Bolg’s black stone throne was a strange little thing, particularly compared to the other Seats of Power that Reyna had set her eyes upon. In the Ice Court, the majestic throne of her father grew from the very ground itself, so much so that the ancient castle had been built around the throne, rather than the other way around. It rose high, a hulking, glistening seat of ice that never melted. When she had been little more than a girl, Reyna had watched one of her cousins try to burn it with a torch. The old ice throne had done nothing more than continue to sit there, and Reyna swore she had felt it frown.
“Your Majesty,” Nollaig said, bowing slightly. “I have brought the Princess Reyna Darragh of the Ice Court, as requested.”
Reyna stared up at the king. He still looked small and strange, just as she remembered, but there was a glint in his eye. That cleverness Nollaig spoke of.
“High King Rothach,” Reyna said. “The throne suits you, it seems. I’m sure you feel it’s a shame your having it does not mean your kingdom is no longer exiled. I should offer my condolences.”
Inwardly, Reyna smiled. She should offer her condolences, but she wouldn’t. And she would certainly take every opportunity to remind the bastard that try as he might, he was still an exiled king. Nothing had changed.
“Blah, blah, blah,” the High King said, waving his hand dismissively. “I care little for these faux niceties. Your words are layered with the truth, and I have more important things to do than dance around pretending that we like each other. I had you brought here for a reason. Let’s get on with it.”
“You won’t get very far with the kings and lords of Tir Na Nog if you refuse to play their games,” Reyna said frankly.
He grinned. “Swords are sharper than words.”
“Then, you have never parried with my father.”
“Yes, yes,” he said, leaning back into his onyx throne. “Your family is why I have brought you here. I have your sister.”
A heavy slab of iron dropped into Reyna’s stomach, burning up her gut. The world seemed to tip sideways as she stared at the king, certain that she could not have heard the truth of his words. Her legs slightly trembled as she took a step toward him, and a dozen swords sang in the air around her.
“Best not step any closer, Shieldmaiden,” Nollaig muttered.
Reyna froze, glaring at the king. “You’re lying. You can lie.”
“You are right, of course. I can. But lying rarely does me any favors. It is a weapon best used scarcely.” He shrugged. “I have your sister.”
Reyna’s heartbeat pulsed in her ears, and a horrible dizziness swept through her. This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. Eislyn was back in the Air Court, close enough to their father to be safe.
“Then, let me see her,” Reyna said in a rush of words. “If you have her, then show me her face.”
“Absolutely not,” he said. “I will not risk putting two ice princesses in the same room so they might speak in riddles to plot some sort of scheme.”
Reyna stared at the king, and then let out a harsh laugh. “You have just proven you don’t have her. That’s a terrible excuse.”
“Are you not the one who just told me how dangerous words are compared to swords?” he asked, lifting a brow. “I’d prefer not to test that little theory of yours.”
The smile on Reyna’s lips died, though she still did not believe his blatant lies. “What is all this? Has your fortune teller given you another ridiculous vision?”
“Indeed she has.” His smile grew wider. “And I need you to become my Shieldmaiden. It seems you never did swear your warrior oaths to the Ice Court. So, you are free to swear them to me.”
Reyna choked out a strangled laugh. “You are far more delusional than I thought.”
He lifted a knowing brow. “Am I truly? Because I believe that you deeply care for your sisters, particularly the youngest. You will swear your oaths to me so that she will not die here in this castle, never to see your northern lands again. Do not tempt me Reyna Darragh. I will happily kill an ice princess.”
His words were tinny and distant as a strange darkness began to creep into the corners of her eyes. Fear thudded through her veins like thick globs of molten iron. Every single part of her was on fire. She had never before felt fear quite like this.
“You may refuse, of course,” the king continued, his voice garbled and distant through the haze in her mind. “You will not be executed if you do. Eislyn, on the other hand, will perish here.”
She shook her head and opened her mouth to scream at him, but no sound came out. Her words were swallowed by her fear.
He leaned forward and draped an arm across his leg. “You will fight for me, or your sister will die.”
2
Lorcan
“He did what?” Lorcan’s voice was low and quiet, but every word was as violent as a punch. The past few hours he’d been cooped up inside his chambers while his father met with Reyna Darragh, the Ice Court princess who he’d not seen once since her arrival in the shadow realm.
He’d discovered only last night that his father planned to request her presence in the throne room. At first, he’d been hopeful of finally setting his eyes on her. He was desperate to see her face. To confirm she was safe and unharmed. Alive.
But then his father had prohibited his presence. Normally, Lorcan wouldn’t care a damn about his father’s bloody commands, but he had decided to take a different tactic these days. He would play the part of a dutiful son. And then he would end Bolg Rothach’s miserable reign.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to stick to that plan. His father made him angrier than everyone else in the world combined.
Teutas, one of his father’s most trusted warriors, stood tall by the door. When Lorcan had briefly lived in the shadow realm, the two had been thick as thieves. They’d trained together. They’d fought together. Teutas had been one of his only true friends at court. As such, he told Lorcan far more than any of the other guards inside the castle, though he was still fiercely loyal to his king. He, like all the others, thought High King Bolg Rothach was answering the call of their god. He was doing the Unseelie’s bidding by restarting this war and driving the Air Court out of Findius.
And he spoke of the fortune teller, Tarrah, in awed, hushed tones. Out of all the shadow fae, Lorcan trusted her the least.
“Tarrah has seen a vision of Reyna fighting for our side. Somehow, the future of our realm rests on her shoulders. If she joins us, then we will find victory against the Wood Court, who is now mobilizing forces against us. But if she doesn’t...we will fall once again, and this time, it will be for certain.”
“Did you ever consider that these visions might be fragments of an overactive imagination? Unseelie has not spoken to a single fae in nearly a hundred years. Why now? Why Tarrah? There is nothing particularly special about her that I can see. And look at her now. It has given her an esteemed place by the High King’s side.”
“You mistrust her.”
“I mistrust everyone,” Lorcan said. “Even you, Teutas. We once were close, but you are my father’s sword now, through and through.”