“Will I get to meet the rest of your siblings while we are on our visit?”
Will he get to meet my sister is what he is truly asking. Father had taught me long ago to see the intention behind every question.
“I’m sure that could be arranged this evening.”Before our fathers sit down to discuss what is really at hand here.
Eventually, I will have to tell him that my sister will not be in attendance for that, seeing as she is not even within the castle walls. Instead, I might walk him down to the portrait that hangs tucked in my mother’s quadrant of the castle. That might allow us more time to get to know each other and garner some sort of friendship.
“I am a fan of Pucks and Daggers. Do any of your brothers play? Yourself, maybe?”
Any one of my brothers could play Pucks and Daggers. It’s a board game of strategy that we’d all been taught. I held little interest in the game.
“Ah, my brother Arius is very fond of that game! Though I must warn you that he is hard to beat and will put up much of a challenge.”
“I am number one in my country. We hold yearly tournaments.”
Whether he’s actually good at the game or if their populace is too scared to beat a prince is entirely up for debate.
“It will be a good match then,” I say.
The words have barely left my mouth before china rattles as my father’s fist slams into the table. Muscles tighten through my body. I slide my gaze over the faces of our guests, trying to gauge their reactions to such odd behavior. My heartbeat hammers away. Will he lose us this small chance at true friendship with the Court of Winds?
Queen Portia gasps, comforted by Basilus who pats her hand. King Deonairdus reaches out a hand. For what? To question King Melic’s sudden shift in demeanor? Had he not expected such things from a man with a label as terrible as the Mad King? Dalziel’s fork has frozen mid-bite; his brows pinch as he waits.
“DAMN IT!”
King Deonairdus’s guards all step forward at the sound while King Melic’s men knowingly shrink back. Their armor clinks loudly together, their steps heavy and in sync. Deonairdus raises a hand, and the guards wait patiently for their orders.
My teeth grind together, my chair scraping over the polished floor. The noise of wood moving over tile cuts through the tension of the room. It earns me more than one look from the guards. I move toward him cautiously, afraid of what else he might do.
By the time I reach his side, his eyes are wide and red rimmed. Spit sprays from his lips as he repeats the curse and throws his wine across the room. It shatters against the far wall, crimson coating the stone and dripping down like blood. Queen Valentina is clasping Beau’s hand as the boy watches in stunned silence. He knows better than to speak when King Melic is in one of his fits.
The question is what has triggered it this time?
“Father?” Laying my hands carefully on his shoulders, I offer King Deonairdus and Queen Portia an apologetic smile.Their faces have gone pale with shock, and both of them tilt in their seats as far away from King Melic as possible. As if that could save them.
His velvet sleeves that balloon past the shoulders of his black-buttoned vest rise and fall rapidly as the rate of his breathing increases. He clutches the armrests of his seat, his knuckles white against the dark wood. The dishes clatter again, vibrating like an earthquake has taken to the table. His magic is chaotic, unseen, and mostly harmless while he’s in his fit. Our guests push themselves away. Casimir catches a falling glass in his lap. Red liquid splashes from it, staining his green trousers. He sighs as he dabs at it with his napkin, uncaring as he watches the spectacle before him.
“Father,” I repeat again, this time more sternly, a voice I learned from him. My leather attire groans as I bend to lower my face to his ear. “What may I assist you with? It is I, your eldest son, Merrick.”
There had been a time or two that the king had not recognized his own children while he was busy with one of these outbursts. They were all quick to learn the importance of announcing themselves after receiving the brunt end of his lashing magic.
Muscles in his face shudder with small spasms. His fingers twitch against his chair. Gradually, he turns to look at me. I fight the urge to step away, to get out of his reach. Tendrils of black ink swirl inside his irises.
The king lifts a hand, poking at my face. All I can do is bear through it.
“Merrick? Who is Merrick?”
All eyes shift to me. His fingers drag my features down, exposing the pink flesh under my eyelid. He tries to read my face like Braille.
“Merrick.” I repeat. “I am your first son.”
“Honey, remember?” My mother tries to chime in, her voice gentle and sweet.
The king’s hands fall away. He turns back in his seat, looking to his wives. He blinks several times, leisurely cataloguing all the silent Fae at the table. I can almost see the pieces come sliding back together as he remembers who and what he is.
“Merrick,” King Melic hisses under his breath. “Your sister has broken the law."
“Ah.” I pat him gently. “Might that be an issue we can address after lunch?”
