Alastor throws me a warning look. “Careful now. You’ll need to be more diplomatic than that when we meet them.”
“Then he should’ve sent someone else.” I can hear the edge in my voice, and I don’t bother trying to smooth it out. Each step we take deeper into the castle, the more my temper flares. This whole mission is a farce and my reluctance to go was made plain at the onset, and yet, here I am.
Servants whisper as we pass. Even in the capital, fae are worthy of comment, and some of us more than others.
“There he is.”
“That’s him? The Nightmare Prince?”
“Don’t look him in the eyes. He can turn you mad just by thinking it, you know. He can make you do terrible things.”
I turn my head to find the footman who’s murmuring to his colleague, making sure to lock eyes with him. I won’t pretend I don’t enjoy the way he gasps and goes white before whipping his gaze down to the floor.
They leave us alone in the chamber, a sweaty-looking nobleman saying Their Majesties will be along shortly. I can’t tell if it’s some kind of slight. Does Trovian etiquette dictate keeping their guests waiting? Or is the pale servant quivering in the corner considered welcome enough? This is exactly why I hate this kind of thing. Too many bloody games.
At last, the doors at the end of the room swing open, and the Trovian royal retinue files in. Most hang back, wide eyes staring at us like frightened cattle in a slaughterhouse, but Queen Elowen strides forward, back straight, eyes calm and resolute, looking every inch a royal with the rubies in her crown gleaming against her dark hair. That, at least, she got from her grandfather.
“Prince Leonidas.” She offers her hand. Only Alastor has eyes sharp enough to catch my moment of hesitation before I take it, offering a bow.
“Your Majesty.” The title is bitter in my mouth, but I force myself to say it before turning to her husband, King Alaric. Unlike his wife, his hair is a deep brown, and he greets us with a quiet smile.
“May I introduce my friend and advisor, Lord Gyrion,” I say, going through the motions, even if with every word I want to replace their pleasant smiles with expressions of horror. These people took something from me that can never be replaced, and now I’m supposed to make nice with them.
“You two traveled alone?” Queen Elowen asks, raising her eyebrows. “I confess, I didn’t expect your party to be so small.”
I stare into her hazel eyes, looking for the hint of insincerity, but she’s hard to read.
“I find I don’t need much of an extended entourage to serve my purpose,” I say, scanning the small crowd now lining the antechamber. I don’t say, of course, that my extended entourage is in fact searching the city at this very moment. Only Alastor and I have to waste our time here—their quest is better kept secret.
“Well, perhaps if we did the same, we’d actually arrive to greet our visitors on time,” Alaric’s tone is light, and Alastor laughs. It breaks some tension in the room, as a handful of Trovians join in with a chuckle, but Elowen’s face stays perfectly still, and her eyes never leave mine.
Is she thinking what I am? Filusia and Trova might officially be allies, but lately the cracks have been showing—and someone else in this room knows that better than anyone. I see him in the corner, his scarlet robes impossible to miss, and wonder exactly how they’re going to play this.
“We should introduce you to some of our number, of course,” Queen Elowen says, sweeping an arm toward a woman with the same dark hair as her.
“My sister, Duchess Oclanna Rosier, and her husband, Duke Jocor Rosier.”
I barely look at them, focusing my energy on keeping the distaste from my face as the royals guide me through a growing list of introductions. If this is how they fritter away their time—on small talk and endless roll calls—I can see exactly where their problems come from. I manage to get through most of them without saying as much, however, and there’s a moment when I think they’re going to guide us out without any more fuss. Then Duchess Rosier chimes in, beckoning the man in red forward.
“And this is Anointer Nunias, one of the Temple’s best.”
The sisters exchange a look I can’t decipher, but I’m still asking myself the same question I had when I first laid eyes on the holy man. What are they doing bringing theirclerichere to meetme? There's no human still living who saw firsthand how many clerics I brought low, fighting beside the king in his civil war, but surely there are books on the matter. Enough to make my position crystal clear. The royals have made peace with the Temple of Ethira in the years since, but that doesn’t meanIhave. Nor will I, as long as they keep preaching of the inherent “sinfulness” of the fae in general—and me, most of all.
The stocky priest bows his head just a fraction. I can imagine how much even that pains him. A Temple man, having to show respect to the very same heathen fae his predecessors fought against so bravely? So stupidly? So pointlessly? His boss would be in fits.
I give him a cursory glance but say nothing. He seems oblivious to the threat I pose, as if he has no idea I could bring this building down on his head if I so wished. I glance over at Alastor, and then the Trovian royals. What do they want from me here?
Then the cleric speaks. “I’ve been praying for your country, Your Highness. That Ethira may bless it with his wisdom and splendor and bring it into a new age of truth and light.”
The little prick. He’s going to invoke Ethira to a fae, when the Temple uses his name to condemn our kind every other week?
I look over the man in his finery, red as flayed flesh, and offer him a dangerous smile.
“A cleric, talking to me about truth?” I laugh, low and hard. “Save your breath,” I say. “As a matter of fact, save some of that wisdom for yourself. Your precious Temple needs all it can get.”
The silence that follows is sharp enough to injure, and I can’t resist the flare of satisfaction that comes with the fear returning to the faces around me. The cleric flushes, but Queen Elowen steps in without missing a beat.
“We’ve kept you too long from your rooms, Prince Leonidas,” she says smoothly. “I’m sure you’ll be eager to rest after such a tiring journey. We can speak more tomorrow about the proposals your grandfather has sent. I hear he has some exciting ideas for the eastern trade routes.”
