Shadow Cursed: A Noblesse Oblige Duet Book Two Page 10

  That, if nothing else, ends the discussion altogether.

  The war council ends on that note, and we stay in the room as it empties out.

  When no one remains, except for her family—the rest of the high court—I ask, “So where are we actually going?”

  She grins. “The Murkwood.”

  The Queen’s Fool

  Vlari

  I’ve never been one to dream. I wasn’t plagued with nightmares either—I just used to fall into a deep sleep. After ten years of nothing but dreams mingled with visions, I have to remind myself that this is real. I am awake. I am alive.

  His presence helps. Drusk. Rystan. Having him by my side is an anchor in reality. If nothing else does, he feels real.

  Rystan.

  If someone had told me years ago that he was my mate, I would have laughed. Now that I've come to realize it, nothing in my life is more certain. When I'm so old that I forget who I am, I'll still know that he's mine. My mate. The man who was made for me.

  I smile at him because I can’t help myself. He knows me better than I would have guessed.

  I don't have a thing against the shy folk, of course, but going north just to rescue them seems like a monumental waste of resources. I would have spoken against it, and refocused us on the matter at hand, had I not seen an opportunity.

  I need to go north.

  “And what, pray, will we be doing in the Murkwood?”

  I'm amused by the fact that he includes himself in my plan. He's right to. I have no intention of leaving him behind. “Raiding Old Keep.”

  Old Keep is the first settlement the fae built when we arrived to this part of Alfheimr long ago. Surrounded by beasts and demons, they opted to join forces and ensconce themselves behind unbreakable walls. I’ve read ballads and seen paintings of the once-magnificent castle the folk lived in before any court, before any kingdoms, when the unseelie and seelie hadn’t claimed their lands yet. Each stone of the castle is said to be imbued with magic, so that the castle will never be too hot or cold, too dark or light. So that no enemy can cross its doors.

  It was abandoned when the unseelie and seelie parted ways, because that castle was meant for both courts, and could not be occupied by just one. They say the last to step out were the seelie king and the unseelie queen. If one had remained alone, the magic of Old Keep would have destroyed them.

  I press, “If your hag didn’t lie, the book on shields is there. I wouldn't be surprised—Old Keep was shielded better than any other fae land. And if I'm right, there will be more elemental stones than we could ever need there.”

  Every single stone in that castle is said to be an elemental stone.

  I shouldn't rely on rumors and legends, but what else can we do? Appeal to the sea? We'll certainly try, but charming as Lind was, I doubt he'll offer his aid again. And even if he does, I want that book. Weighing so much on the word of a hag is madness.

  “You forget. If an unseelie enters it without a seelie fae, it may fall to pieces,” Drusk points out.

  “Well, I’ll find myself a seelie to drag along, then. Any volunteers?” I stare pointedly at my grandmother, who shakes her head.

  “Oh, I think not, child. You go on your adventures. One of us has to remain here to protect your mother.”

  I shrug off the slight. My mother can take care of herself just fine. “Very well. There’s a quarter of seelie blood in my veins. Maybe it’ll do the trick.”

  Drusk snorts. “You’re as unseelie as they come. You'll never fool ancient magic.”

  I let the subject drop. I have another plan at the edge of my mind—a scheme that'll take care of that little problem—but I’ve already said too much. While there are still spies and traitors in Whitecroft, I should keep my own counsel as much as possible.

  My eyes trail across the room to my grandfather. "You did well, thinking of the heart stone in Hardrock. Without it, we wouldn't have been able to build any shield."

  Alven nods, his spine stiff. "I knew it was used to anchor many a spell, offensive and defensive alike. I didn't want it in the hands of our enemies."

  My attempt to smile doesn't reach my eyes. "And what purpose did you imagine we'd use it for, I wonder?"

  My mother and father, Meda and Drusk, all look between us, attempting to read the room. They can feel the tension, though none of them know its cause.

  I'm waiting, and Alven knows what I expect from him. What I need him to do now.

  He can either be honest, or get out. Out of the war council, and out of Whitecroft.

  "It's not what you think, Vlari."

  It's exactly what I think.

  Silence stretches. Though I don't think anyone here thought to suspect him, they're hardly surprised.

  I've had endless hours to think back to that night. To the way our defenses were taken out on various fronts, and so precisely. It's clear our enemy knew just where and how to hit us, although the secrets of Tenebris aren't shared with many. The common folk don't know the army's rotation, or ways around the curses and shields of the various courts. And how had the immortals even entered Hardrock?

  The obvious answer was that a traitor had whispered in the ears of the immortals, but whom? Alven was the obvious choice. I could have been wrong, but Alven had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Besides, he was the only one conveniently away from the halls when every other member of his family—our family, I suppose—was killed.

  He doesn't deny it.

  For years—centuries—he’s been forced to relinquish his power and dance to the tune of the queen. She chose him as her consort, forcing him away from his court, taking his power, turning him into nothing more than an ornament, and the breeder she used to father her heirs.

  I understand him completely.

  I can even forgive him.

  I take one of the untouched glasses of wine on the tree stump. “How did you do it?”

  There’s no point asking if. I know he betrayed Tenebris.

  “Noira,” he replies, caressing the bird on his shoulder. His familiar. “She came to me one day, not long after Morgana sent our daughter away and welcomed a human pawn in her stead.”

  I can only nod, and take another sip.

  “You’re not asking why I did it.”

  I shrug. “That much is obvious, Grandfather. You wanted Morgana out of the way. They promised you that you could be high king if you helped take down the current government.”

  Alven closes his eyes. “Do you think me a fool?”

  Alven is a dominant, domineering, proud gentry with a considerable amount of power, and she’d all but filed his claws.

  “Certainly not. I think you were desperate.” I down the rest of my drink. “And truth be told, if they’d come to me with a way to kill Morgana, I would have signed on the dotted line without looking too much into their motivations, either. I didn’t even have to share her bed.” I grimace, imagining what sort of a wife the old queen would have been. I sincerely doubt Alven has been given many chances to lead the dance, so to speak.

  My grandfather pushes a brow up.

  “I don’t judge you for turning your back on Morgana, Alven.” I cannot call him anything but that, not now, with everything that has passed. He isn’t king consort. He isn’t quite family. He’s just a potential enemy. Or an asset.

  “I simply need to know whether you’ll turn your back on this crown. On my mother.” On me.

  I don’t say it, but the meaning is clear.

  Mother wears the crown, but I am the one who protects it from the shadows.

  Alven pours us more wine. “I don’t have any reason to. I am free. And Ciera is my daughter. You’re wrong to think I’d destroy my family. Nothing went right, that day."

  I snort. I imagine not, otherwise he wouldn’t be stuck here with the rest of us.

  "I never meant for Tenebris to fall. They promised to get Morgana out of the way, that's true. She refused to negotiate any trade with the west for centuries. Vikus grew tired of askin
g.”

  Tenebris and Denarhelm both adjoin Alfheimr, though some merchants are allowed to land ships on our coasts. For generations, Alfheimr has sought our business, and for generations we’ve refused. Opening trade routes means building roads and accepting strangers into our lands, softening our borders.

  “It isn't uncommon to seek your neighbor's aid to remove a monarch. I never asked for the crown. I never wished for it. I meant for it to pass to whoever among my children was deemed most worthy of it by the house of lords." He's spoken plainly enough for me to believe him, and at the mention of his children, his sorrow is plain.

  "Father. How could you think they wouldn't take advantage of the situation? Sharing details of our defenses…"

  "I didn't say a word about our defenses." His shoulders sagged. "Turned out, I didn't need to. For years, for decades, I don't know, they've been scouting around Tenebris. The first I heard of it was when our friend Drusk here came back wounded, warning us of a human attack. We've had a unit or two missing in the past years—five lower fae. No one pays any mind to that. The seelie archers are quick to shoot, and soldiers defect every day. They've had their eyes on us for longer than we knew. All I offered was a way into the Shadow Peak keep."

  That explains why only the usurper, Kraven Vikus, and his son made it inside, while their foot soldiers remained in the city.

  I nod. Alven wasn't nearly as stupid as I feared.

  "You have to believe me. I never wished to kill my family."

  No. Just his wife. The wife who forced herself on him, using her title to order him into a loveless match he resented.

  "I don't care about any of that. No offense. I never knew any of my aunts, uncles, or cousins. If they didn't care to know me, I'm not going to start mourning them. As for Morgana, well. I get why you wanted the bitch dead." I'm perhaps a little harsher than necessary, but at least I'm honest. "What matters to me is that you betrayed the high queen of Tenebris once for personal reasons. I understand why. It's still not exactly reassuring for my mother."

  Ciera stands a little straighter, her eyes fixed on her father. "Yes. As you chose to align with Alfheimr, against your vows to protect our kingdom, I don't see any other choice. You must go."

  I could groan. My mother is as straightforward and impulsive as ever. This revelation either hurt or frightened her, and her answer to that is to kick him out of Whitecroft. I understand it. I do. But ridding us of one of the best fighters we have at the dawn of a long-ass day seems like the worst idea since my haircut. Which is saying a lot, given the fact that I lived through a war council session. For one, she could be throwing him into his other daughter's arms. When the time comes, I'd much rather him bleed for us than for Violet.

  "Or," I say, before Alven can accept his banishment, "you could offer Mother your oath."

  All subjects of the high court have a vague duty to protect our kingdom. We swear to it under the moonlight at each solstice, but the wording of the chants is vague enough to allow for plenty of leeway, as Alven's treachery proved. A direct oath to the queen would allow no such thing. Alven would die should he attempt to weasel out of it.

  I've not heard of one fae who gave a formal oath in my entire lifetime. Not to our high queen, not to any of the rulers of the lower courts, and not in the seelie kingdoms. To swear to obey all of the queen's commands till death means giving up one's freedom.

  I half expect Alven to decline the offer and be on his way. Instead, he nods stiffly before dropping to one knee.

  "I, Alven Oberon, King of the Court of Mist, son of Tenebris, swear my life to you, my daughter, Ciera Bane of House Oberon. I am yours to command, from this day until forever ends. May the stars bear witness."

  I don't know whether the stars are paying attention, but I certainly am.

  No one else is talking, or moving for that matter.

  At least until the ungodly lament of my stomach breaks through the silence. I wince. "In my defense, I haven't eaten in ten years."

  Starved

  Vlari

  I eat as much as I possibly can, so fast I feel sick. I have to force food in, washing it down with wine. When I cannot stand any more, I find room for a custard torte anyway. I’ve never enjoyed food as much as I do on my first night back from the realm of sleep.

  Ten years. I can’t even begin to imagine what things might be like for the cursed prince of the wilderness, after a thousand years. With some luck, the poor fool is passed out, or dead.

  I lie back on my chaise, too exhausted to even think about dragging myself all the way to my bed—some ten paces away.

  Drusk, leaning against the wall in front of me, smiles in a way that's far too mocking for my liking.

  "Not a word."

  His grin broadens, but he remains silent, staring me down.

  Part of me is glad he followed me back to my room. I would have so hated if he'd left. Yet now that he's here, I don't know what to do with him—where to put him. That he belongs in my bed is obvious, but I don't want him in there now. I don't think I could take it.

  I know he's my mate, but he has no clue, and I prefer it that way. There's an army surrounding us, we're about to trek through a human-infested kingdom, and then, if we're lucky, we'll be ready for war. The last thing either of us needs is to add complications.

  Our situation? It's complicated. Or perhaps, far too simple. Right now, my priority is Tenebris. I want our kingdom to return to what it used to be. I want to be able to walk through the Light Market of Hardrock. I want what's mine. What's ours. And yes, I want Rystan Drusk right next to me as I reclaim all these things, but while he's on my list—high on my list—of concerns, he isn't the main driving force in my life. If he happens to fall tomorrow, it'd hurt, but I'd survive it.

  If he and I were to form a mating bond, I don't think any of that would apply anymore. If the stories are true, I'd live and die for him—with him. Neither of us can afford that. And while I was more than happy to indulge a little with him when I first awoke, I think that taking it a step further with him is a dangerous slope. If sex was on the table, he could feel our bond. He could know it. He could recognize me as his.

  Part of me warms at the thought. A large part of me. But that's Vlari talking. The girl who had no one to think of but herself. The girl whose only concern was to buy and trade enough goods and favors to repair a roof.

  Nevlaria Bane, crown heir of Tenebris, cannot afford the weakness that a mate provides.

  I'm too dangerous, too volatile where his safety is concerned already. I haven't forgotten what it felt like to let myself take, and take and take, absorbing the life force of immortals, fully intending to consume them. And I haven't forgotten that it was seeing him in pain that triggered it.

  "Do you need to see your family before we leave tomorrow?"

  He inclines his head. "I'll go tomorrow. They're likely to be asleep already."

  It's almost morning already. "You're sure you don't want any more food? It's delicious." He emptied a generous plate a while back, but he's just watched me eat for the last…I don't know how long. I've eaten for hours, and I feel no regret.

  "Only one of us starved for years, you know."

  I didn't actually starve; my system was on complete lockdown, frozen in time. It doesn't change the fact that my stomach has never been this empty—not even after gorging myself on fairy fruit and throwing it all up in the garden as a kid.

  And now, it's never been so full. Our kind never needs to eat as much as I have tonight.

  I manage to get to my feet and drag myself to my bed. I wince, hating the very sight of it. And the smell of it, too. The inside was stuffed with lavender, I think. I want to burn it to ashes. Tomorrow. As much as I dislike the idea of ever sleeping again, I am growing tired, and I can't afford to leave Whitecroft without all my wits at my disposition.

  I drag the covers over my shoulders, closing my eyes. "Do you intend to stand there the entire day?"

  "If it pleases you, princess."
/>   I roll my eyes. Princess. When he used to call me that, I was anything but. Now, it's accurate, yet it still feels like a joke. "There's plenty of room in this bed."

  I keep my eyes closed as he joins me. Feeling the warm, hard body against me, and smelling his heady scent, I decide I don't quite hate my bed after all.

  A cloud of dark fur leaps on my feet, and I laugh. “Where were you all day?” I ask the fox, who fixes me with a challenging stare.

  He seems to say, I don’t see how that’s any of your concern, and I decide he’s not wrong. Being my familiar doesn’t make him a pet. The wyrfox is as wild as he ever was. I wonder how he’s taken to living in the castle, making a silk bed his den. From the way he starts to snore moments later, I guess he’s adapted to it quite well.

  I follow him into a deep slumber.

  Dusk comes too soon, and with it, the buzz of activity I've heard every day for ten long years. At first, I don't move, used as I am to not being able to. But when I feel Drusk shift next to me, I open my eyes and sit up.

  Sometime in the night, he must have removed layer after layer of clothes, because all I see is delicious, warm, bare skin, covered in dark ink. I gasp, enjoying the way his defined muscles flex. The marks on his back tell a story I don't know—a story of loss and friendship. My fingers trace them.

  He shivers under my touch and awakens with a start. His unfocused eyes freeze when they fall on me. Then he breaks into the most open smile I've ever seen on his lips.

  I could lick it. I certainly want to.

  To distract myself, I ask, "When did these show up?"

  He glances over his shoulder to his back. "Some, a while back, during training. I made friends with a boy who gave up the first week. When he left, I earned my first mourning mark." He reaches around his waist to touch a rose with blue lines, right over his hipbone.

  "Were you lovers?" I ask, curious, I tell myself. Not jealous. I have never been the jealous type, and that won't start today.