CHAPTER ONE
Every young woman dreams of wearing a crown.
Well, I never held such a frivolous desire, but I’ve finally come to understand the appeal. Not so much the crown itself but what comes with it. Influence. Power. Responsibility. A king at my side.
For me, it’s not just any king.
It’s a mate I care for, one who ignites my anger as often as he sparks my desire. And I would have been his queen.
Would have been being the operative phrase here, as that is now completely and utterly wrecked.
A hollow ringing reverberates in my ears as I stand in the dining room at Bircharbor Palace, eyes unfocused as I rock on my feet. An explosion has come and gone, one of several that have occurred this hour, but this time I don’t react. It isn’t that I’ve grown used to the work the fae soldiers are doing on the beach below the palace, sealing the coral caves with detrimental blasts of explosives. It’s more that I’m too numb to care. Too shocked to do anything but stand here wishing the last minute of my life could be reversed.
A minute ago, Aspen was in my arms.
A minute ago, we still had plans to get married.
A minute ago, our alliance would have protected both the humans and fae from certain doom.
But now…
“We’re going to war.” It’s my voice that utters the words, but it sounds distant, strange.
King Aspen and Ambassador Foxglove stand before me, but I can’t bring them into focus. My eyes glaze over, the dining room shrinking until it’s nothing more than a pinprick of light. The summer heat wafting in through the open expanse in the wall behind me sends waves of dizziness to my head. I take in a deep breath, then another, but I can’t seem to get enough air. I’d give anything for a cool breeze. For the usual Autumn Court weather to return and dry the sweat beading my brow.
The sound of paper crinkling pulls my attention back to the present, like an anchor in my whirlpool of thoughts. I realize the sound belongs to the letter in Aspen’s hand, now crushed into a ball within his fist. The letter bears the words that announced the invalidation of our pairing. The end of the treaty. Of everything I’ve been fighting for.
The end of me and Aspen.
My lungs constrict, and I feel like my thoughts will swallow me whole, but I refocus on that piece of paper, on the shape of Aspen’s fingers curled around it. Finally, the room ceases spinning, and my breathing begins to ease. My eyes lock on my mate, taking in every curve and angle of his beautiful face as if doing so can further root me into this moment. With my study of him comes a sudden awareness of the anger written in the rigid set of his shoulders, the tick in his jaw. The sight of his rage snaps me further out of my stupor, and I feel my own fury rise to meet his. A willing partner in a fiery dance.
My anger invigorates me at once.
“No,” I say through my teeth, “this isn’t happening. Not after everything we’ve been through, after everything we’ve done.”
“Are you honestly surprised?” Aspen mutters.
“Yes, I’m surprised. We did everything the treaty called for. Our wedding is set for three days from now—the exact date the human council gave us. We met every deadline.”
“Apparently the council doesn’t care about deadlines. They’ll use any excuse to keep us from solidifying the pact.”
“How can you say that? They can’t want war any more than we do. Besides, every suspicion you had about the human council being a threat to you has proven to be misguided. Cobalt was behind every action that kept you from securing the treaty thus far.”
“If that were the case, they wouldn’t have sent this.” He lifts his hand and the paper crumpled in his fist.
“What exactly does it say?” I look from Aspen to Foxglove. While Foxglove verbally relayed the general message of the letter, I haven’t read it word for word myself. “They must have given a reason to invalidate our alliance.”
“Well, they—” Foxglove cuts off abruptly at a sharp look from Aspen.
A chill crawls up my spine. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
Foxglove looks to Aspen in deference, lips pressed tight as if he’s fighting to keep from blurting some dangerous truth.
I step closer to my mate. “Tell me what it said or let me read it myself.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’ll take care of it.”
Fury roars through me, arguments storming from my mind to my lips. Before I can utter a single one, the ground rocks beneath my feet again, forcing me off balance. From the corner of my eye, I see water shooting into the sky from the explosion.
The rumbling calms, but before I can properly right myself, another blast shakes the palace. Aspen pulls me close to keep my feet beneath me. I lean into him, and it’s for more than just support. His closeness reminds me yet again how badly I wish I could erase the moment where Foxglove came in with the letter. If only we could go back to where we were moments before that, enveloped in each other’s arms with tender words on our lips.
But that moment was shattered, and even this slight reprieve is stolen away as the sound from the explosion is replaced with shouts. Screams of terror.
I reluctantly part from Aspen and turn toward the rail along the open wall. Several figures limp away from the site of the most recent explosion. I can’t see much else through the spray of sand and water, but I’m almost certain there are dark patches covering the beach. Blood.
My heart pounds at the sight, echoed by footsteps tearing down the hall and growing nearer with every beat. I can hardly move, can hardly tear my eyes from the scene below as I wait for the rubble to clear.
“Your Majesty.”
I whirl toward the panting guard entering the dining room.
Aspen storms over to him. “What in the name of oak and ivy just happened?”
The guard’s youthful face is pale, eyes wide as he explains, “It was Prince Cobalt’s fae, Your Majesty. They were spotted in the caves, trying to thwart our efforts. I was sent to tell you—”
Aspen brushes past him into the hall. His voice is almost a roar. “I knew he’d be back. Where is he?”
The guard follows hard on the heels of the king, as do Foxglove and I. “The prince hasn’t been spotted,” the guard says, “but the fae were clearly his. They ambushed the detonation team, but your soldiers were able to keep Cobalt’s fae back while they set off the explosion. Only two caves remained uncollapsed at that point, and detonation teams were sent in at once. That’s when I was ordered to come to you.”
Aspen’s jaw shifts back and forth. “I take it from the shouts, there have been casualties.”
The guard goes a shade paler, and we descend a set of stairs. “I was already on my way here when I heard the last two explosions go off, Your Majesty, but the second blast shouldn’t have happened so close to the previous. Not unless...”
“Not unless it were necessary to set it off early,” Aspen says through his teeth. “Have any of Cobalt’s fae emerged from the caves? What about the caves leading to the tunnels in the palace?”
“Those tunnels were the first we collapsed, and I didn’t see any of the prince’s fae make it to the beach before I left.”
Aspen is nearly running as we descend farther and farther down the palace. We must be near the bottom floor.
I quicken my pace and address the guard. “Where will the injured be taken?”
He opens his mouth, but Aspen stops in his tracks, spinning to face me. “Why are you following me? It isn’t safe.”
“I came to help.”
He faces the guard. “Take Miss Fairfield somewhere secure.”
The guard steps toward me, but I freeze him with an icy glare before turning it on Aspen. “No, I’m going to help the injured.”
“You need to remain—”
“I’m going to help the injured,” I repeat, louder, slower, each word pointed as my eyes burn into his. “It’s what I’m trained to do.”
“Fae can heal without your help.”
I raise a brow, eyes roving over his torso before narrowing on the site of his former wound. A wound that would have been the death of him if it hadn’t been for my intervention. I cross my arms over my chest. “Oh, can they?”
He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Fine.” He returns his attention to the guard. “Take her to the east wing. That’s where the injured will be. If you so much as sense a breach in the palace, take Miss Fairfield to safety.”
The guard nods, and I don’t dare argue with the order. Aspen’s eyes find mine as his fingers grasp my palm, giving it a soft squeeze. The gesture says more than his words can, cutting through his temper to soften my heart. I can only enjoy the touch for a single breath before Aspen releases me and starts off down the hall again. As I move to follow him, the guard puts a hand on my shoulder. “This way is faster to get to the east wing.” He nods toward another set of stairs. We take off, but I realize Foxglove has remained on the landing, wringing his hands as he stares at me with an open mouth. Like he wants to say something.
“Foxglove, with me.” Aspen’s voice echoes from down the staircase.
The bespectacled fae closes his mouth and gives me an apologetic smile. I don’t want to read into what it means. But I’m sure it has to do with the letter.
***
I steel myself as I enter a familiar room. Three stone tables are lined up in the center, and upon each lies a writhing fae guard: two male, one female. They’ve each sustained several wounds of varying severity, blood pooling on the tabletops beneath them as uninjured guards assist in removing their bronze armor.
I shudder, remembering the last time I was here. There was but one table then and Aspen was its occupant. It’s hard to believe that was less than two weeks ago. Back then I wouldn’t have cared if Aspen died.
I shake the morbid thought from my mind and join Gildmar, a tiny fae with bark-like skin and leafy hair, at the far end of the room. Her small hands fly over the table as she lays out her tools—shards of shell, sharp bone, pointed sticks, swaths of spider silk, bowls of water, herbs, and wine. I’m grateful I don’t have to demand wine this time.
“Are these the only survivors?” I ask Gildmar.
She nods. “The last explosion went off while they were still prepping the keg inside the cave. These three were standing nearby. All inside the cave and near its opening didn’t make it.”
I swallow hard, wondering if she’s been informed of the true cause for the early explosion. “What can I do to help?”
“First, ease their pain.” She hands me a vial. I don’t need to ask to know it contains extract of honey pyrus, a psychoactive fae fruit. Its extract works like laudanum, easing pain and allowing a patient’s mind and body to slip into euphoric stillness.
I move from one injured fae to the other, administering a dropperful to each while Gildmar cleans one of the male fae’s wounds with an herb-infused liquid. Once all three patients have fallen beneath the honey pyrus’ spell, I take one of the bowls of wine and approach the unconscious fae female. I cleanse my hands with the wine and inspect her wounds. The fae’s skin is pocked with bloody gouges from shards of coral spearing her flesh where the armor hadn’t covered. I peel back the linen tunic from her torso, finding severe bruising blooming over her chest, likely crushed by her breastplate. I pour the wine over her wounds. “Are they in mortal danger?”
Gildmar shakes her head, though her face remains grave. “So long as we can staunch any bleeding and keep them calm, their bodies should heal on their own. There was no ash or iron involved, so their natural abilities will remain strong. However, if they lose too much blood, their bodies won’t be able to keep up with healing.”
I’m relieved to hear their prognosis is good, although it’s hard to believe any creature could recover after being so close to an explosion. The concussive force alone would be enough to kill a human. “What were the explosives made from? Gunpowder?”
“Marsh gas, most likely,” she says, her voice like the creak of an old branch. “Most often found in the marshes where Fire and Wind courts meet. A beastly practice, if you ask me. We shouldn’t be bottling up nature the way humans do, using the elements for harm. My kind didn’t do that before your people came to the Fair Isle.”
Her tone is more resigned than accusatory, but my stomach sinks with guilt just the same. “How long will it take for them to recover?”
“Their wounds are grave, but it won’t be like it was with the king.”
Again, the memory floods my mind, of Aspen near death, veins of black trailing across his skin to show how deep the iron had poisoned his blood. I had been concerned about his recovery, but only because he was my patient; I’d been nowhere near as distraught as I’d be if something like that were to happen now. Not after how close we’ve become.
My heart squeezes. We were growing closer even still before that letter arrived. I finally got him to express his anger over me using his name against him. We were making amends. I was so close to telling him that I...
I shake the memories from my head. Thoughts of Aspen and the mysterious contents of the letter will have to wait. For now, I have work to do.
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