been a dark, depressing place.

I was wrong.

The torchlight glittered and sparkled on the walls. There were ornate tapestries, silvery rugs, beautiful carvings and sculptures depicting their god Vix, kings, and lovely maidens at every turn. I found it more disheartening that the royal palace was filled with dark beauty and sophistication. For if that were so, how could their king be so heartless and cruel? The king I was about to finally meet.

I focused on my breathing, trying to remain calm as the guards marched me through two open double doors into a high-domed room. It was circular with tall pillars and lovely architecture, but it was the audience that held me riveted.

The guards around me stopped in the middle beneath the high dome. Surrounding us in a wide circle was obviously his court. Beyond a fleeting glance to discover they were ornately dressed and bejeweled as the noble four-horned wraith fae would be, I kept my gaze forward.

Standing in two rows at attention and facing each other all the way to the throne were the king's elite guard, Kel Klyss. The Culled was what the wraith king's guard was called in our language. They were carefully selected and bound to their king through some sort of mysterious dark rite none of the scholars I'd asked could tell me.

The Kel Klyss were indeed all that my books had described. These dark fae didn't look like the deformed creatures who'd held me in captivity so many years ago. They appeared much worse—fearsome, formidable, and cunning.

They were covered in black, steel armor that formed to their seven-foot-plus frames. The traditional wraith fae weapon—a curved sword forged here in their homeland—was strapped to their sides, hanging down the length of their thick thighs, the sharpened tip reaching past their knees.

Most of the warriors had two horns, but a few had four—all of them curving backward around their heads—with silver guards around the base of each horn, like rings on a finger. For decoration or for strength to use their horns as weapons in battle, I wasn't sure.

Their dark hair was worn loose except for one who'd shaved the sides, leaving a long, braided tail down his back. Some wore gold jewelry woven into smaller braids along their temples. Gold was as revered everywhere as the black steel mined in Northgall.

Their skin was varying shades of gray, some pale as storm clouds, others as dark as the slate quarried out of Vixet Krone. Their eyes ranged in hues of yellow, orange, and red, though not one pair had landed on me.

Though their clawed hands hung loosely at their sides and their closed mouths hid their canine teeth, there was no mistaking we were in the presence of powerful dark fae. Demon magick hummed thick in the air.

All dark fae were descended of the demon god Vix and appeared in various likenesses of him. Just as the light fae bore the likeness of our gods of the heavens and the sea. It was one thing to be told of them, to see portraits and sketches, but it was another to see them in the flesh.

Movement at the head of the room in a dome of shadow caught my gaze. Then the creature who stepped down from his throne stole my breath. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from making any noise at all, for the sight of their king struck me with terrible fear.

He was a behemoth, dressed in black hide trousers, and that was all. His forehead and chest were covered in runes, like most wraith fae nobles. Only he had more. His four black horns curled over his skull then swept up to sharp points, the two larger ones with wide bands of gold at the base. The smaller horns were encased entirely in gold, serving as his crown.

But his appearance wasn't what frightened me most. It was the sinister grin he wore and his expression of malicious intent as he stalked closer. The courtiers whispered. King Xakiel's boots echoed in the chamber as he walked down the tunnel of his wraith warriors.

A jolt of magick hummed from my left. I glanced at the guard, but his head remained bowed in deference to his approaching king.

The Demon King lived up to all my horrifying expectations as he came to a stop before me. His ice-blue eyes with pupils slit like a serpent's raked me with calculating interest. I wondered why his were different than most wraith fae, recalling that I'd seen similar eyes before.

"Welcome to N?kt Mir, Princess Tiarrialuna."

He didn't bow his head in any semblance of propriety. So neither did I. And I wasn't about to be ingratiating for this greeting when everyone in this room knew that I'd been dragged here by force after his warriors murdered my dearest friend and an innocent Issosian.

"Have you sent terms to Issos yet?" I asked.

His smile widened, revealing his sharp canines.

"A woman with spirit. You'll need it."

Some courtiers tittered. Acid burned in my belly that they found this vile display so entertaining.

"Have you?" I asked more forcefully.

Not only did I want my brother to know that I was at least alive, but I needed to know how long my torture would last this time in N?kt Mir.

The king's smile vanished. "Careful, Princess."

"That is why I'm here, am I not?" I asked, ignoring his warning. "To force Issos to surrender?"

He tilted his head, examining me as if I was an enticing curiosity.

"Of course, it is," he admitted evenly, then added with bite, "my lady."

More laughter circled the room from our audience, except from the warriors who remained alert, poised, and silent.

I gulped hard when the king took a step closer, forcing me to crane my neck to meet his gaze.

"But perhaps I won't give terms at all for your return." His gaze trailed down my throat and lower. "Perhaps I'll still march on Issos, crush your brother's armies, behead your father, and keep you as my own personal war prize."

He stared into my eyes with cold intent. It was a miracle I was able to keep myself upright.

"If you submit and serve me well," he began suggestively, "I may even let you go back to Issos."

He lifted his arms and turned toward the courtiers. "What do you say, lords and ladies of Northgall?"

The sudden uproar of shouted approval and applause made me flinch, my knees going weak.

"How long should the princess serve me to pay for her father's mistake in starting this war?"

A male wraith fae somewhere behind me called out, "The war has lasted almost five years, my king."

"Ah, so it has." He turned his fierce attention back on me, stepping close.

I dropped my gaze to the stone floor, my courage flagging.

"You will stay in my keeping," he declared roughly. "You will serve me obediently for five years. And then I'll consider whether you deserve to return to your home. It's much better than my alternative plans. I was going to send you back to your father in pieces. Starting with these lovely black wings."

He caressed my left wing over my shoulder. I flinched but remained in place. He chuckled.

"We'll start," he growled fiercely, "with you dropping to your knees and thanking your new king for his mercy."

Light laughter echoed through the hall, while my entire body trembled with both fear and rage. Strangely, it was his last demand that sparked a hot flame in my heart.

It wasn't the threat of abuse or violation of my body that had ignited fresh anger inside me, but the demand that I should kneel before him like his slave and actually thank him for it.

I lifted my gaze, voice quivering as I replied, "I will never kneel at your feet. You are not my king."

His lips curled back in a sneer as he reached for me. Suddenly, a hand shot out from the guard on my left. With a forceful shove, the guard pushed King Xakiel who stumbled back and stared in shock at his warrior.

The guard removed his hood, then raised his long, curved sword gripped in both hands.

I gasped, recognizing his face at once. He stepped between me and the king who finally found his voice.

"Gollaya."

"Hello, Father." His deep timbre was steady and sure and deadly. "Vayla was right."

Then he swung his sword with swift precision and force, slicing through the throat of King Xakiel. Blue blood sprayed, and courtiers screamed, but I stood there in shock, watching the king's head topple to the stone floor.