“No. But I’d prefer not to kneel before Angharad,” I say, deliberately painting a picture my mother will despise, “and if we continue with this bickering, I will be. I may not agree with Prince Thiago on all matters, but I know what I saw with my own eyes. And if you don’t trust me, then send an envoy to see for yourself. Send Andraste.”
My mother’s eyes glitter with unspoken reprimand.
She’s too full of spite and enmity to care whether the alliance falls.
But my words do damage where I didn’t expect them to.
“Your daughter provides wise council,” Queen Lucidia murmurs.
“We shall each send an envoy so we may each make a decision we trust,” Queen Maren agrees, and I can tell that she, at least, is picturing her northern borders.
“So we shall,” my mother pronounces, sweeping to her feet. “And now, if this mockery of a meeting is done, I have things to do.”
With that she sweeps into the circle of light spilling through the roof and vanishes.
I wait until we’re alone in Thiago’s inner chambers before I turn on him.
“Is there something I should know about this treaty?” I demand. “The queens seem to think this is some sort of game being played between you and my mother.”
“It was a game, and I bested her,” he replies. “That’s all you need to know.”
I’m tired of hearing those words.
Tired of knowing nothing. Locked away in a city of wraiths where there’s no one to even speak to beyond the prince. Blindfolded and led here, where I’m effectively locked away again, a princess in her tower.
“How kind of you to tell me what I do and don’t need to know.” The words sound like they came from my mother’s lips.
Thiago shoots me a hard look. “I would tell you more if I thought I could trust you.”
“Who am I going to tell?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He tugs at his collar, loosening the top two buttons of his black velvet doublet. “Your mother, perhaps.”
“She’s at Hawthorne Castle by now.”
“Perhaps you can whisper the words to your grate then,” he says, his voice as smooth and rich as midnight.
He knows.
It stills my tongue. Forces me to straighten. “Listening in, were we?”
“The demi-fey told me. You’re not the only one who feeds them milk and honey. Besides, I did warn you that you were predictable. It’s a trait you’ve inherited from your mother.”
I want to ball my fist and drive it into his abdomen, though his half-vicious smile warns me against such a thought.
Instead, I pace, ignoring the rustle behind me as he drapes his cloak over one of the chairs.
“If you want to continue to take your frustration out on me,” he growls, “then I should warn you. I’m not feeling entirely playful today.”
“Neither am I,” I snap. “They don’t believe us.”
“They are warned.” Thiago merely pours me a goblet of wine, his face expressionless. “That is all that matters.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” They practically called him a liar to his face and accused him of manipulating me. And I’m the gullible fool dancing to his tune, according to them.
“I expected it,” he replies, handing me the wine. “The Alliance couldn’t find its own ass with both hands and a faelight as bright as the sun. If one queen says something, then the others will immediately find her words suspect. Kyrian and myself, more than the rest.”
“Because you’re male.”
“Because we both claimed our thrones by rule of might,” he replies, tipping the goblet to his lips. “Not by bloodline.”
His throat muscles work as he swallows.
I understand what my mother sees when she looks at him now. All the old tales say only a queen may rule, but Kyrian and Thiago took those lands through sheer might. Fae queens are always born, their talents and powers nurtured, their magic linked to the lands they will one day rule. And when an heir is chosen, the lines of power are locked.
But the two princes broke the rules.
They have no ties to their lands, and yet their kingdoms are flourishing.
I think of my stepbrother, Edain, and the way mother quashed his powers by binding him to her and sweeping him into her bed the second her consort was dead. I used to hate it, but I think I understand now.
The Lords of the Marsh are bound to serve her will, their powers muted by the blood contracts they signed.
And of the other nobles, she accepted their sons and daughters into her court to serve as pages and ladies-in-waiting. Some might say hostages would be a better term.
She culled every female in the land who might prove a threat.
And she’s hobbled every male who might have ambitions.
But, thanks to Kyrian and Thiago, she must now wonder, every time she looks around her court, whether others watch her and whisper. She must always be on her guard now, both within and without. She is a queen who rules through fear and threats, because they’re all she knows.
And it won’t matter what Angharad does, she’ll never see beyond the threat of the two princes.
I want to throw the fucking wine in the fireplace. “The alliance are fools.”
A wry smile touches his mouth. “Careful. I’m one of them.”
“Not you. You’re….” I wave a hand at him.
“I’m…?”
“A little less foolish,” I amend.
“Come now,” he teases. “Don’t hold back.”
I stare at him. You’re dangerous and powerful and ruthless, and yet you’re also the man who saved me from a bane trap. You’re the man who always has a piece of apple for his horse. The one who rides out singlehandedly to see the truth for his own eyes.
“You’re a prince,” I tell him. “And you rule with a firm and steady hand.”
“How… generic.”
“It’s not.” I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “My mother rules with spite and ambition. Queen Maren rules with secrecy and lies. And Lucidia’s people only know hunger and harsh taxes, for she is frugal and bitter.” And, if the rumors are to be believed, she is weakening. “You rule with acceptance. I’ve seen the court that flocks to your banners. No other ruler in the alliance would have allowed Eris to grace their halls. Or Baylor. You think of the future. You fear the past. And today, you tried to reach three power-hungry queens to convince them to work together to face a dangerous threat, even when they sneered at you and insulted you.” I hesitate. “You’re a better ruler than every queen in that chamber, and that’s what they fear.”
There’s a stillness to his frame, as if he’s absorbing those words.
I think, for the first time since I’ve met him, that I’ve rendered him speechless.
“And now, if you’re done with me, I think I should seek my bed.” The weight of the day’s frustrations itch along my skin. And there’s a certain sense of closeness in this moment, as if we’ve both got our shields down.
I’m not sure it’s wise to stay.
“I’m not done with you.”
He moves suddenly, every inch of him rich with motion, with intent.