“Then, it’s a deal.”
The Great Hall needed a dusting. It was just as gloomy as the rest of the castle, even with fifty fae crammed inside, filling the space with heat and noise. Sconces lined the walls, all lit by flame. They cast ominous, flickering shadows across the black stone floors, dancing and whorling in the light breeze that poured in from the open windows.
Reyna was led to what she assumed to be the head table, though she would hardly call it that herself. It was an ordinary table crafted from old, spotted wood and had been packed to the brim with courtiers in various states of dress. Some were prim and proper and pristine, wearing courtly attire in varying shades of grey. They wore silken tunics embroidered with deep crimson and glistening jewellery around their necks. The females were expertly dressed in billowing gowns that cut sharply between their breasts.
But then there were the others. They looked as though they’d barely managed to scrape together a clean outfit, some with ragged holes in the knees. Their faces were scrubbed clean, but their hair and nails were long and wild.
At the opposite table, warriors packed in tight. Their laughter boomed; their drinks splashed onto the table.
This was not a standard night at court, that much was certain.
“I thought you might like to sit near me and Nollaig.” Tarrah, still donned in her armor, motioned to a chair by her side. Across the table, Nollaig sat waiting. Her hooded cloak hid every single inch of her from view except the gloved fingers of her right hand.
“Of course,” Reyna said sarcastically. “Why would I want to sit anywhere else?”
She felt Nollaig smile. “Careful, Princess. One might think you were trying to lie.”
“A question is never a lie,” Reyna said, dropping into the chair. “A lesson you should learn since you’re so hell bent on undoing the exile. If you succeed, you’ll lose your ability to lie.”
“You can be frank here,” Tarrah said, settling in beside her. “We know you’re not thrilled to be here. No need to pretend otherwise.”
“Some kings like to execute courtiers who have nothing to speak but insults.”
“Our king won’t hang you,” Tarrah replied, motioning to the food. “I hope you like potatoes. Unfortunately, it’s mostly what we have. Few crops grow beneath the mist. And you know all about our trade issues, so I won’t bore you with that.”
Tarrah had not been exaggerating. Several platters were spread across the packed table. Four of them held different variations of potatoes while only one had meat. There was no fruit or bread or green vegetable in sight. She’d noticed her meals were bland when she’d been kept in her barred chambers. At the time, she thought they were trying to make a point. Now, she knew why. They literally had no other food to eat.
“Don’t you get sick of eating the same thing every night?” Reyna asked, scooping some fried ones, seasoned with rosemary, onto her plate.
“I like potatoes,” Nollaig said.
Tarrah made a face. “When I was a child, I had mashed potatoes for breakfast, boiled potatoes for lunch, and then meat for dinner if we were lucky. Often, we weren’t. I would like nothing more than to eat something else for a change.”
“Enough to make someone your slave apparently,” Reyna said in a faux-chirpy tone, before scowling. She would not feel sorry for these fae. No matter what sad tales they spouted, they were her enemy.
“You are not our slave,” Tarrah insisted.
“You brought me here against my will. You captured my innocent sister. And you threatened to kill her if I didn’t make a binding vow to your bloody king. If that is not a slave, then what is?”
Tarrah frowned and poked at her potatoes with a twisted fork that had seen better days. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
“Then, how exactly was it supposed to happen?”
“I was hoping you would agree to help our majesty willingly.”
“Ha! That’s rich.” Reyna glanced around the table, noting a glaring absence amongst the various warriors and courtiers present. “Speaking of, where is your king?”
“High King,” Tarrah corrected, but then frowned. “He is otherwise engaged this evening. He won’t be joining us.”
Reyna noted a hint of disappointment—and disapproval—in the Champion’s voice. Interesting. So, his right hand did not approve of his dalliances. Was it jealousy? Did she wish she was the king’s chosen bedmate? No, Reyna thought, examining Tarrah carefully. The shadow fae’s hollow eyes were drawn to someone else, a warrior at the far end of the second table. A rugged male with piercing silver eyes, chiseled features, and an impressive physique, who wore grey scale armor imprinted with the Shadow Court’s sigil.
That could only mean one thing. Tarrah was not wholly pleased with her king. Very interesting indeed.
Reyna took a stab at the fried potatoes, chewing them carefully. They weren’t bad at all. “Yes, he did seem quite interested in the serving girl. I realize things are different in this realm, but I’m surprised he isn’t attempting to make a much more politically beneficial match. A marriage with one of the ladies would make his reign more stable.”
She had no intention of helping the shadow fae at all, but she wanted to gauge their reaction to her words. She knew next to nothing about his plans, other than an impending attack on the Wood Court. After that, he might very well aim to join his court with another. Not the Air Court. He’d made it clear he wanted to snuff out every last air fae royal, including the ladies he might choose to wed.
That left Sea and Ice. And he had Eislyn, or so he said.
Of course, Reyna’s father would never agree to such a thing. But High King Bolg Rothach did not know Cos Darragh as she did.
Tarrah sighed. “The High King’s dalliances are just that. Dalliances. But let us talk about something more entertaining. Princess Reyna, is the north truly as cold as they say?”
The north. Something inside Reyna’s chest twisted. Her beloved kingdom. Her people. It felt so long ago that she had set her eyes upon fields of ice and trees cloaked in snow. When she had been a Shieldmaiden in training, her father had asked her to never make the vow that would have bound her to be a warrior for the Ice Court for as long as she lived. Princesses could not become true sworn Shieldmaidens. Her heritage must always come first.
And so she had agreed. She’d done that one thing for him, to keep the peace with her family. He never would have forgiven her if she had turned her back on the court for good, even if it had been to fight for her people.
But now she saw she should have done it anyway. If she had, she would not be here now, trapped in a vow that could never be broken, stuck serving an enemy court, and forced to bow to a cruel king who cared little about the innocents who would die in his impending war.
“Princess Reyna?” Tarrah asked, her voice breaking through Reyna’s troubled thoughts.
Reyna sighed and poked at another potato. “The air is so cold that your breath frosts as it leaves your lungs. Icicles cling to your eyelids, and baths must be taken indoors, lest the water freeze while you are in the middle of it.” She gave Tarrah a sad smile. “It is as cold as they say.”
Nollaig popped an entire boiled potato into the folds of her cloak—and presumably her mouth. “That sounds intriguing. I would like to go there someday.”