Chapter 4

GOLL

Magick crackled around me in a halo of power. I knew in that moment as I stared down at my father's severed head—his kingly eyes wide and glassy—that I was meant to take this throne. The gods sanctioned it with a surge of magick, giving me my rightful inheritance and my place as king.

But first, I must destroy my father's devoted warriors.

The four men I'd planted in the room had already swung their swords and killed half of my father's Culled. The courtiers were running for the door, but Soryn had done his job on the outside, killing the guards and bolting the door shut.

With ease that almost shocked me, I called up my magick. My bloody blade in one hand, I raised the other toward my father's second, Erlik, the one who I hated the most, who had personally thrown me into my cell below N?kt Mir years ago.

He was swinging his sword down on one of my allies.

" Etheline ," I whispered.

Fire surged from my palm like an arrow of flame across the room, hitting Erlik before his sword hit his target. He instantly burst into flame then fell to the floor in a pile of blackened bones and ash.

I did the same to the last of his Kel Klyss still standing and fighting, disintegrating the rest of my father's blood-bound and most faithful guard.

All that was left were the whimpering, crying courtiers, including the council members who held great power in their influence with our people.

I re-sheathed my long sword while my men surrounded me. I avoided even looking at the princess. Not yet.

Stepping over my father's corpse, I bent and took hold of one of his horns and lifted his head in the air. One of the females in my father's court fainted.

"I am Gollaya Verbane, son of Xakiel, rightful heir to the throne of Northgall," I proclaimed in a clear voice. "Pledge fealty now and you will be spared."

There was no hesitation, not even from the council members. Instantly, they fell to their knees. Dropping my father's head to my side, I marveled at how light it was in my hand, as if the weight of the king's head should be greater. It was rather enlightening to find that in death, he was of very little consequence.

"Open the door, Pullo," I commanded.

He rushed for the door and knocked four times swiftly then twice more with drawn out pauses, letting Soryn know that we'd accomplished our task.

Soryn pushed the door open and marched inside with a dozen of my warriors, all of their blades smeared with blue blood. Like my own. Deep satisfaction burrowed deep. After all of these years, I'd done it.

Soryns' gaze flicked to my father's body on the floor behind me, then to my hand. His mouth quirked with the faintest of smiles, then savage determination hardened his expression once more.

"The gate is blocked and guarded. My king."

I arched a brow at him. I wasn't king yet.

"Keep the courtiers locked in here."

"What about her?" He nodded to the princess behind me.

Finally, I looked at her. By the gods, she was radiant. A woman grown , Hava had said. That didn't proclaim nearly enough about the light fae female standing tall and proud before me, surrounded by her enemies.

She pressed herself back against a column and watched me with surprising calm, her gaze glancing from my father's headless corpse back to me. I stepped forward, unable to keep myself in place, lured by some deeper force. Her eyes widened, her focus dropped to my hand. I'd nearly forgotten.

Turning, I held out the head to Soryn. "Take care of this. I'll handle the princess."

He took the head by one of its horns.

"Then we sweep the dungeon," I added. "Drakmir will guard the forest for any guards trying to escape that way."

With a stiff nod, Soryn called into the corridor. A dozen more of my armed allies entered.

"Knock out Councilman Kellock," I whispered to Soryn. "He's a nekliam."

I doubted he was stupid enough to stand up against me now that my father was dead and I was first in line to the throne, but I wouldn't take any chances. A nekliam could reanimate any nearby corpses and command them to do his bidding, just as my father had. Seeing as there were quite a few on the floor of the throne room, it was best to knock him unconscious now to be safe.

With that, I dropped my sword and swiveled back toward the princess, watching with interest as her poise vanished when I stalked closer to her in three long strides.

Gods, I wasn't prepared for how fucking beautiful she'd become. Her wide violet eyes searched mine, her throat working nervously as she swallowed. Before she could open her mouth and say a word, I bent, scooped her over my shoulder, and strode for the door.

She instantly started struggling, whimpering "no" as she clawed ineffectively at my black armor.

"Pullo! Tierzel!" I called. "With me."

"Yes, Sire," they bellowed in unison, their bootsteps echoing behind me.

"Put me down," she cried, clawing uselessly at my armor.

Rather than head upstairs, I strode directly toward the door tucked inconspicuously below the staircase and opened it.

"Wait here," I told Pullo and Tierzel at the door.

The parlor was exactly as I remembered it. Small and windowless. A wall of books on one side with a giant black marble desk that my father never sat at. On the other side was a fireplace, currently cold and empty, in front of a comfortable set of chairs.

I heaved the princess back off my shoulder and plopped her in the chair. She swung at my face as I stood straight, but I caught her thin wrists.

Her pale skin was mottled pink, flushing her chest, neck, and cheeks. But she didn't say anything now. There was no need.

She'd fallen out of my father's captivity and into mine. I held her delicate wrists in my large grasp, realizing how utterly weak and helpless she actually was. I gave her a firm squeeze to remind her.

Then I leaned closer so that she could see it in my eyes. I owned her now. I shook my head and spoke one, weighty word.

"No."

She flinched, blinking quickly, forcing whatever tears had sprung back to their well. She clenched her jaw and glared at me with all the hatred in her heart.

Good. That would help her.

Straightening, I released her and marched out of the room. When I shut the door behind me, I spun to Pullo.

"Guard this door with your life. No one gets in. Do you understand me?"

Pullo clamped his jaw tight. He wanted to join the fight. I knew that he did, but he was one of my best warriors and someone I trusted.

I clamped my clawed hand on his shoulder, giving him a shake. "Tell me you understand your command, Pullo. Do not leave this door."

"We won't," said Tierzel, the only man closer to Pullo than me.

"With our lives," added Pullo.

I gave them a nod of approval and stormed toward the stairwell leading into the dungeon. Another party of warriors waited for me then followed in step behind me.

As we descended deeper into the underground, the noise of fighting grew distant and muffled. The labyrinth of corridors and cells that made up the dungeon was rather vast. When we came out onto the main floor, there was no one there.

"Seems the bone-keepers are already on the run," I said, unsheathing my black steel dagger at my waist. "Find and kill them all."

My father's dungeon guards were ensorcelled by a blood spell to obey only him. Now that he was dead, they'd fall into madness and become nothing more than mindless killing creatures. They had to be put down.

The warriors swept out in all directions in stealthy silence.

I descended another winding stone staircase into the part of the dungeon where I'd been held captive, where I hoped I might find an old friend still alive. It was a faint hope of mine since my own escape. I'd thought Keffa had been executed by my father, but Hava had been able to discover that as of a few months ago, he'd survived. It was another reason I had felt the urgency to act soon to take my father's throne.

But now, fear dug deep. What if I'd waited too long? Or what if Hava's source had been wrong and he'd been dead for years?

As I stepped out of the staircase into the lower dungeon, a blade swiped toward my head. I dodged and jabbed my dagger upward, embedding it through the bottom of the guard's chin, straight up into his skull with a crunch. Withdrawing the dagger, the guard fell dead to the floor. I wiped the flat of my blade on my trousers and moved on.

I made my way quietly down a familiar corridor and came out where the pit of wights were held for my father, awaiting to be called upon if he needed them. He'd been winning the war against Lumeria and had only used them on occasion when going against larger armies of the light fae. It was probable he planned to use them when he invaded Issos, a target his army had close in their sights.

But when I invaded Issos, I wouldn't use an army of wights. Nor would I use my power over flame. I had another plan altogether.

When I approached the deep pit where I'd listened to the wights groan and shriek and tap their skeletal fingers along the walls for years, all was silent. I hadn't expected to be overwhelmed with such a deep satisfaction at seeing the pile of bones and skulls unmoving in the pit.

Complete silence. I stared across the pit at the cell where I'd been kept, where my father had put me and warded the bars to keep me in. Then I smiled at the bent bars that I'd forced open when my magick had returned to me in an avalanche when I'd seen a small moon fae girl being tossed into the pit.

She'd been the catalyst for my magick to surge and return to me. And her capture again had been the spark to set my plan in motion to finally kill my father. Refusing to contemplate that for long, I continued down another corridor leading off of the pit.

At the very end, I sensed life. A faint stirring like someone sliding a bare foot on the stone floor drew me deeper. No torches burned here. Holding my blade in one hand, I lifted a torch from its holder on the sconce on the wall and whispered, " Etheline ." A flame instantly ignited the blue coal set at the tip.

Nothing but stillness in the cell before me. I thought the sound must have been my imagination until I finally reached the barred doors and stirred my blue flame higher, burning brighter and casting flickering light into the dank chamber.

On the floor, there sat a skeleton on one side, the wrist still bound in chains to the wall, the two-horned skull of its unfortunate owner had rolled away from the body as the flesh rotted away. But on the other side of the cell, there was movement.

The wraith fae raised an arm, covered in tattered, soiled clothing, squinting at the light. One of his horns was broken and one of his eyes had been gouged out, a large scar trailed over the puckered flesh of his socket and down his face.

"Keffa?" My voice was hoarse with emotion as I wondered if the thin, pale gray fae peering up at me with one orange eye could possibly be my former mentor and dearest friend from so long ago.

"By the gods," came his deep raspy voice, "is that you, my boy?"

"It's me, Keffa," I answered, joy and desperate relief making me move quickly.

I set the torch in the sconce beside the door and found the keys on the opposite wall. I quickly unlocked the door and pushed open the heavy, creaking panel. He hadn't moved from the floor as I approached, extending his hand for me to help him up.

I hauled him carefully to his feet, finally recognizing the proud lines of my friend's face. His features had sharpened from starvation during his incarceration. I expected to be scorned for having taken so long, for leaving him to rot in this dismal hell. I even expected madness to shine back at me from the depths of his one good eye. What I did not expect was the wide smile as he gripped both my shoulders or the words he spoke.

"You did it, didn't you? You killed him."

"I did, Keffa. Your Vayla was right."

His eye slipped closed. "Then she did not die in vain."

"No, my friend. She did not."

He opened his eye, and it seemed to shine even brighter here in the dark, reminding me of the intelligent fae who'd taught me so much in my youth.

His expression was tight and grave, his voice gruff as he said, "Then let us begin the work undone. Let's put you on your throne, Gollaya."