Page 107 of The Mortal Queen

“You refer to the bonds you believe certain couples bear while others don’t,” Friseal spoke up. Aisling, alarmed by the familiarity of his voice, whipped her attention towards him. Her childhood tutor shot her a quick glance before focusing on Filverel once more. “We’re aware of your customs. Whether we agree with them or not is another matter entirely.”

“You can condemn our ways all you like but at the end of the day it’ll be your prince’s head rolling towards your feet.”

“Savages!” Ciar stood from her seat, hands balled into fists. “You shall not touch him!”

“Sit down, Ciar,” Nemed commanded. “We each agreed to this union knowing it was a risk. To build and foster a new age between man and Sidhe, sacrifices will be made,challenges faced, and risks waged. This shouldn’t come as a surprise.” The fire hand opened his arms wide, gesturing towards every mortal sovereign, flaith, and advisor seated around the table.

“Now, on to topics that haven’t been overly digested,” Nemed continued, ignoring Ciar as she slowly took back her seat. “Whilst we’ve agreed to this gamble of yours, a loss would indeed be disastrous.” Nemed took a bite of red meat. “So, in order to ensure our gamble is worth this possibility, we ask for more in return: an offer of ‘good faith’ on behalf of the Sidhe.”

Lir smiled casually at the fire hand, the image of cool, easy arrogance.

“What is it you want, Nemed?” The fae king asked outright, and as he spoke the tips of his fangs scraped his bottom lip. A detail neither Ciar nor Clodagh missed for their complexions paled.

“Your Unseelie are growing bolder, inching their way towards our villages, towns, cities, and, worst of all, our capitals. There are even those who’ve dared to scale our walls, breaching mortal territory. If I recall correctly, the terms of your union promised the Unseelie would abstain from preying upon our kind lest a human venture into their land. That was the agreement, so why hasn’t it been upheld?”

“Isn’t that why you have the Faerak?” Lir said coolly. “Or are they as useless as they sound?”

A muscle flickered across Dagfin’s jaw but he kept himself composed, stilling the ivory knives he perpetually spun between his fingers. And as a mortal barmaid scuttled around the table nervously, filling chalices with more ale, mead, wine, and ciders, Dagfin covered the top of his glass with his hand, refusing any alcohol for the second time that night.

“The closer the Unseelie venture into our borders—wyverns, golems, ogres, and selkies—the more they rouse suspicion,” Fínín said, his voice gravelly and aged. “There’s already talk amongst our peoples that the fair folk and theUnseelie are”—he considered for a moment, carefully searching for the correct words—“due a categorical separation.”

“So, your lies are slipping through the cracks in your hands?” Aisling challenged, her heart pounding the moment the words fell from her lips. “Tell the subjects you claim to adore the truth of who and what either the fair folk and Unseelie are. Print the Forbidden Lore for them to decide for themselves what they believe, what to think of the gods.”

Fínín glared at Aisling, an expression designed to melt the flesh from her bones.

“It appears your daughter has stolen more than just theirmagic,” he spat across the table, and as he did Aisling felt Lir darkening beside her. “She’s adopted their boorish tongues as well.”

“Settle down, Fínín. Aisling is an equal amongst the northern sovereigns now. Refrain from speaking to her with such disrespect,” Feradach, king of Roktling, chided.

Over the years, Aisling had built a close relationship with Feradach. For one day, they’d all believed he’d be her father-in-law. A relationship that, although never concluded the way she’d anticipated, she was grateful for now.

“You speak of respect, Feradach?!” Ciar’s complexion flushed with such potent acidity it soured the air around her. “She’s no queen if all she’s done is open her legs to the Aos Sí. I’d rather choke than honor her with such a title.”

Aisling gripped the arms of her chair, willing thedraiochtcontained. But she wasn’t the one imbuing the air with magic.

Amidst the silence, the lady of Aithirn did choke; eyes like saucers, she gagged before erupting into a fit of useless coughs.

The table hesitated, confusion muddling every mortal mind.

“What do you think you’re doing just standing there?! Get her some water!” Fínín barked at the barmaid, the sentinels, any whowould listen.

But what began as one or two small coughs grew into a frenzy, the Aithirnian queen standing from her seat, spilling Nemed’s mead on Clodagh’s lap, and clawing at her throat. Sim desperately slapped her back. But it wasn’t until leaves spewed from her mouth, combined with her own saliva that all shook with horror. Thorns, small weeds and verdant grasses, even flower buds spat from between the Aithirnian queen’s shriveled lips.

“Speaking of boorish tongues,” Lir purred, blithely cracking his neck from side to side.

And as the lianas fell onto the table, writhing like worms, Friseal whacked them with his fork.

“By the Forge,” Iarbonel cursed, as each of his brothers fell out of their chairs and staggered back, weapons uselessly drawn.

“Make it stop!” Sim shouted, his voice cracking mid-sentence. But none could expel the enchantment save for the fae king. For even the mortal guards and Dagfin knelt beside Ciar now; no potions, no weapons, no iron available could dampen Lir’sdraiocht.

“This is a direct offence to a mortal crown!” Fínín boomed.

“I believe it was the Aithirnian queen who initially began the offences.” Filverel couldn’t help but exhale a laugh, downing the last gulps of water from his glass.

Lir grinned murderously, leaning back in his chair. “I suggest you give the queen of the Sidhe her due respect, lest your wish be granted.”

All, now standing, turned to the Aithirnian queen, hopelessly choking, panicking, her saliva rapidly dyed red. But Lir didn’t move, didn’t flinch, patiently waited until, at last, Ciar fell onto her knees. Until at last, she pressed her nose against the Centari carpets beneath them and bowed to Aisling. Clodagh gasping with disgust or relief, Aisling couldn’t tell.

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