Page 21 of Treasured By the Fae Royal
Darkness blankets Sorsston,a thick cloud cover blocking out the moon and stars. At this late hour, only a few windows are illuminated by candlelight. I walk the streets of the defeated city, almost hoping for a fight. But no matter how many dim alleys I walk down or how many seedy streets I traverse, no one attacks me. I growl into the night, summon my wings, and shoot into the sky.
Hurt pangs in my chest. Rage and disappointment.
Is this what it feels like to be scorned?
Is this what heartache feels like?
A week ago, Yvette failed to show up in the garden outside her aunt’s cottage. Not that she’d promised to meet me a second time. She’d explicitly stated she felt it was a bad idea.
Yet I’d allowed myself to become hopeful, and I’d arrived in the garden and waited for her until sunrise. Like the fool that I am, I’d also appeared the subsequent nights, only to stand in the garden outside her window, hoping for a glimpse of her, hoping she would sense my presence and sneak out to meet me.
How preposterous that I have allowed a human to affect my mood in such a way.
I soar toward the castle and land in the courtyard. A quick glance around shows over two dozen fae sentries on duty. I turn to head inside the castle when I spot the dozens of heads on the parapet, and I pause in my steps as I recall Yvette’s speech about her experiences during and after the Summer Court’s attack on Trevos. She’d specifically mentioned seeing rotting heads on the parapet while on a walk with her mother.
Would it assuage her conscience to know most of the human soldiers we kill during battle meet quick deaths? Yes, we keep some for questioning, and yes, some of those are tortured, but the vast number of those killed during the capture of a human kingdom don’t suffer for long.
I tear my gaze from the parapet and jog up the castle steps. Despite the late hour, the receiving hall is filled with fae soldiers and dignitaries. A human musician plays a jovial tune on a flute, while a human jester attempts to juggle all the oranges a snickering soldier keeps tossing his way.
I head for the dais and take a seat on the throne. Though I’m not in the mood for company, I’ve been largely absent from the castle during the last week. My presence is expected as my people hold court during the days after a human castle is taken over.
A trembling human servant girl approaches me with a glass of wine. I accept the drink and eye the servant as she scurries away. “Halt!” I say, much louder than intended, and she freezes in her tracks. “Turn around and face me, girl.”
The blonde human turns and regards me with wide eyes. “Yes, your lordship. Er, your majesty. Forgive me, but no one told me how I ought to address you. Please don’t have me killed,” she whispers. “I will bring you more wine or anything you desire.”
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen, sir.” Her face goes pale, and she swallows hard.
I allow my gaze to roam over her body, and while she has a pleasing form and she’s undeniably pretty, I cannot imagine taking her to bed. Because she’s not Yvette. Fucking gods, why can’t I get the dark-haired beauty out of my mind?
I’m about to send the young servant away when her eyes fill with tears and her lips quiver. An unexpected pang of guilt affects me. I’ve struck so much fear into her, just by speaking to her, that she’s on the verge of crying. She’s also shaking so hard it looks like she’s shivering.
If Yvette were here, she would not approve of my behavior. She would not approve of this entire gathering.
I exhale a slow breath and attempt to give the servant girl a polite smile, hoping to put her at ease. It doesn’t work. A second later, she bursts into tears and covers her face.
“Please don’t have me killed, sir.”
General Dalgaard appears at my side. He’s holding a cup of strong-smelling spirits, though he’s not drunk. As the general of the Summer Court army, he never allows himself to become fully intoxicated lest his skill as a commander suddenly be required.
“Good evening, Prince Lucas,” the general says. “Or rather, good morning. I seem to have lost track of time.” He clears his throat and gestures at the sobbing human female. “Would you like me to have this servant removed from the hall?” He tenses as he continues staring at the female, and his eyes suddenly hold a strange, almost surprised gleam, though I cannot fathom why.
“Good evening. Good morning. Whatever the fucking time it is,” I snap, and I rise to my feet. “No, you don’t need to concern yourself with this servant. She is doing an excellent job, and I would like… I would like to see that she gets a raise.”
To his credit, General Dalgaard doesn’t blink. Instead, he nods and says, “I will relay the information to the castle steward.”
The servant girl only sobs harder, and I stare at her in confusion. Is she still worried I might have her killed? Why the fuck is she still crying? Her continued sobs make my guilt deepen and remind me of the time Yvette broke down crying as she spoke about the carnage she witnessed after the capture of Trevos.
A growl leaves my throat before I can stop it, and the girl’s terror not only increases, but she falls to her knees in front of me and keeps saying, “Please, please, please.”
I exchange a look with General Dalgaard. The girl is in hysterics just because I spoke to her, and I’m uncertain how to calm her down. A small crowd has already gathered around us. No doubt my people think I’m about to mete out justice and slay the poor girl on the spot.
Fuck, how do I defuse this situation without coming across as soft? Bloodlust glitters in the eyes of the spectators. They’re expecting a show.
I step down from the dais and lift the sobbing servant girl up. I make eye contact with her just long enough to glamour her, and she finally stops crying. I clutch her close and walk her through the crowd. From the corner of my eye, I think I glimpse General Dalgaard following us, but I soon lose sight of him.
“Sorry to disappoint, my dear friends, but I prefer to fuck in private,” I call out as I head for the staircase that leads to my temporary quarters. Thankfully, the ruse works. The spectators laugh and start to disperse, though I continue escorting the girl to my quarters, cursing this entire situation. I must maintain the illusion that I’m as cruel and depraved as my older brothers, both of whom had successful turns leading the Summer Court army.
