Lorcan had delivered that poison.
The flare of his name in her mind was like the unexpected slice of a broad sword that was then twisted sharply to the side. A kill with added certainty. A double blow. An attack meant to bring her to her knees, one that ensured she never got back up.
Reyna Darragh did not trust easily. And yet she had trusted him.
Lorcan, the son of High King Bolg Rothach. Lorcan, the prince of shadows.
A hammer of harsh bitterness pummelled her heart, threatening to knock her down.
Instead, she found her voice. “I suppose you want me to don some sort of ridiculous silken gown for his visit. Hours of preparation for a moment’s conversation. Well then, did you bring it along? Where is it?”
Nollaig stood quietly. Her face was obscured by the thick hood, but Reyna could feel the shadow fae’s eyes on her, regarding her with an intensity that would have made almost anyone’s skin crawl. Reyna, impatient, just wanted her to get on with it.
Reyna let out a huff of irritation. “You know I didn’t pack any courtly gowns seeing as I didn’t have a chance to pack before Lorcan dragged me here. If you want me to meet with your king, then either give me a gown or let me meet with him as I am.”
She gestured down at her silver tunic, her soft, loose hoarfrost silk trousers, and the simple slippers hugging her feet—the only item of clothing that the Shadow Court had provided since her arrival. It was not the attire of a princess.
“That will do,” Nollaig merely said.
Surprise flickered through Reyna, but she did her best to hide it. Was Nollaig playing some sort of game? Was the Shadow Court trying to unsteady her? She’d spent so long cooped up inside this bedchamber, with no one to keep her company other than her familiar and her own damn self, that she no longer even knew what month it was. But kings expected certain things, particularly from princesses. Gowns and brushed hair, at the very least.
And then Reyna understood. “I see. As your prisoner, courtly manners do not apply to me.”
“Do not play coy,” Nollaig said. “You may be a princess, but there is far more to you than that. You’re a Shieldmaiden. So, there’s no need for you to dress yourself up like a simpering lady in search of a lord husband.”
“An unsworn Shieldmaiden,” Reyna said quietly. “And that status was removed when my father returned my courtly title to me.”
Nollaig waved a gloved hand dismissively. “You’re a warrior. The technicalities of your titles don’t matter. Besides, you will find we are not so formal as most courts. Now, enough of this. The king is waiting for you. Come with me.”
Nollaig moved toward the door and pounded her fist against the wood. Reyna watched, narrowing her eyes. This was some sort of trick, after all. She had not been allowed to leave her room since she’d awoken that first day, her head throbbing, her heart raw. Why in the name of the Dagda would they allow her to wander through their castle corridors now?
With a sigh, Nollaig paused and cast a a glance over her shoulder, face still hidden beneath the folds of her cloak’s dark hood. “You will be surrounded by armed guards as soon as we step out into the corridor. I do not advise attempting an escape. Remember what the king said. So long as you behave accordingly, you will continue to enjoy your privileges. And if you do not...then he will not hesitate to throw you into the dungeons.”
The dungeons did not frighten Reyna. She had seen and experienced far worse than a grungy cell deep in the ground. In the Battle for the Shard, the fields of blood and ice and snow were images burned into her head. Bodies piled on top of each other, faces mottled and black with rot. It had lasted hours. During the battle, she had even forgotten what peace felt like.
No, she did not fear the dungeons. But even though her chances of an escape were next to nothing, there was a chance, so long as they housed her inside that room. Inside the dungeons...she would never again see daylight, even the strange, misty red glow of the shadow lands. She was certain of it.
So, when she followed Nollaig into the corridor, Reyna did not attempt to bolt through the half a dozen guards that quickly surrounded her. She could not help but eye them though, and imagine various scenarios where she fought—and won. If she suddenly threw her weight into the smaller guard to her right, she could knock the sword from his grip and take it for herself. She would still have to fight six, not including Nollaig, but she had faced worse odds than this.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Nollaig said, falling into step beside Reyna. “I don’t blame you. I would be thinking it myself.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know nothing about me.”
“You’re thinking about how you might kill every single one of us in order to hatch your escape, including me.”
Reyna could hear the smile on Nollaig’s face, even if she couldn’t see it.
“You’re right,” Reyna said, seeing no reason to mince her words. Even within the exiled shadow kingdom, lies died on her tongue like bitter ash. The deep dark magic of the fae realms knew what she was. She’d been born in ice, she’d bled on fields of ice, and she hoped that when her death day finally came that she would be buried in ice.
“But you won’t make the attempt,” Nollaig added. “Especially once you hear what our king means to propose to you.”
Reyna cut her eyes toward Nollaig’s cloaked form. “It better not be an actual proposal. I am already betrothed to another prince, and I would not marry Lorcan if he was the last male alive on this godforsaken continent.”
Nollaig actually chuckled. The sound was odd coming from the hooded form that seemed to eke shadows and darkness with every move she made. But she seemed legitimately...amused, almost. Reyna did not quite know what to make of it.
“The High King has a far more important proposal than that. Arranged marriages and sneaky intrigues are for petty kings.”
Reyna frowned. “And your king isn’t a petty one?”
“Certainly not.” Her voice held a snap, the level tone now replaced by a dangerous edge.
“What is he then, if not petty?” Reyna asked despite Nollaig’s reaction. She saw no reason to mince her words here. She was already a prisoner, one they clearly did not wish to kill. “Most kings are.” If not them all, she thought.
“Clever and purposeful.”
Reyna lifted a brow but said nothing more, storing away that small bit of insight into the king. It might prove useful down the line. Clever and purposeful, which meant he was no doubt in possession of ambitious plans. That did not mean he wasn’t also petty.
Nothing more passed between Nollaig and Reyna other than their whispered footsteps down the long and mist-enshrouded corridors. As they approached the great, looming doors of the throne room, tendrils of darkness seemed to curl from the depths of the walls.
Reyna could not help but shudder. She had yet to become accustomed to the strange darkness that seemed to lurk in every corner of this strange realm.
The throne room was not far from what Reyna had imagined. Large and lofty, thick black pillars were scattered throughout, bracing the high ceiling. The shadows were deep and dark where every wall—and the very floor itself—had been built from that black stone so present in Findius. Bolg sat idly on his throne, a crown of twisting antlers perched on his tiny head. He was flanked by guards, all donning grey scale armor and helmets made from shadowsteel.