Page 144 of A War of Three Kings

The muttering of the crowd picks up in intensity.

Lord Desmond raises his voice. “They may seem like barbarians restrained to the North, but I guarantee you, they are preparing for a major push forward, all the way to Sunbright City. They will bring their fae monsters with them to wreak havoc upon you good people.”

The crowd’s agitation increases. I search deep within me for my magic and find the tiniest wisp of air available. Perhaps I am developing a tolerance to the poison like Aldrin did. It is enough to collect some of those arguing voices and send them back to my ears alone.

“Of course they are planning an attack,” a man snickers. “I would send an army after my daughter as well.”

“Perhaps they shouldn’t have kidnapped Lord Appleshield’s daughter,” a countess murmurs.

“Forced her to marry!” another all but yells.

I drop those threads of air, a sudden chill running down my spine. The nobility may grumble, but not one of them lifted a finger to help me.

Lord Desmond casts a dark look across the crowd and their voices fade away. “This is a threat of the gravest kind to this kingdom. You all know who they march under.”

“Enough of this talk of war!” King Finan abruptly stands from his chair, his face red and contoured with rage. I wait for him to chide Lord Desmond for overstepping, but he never does. “I have already declared that the war with the North is over, now that my bride has returned to me. The Northern lords will lick their wounds, do their duty and execute their fae trespassers. They have no use for them now. I’m sure they will also return my brother to me. I will NOT hear of the North again.”

My heart hammers as the anticipation crashes through me like a tidal wave. This is it. Prince Niall has finally declared himself king. This is how Aldrin and my father will save me. They are coming with their army. He asked me to hold tight, but it is the hardest thing to do.

Lord Desmond rolls his head and speaks as though to a child. “You must face the reality that your brother has?—”

“Niall has not betrayed me. He would not dare.” Finan points at Lord Desmond. “He is merely a hostage, and a poor one at that. They will return him when they learn as much, dead or alive. He is NOT making a bid for my throne.”

I almost want to cry for the fool.

To pity him for his stupidity.

How can a person be so blind?

A heavy silence hangs over the entire hall. I resist the urge to shuffle in my seat.

“Have you forgotten that you claimed that this rebellion is a mask for a fae invasion? That our oldest enemy wants to enslave Strathia once more?” Lord Desmond grinds out, his knuckles turning white where they grip the armrests of the throne he has no right to sit upon.

Finan waves a hand at him, as though to dismiss it all, and sits back down. He clicks at a servant and is immediately brought a golden chalice of wine, taking a deep swig.

“I want to know why the royal family kept us in the dark for centuries about the truth of the fae and the Great War!” A middle-aged man stands in the center of the front pew. He has dark gray hair oiled and combed back from a long face, and a white beard that contrasts with the deep olive tone of his skin.

I immediately place him as Lord Tiernay. His lands are to the south of the capital, and he has remained neutral in this war. He is surely powerful and wealthy enough to dictate his own fate.

“You are going to believe some old books that have mysteriously appeared over the collective memory of our people?” Lord Desmond snarls.

The intimidation tactic doesn’t work. Lord Tiernay’s back straightens. “Those magical signatures cannot be faked or manipulated. The Living Memory Scrolls are authentic. I had my druid adviser check them thoroughly, and I am not the only one to have done so. I would like to ask the Mother of Magic Keira where these texts came from and if there are truly more out there.”

I open my mouth to answer, Finan be damned. If I can win these lords over here and now, it could save years or decades of work. It could truly end this war.

Finan tosses his heavy goblet straight at the noble’s head, crimson wine spilling in an arc through the air. A bodyguard reaches a long arm in front of the flinching lord, holding out a small shield. The goblet smacks into it, clattering to the ground, followed by the splattering of wine.

“She is no Mother of Magic!” the mad king screams.“She is your queen, and you will address her as such!”

The nobles hardly react. I wonder if this display is commonplace for them. I scan the crowd closely and notethe discreet bodyguards in fine clothing accompanying their patrons.

“Very well. My apologies,” Lord Tiernay says smoothly, wiping droplets of wine from his face with a handkerchief. “I would like to ask Queen Keira?—”

“The queen will not be addressed during these sessions,” Finan snaps.

“Those texts—” I begin, but Finan responds inhumanly fast, leaping from his throne and suddenly appearing behind mine, a hand wrapped over my mouth and the other digging into the tender flesh of my throat hard enough that tears spring to my eyes.

“Say another fucking word and I will have the guards strip you bare and tie you to my bed, then I will do everything and anything I want to you,” he growls, just loud enough for me to hear. “I will end this session and have them do it now. Say. One. More. Word. It will be my pleasure.”

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