Page 81 of The Mortal Queen

I’ve written and rewritten this letter countless times and none seem to bear the news any lighter. Your letter to your father was received with great uproar. The mortal sovereigns have discussed its contents at length and are eager to request further council with the fae crown. A conclave they hope to celebrate with another interracial union to solidify the treaty your union has already established, a marriage between myself and a fae princess of the Aos Sí’s choosing.

There was a pause in Dagfin’s writing. A scribbling and a crossing out before he continued.

I wanted the news to come from me before you heard it from another. Hopefully, if you attend, we’ll see one another again. I hope to speak with you.

I’ve missed you.

Dagfin

Signed by the seal of the prince of Roktling.

Aisling read the letter more than once. Nemed had indeed received her letter regarding the Unseelie. In fact, the mortal sovereigns were discussing her correspondence. Her father had listened to her.

Relief swept over the mortal queen. There were moments, quiet moments, Aisling believed her letter had been lost before it had arrived at Tilren or worse, burned once it’d arrived, ignored by her father as the machinations of a silly woman. But the mortal sovereigns had heeded her word and were actively organizing a response to such threats. Even the mortal walls still stood. Protection against a new and ruthless foe: the Unseelie. And it was because of Aisling. So, she allowed herself a moment to glow with pride.

But such a moment was short-lived, for dread too gripped the mortal queen—Dagfin was to be wed to a member of the fair folk.

The last she saw of her kind, their loathing for the Aos Sí was matched only by the Aos Sí’s loathing for the mortals in turn. A hatred she believed could onlybeginto dissipate after centuries of necessary peace. So why had her father and the mortal court agreed to more unions so swiftly? Were the benefits truly so wonderful? And the risks it posed to Dagfin’s life should he not be the fae princess’scaera?

The last lines of the letter were perhaps the most difficult to read. Yet they were the ones Aislingread the most.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” a voice erupted from behind. Aisling jumped, turning Saoirse to face the fae procession swiftly approaching. “You know better than to open a letter before the court advisor has had an opportunity to oversee it.” Filverel moved his stag beside Aisling’s, snatching the letter from her hands.

“It’s addressed to me and therefore mine to do as I please,” Aisling growled, reaching for the letter. But it was too late. Filverel was already scouring the page with his moonstone eyes. Studying every one of Dagfin’s strokes as though they might leap from the page at any moment and attack.

“Another union?” Fil said at last, his eyes flicking towards Aisling hesitantly.

“What’s this?” Galad said, approaching within ear shot.

“It appears the prince of Roktling has corresponded with our queen,” Filverel said. And at the mention of Dagfin’s title, Lir’s head cocked to attention, eyes flicking towards Aisling.

“What does it say?” Galad asked.

The advisor didn’t respond. Merely handed the parchment to Galad so the knight could read it for himself. Aisling ground her teeth, near simmering despite the highland chill.

“Hand it back,” she ordered. Heat flushed her cheeks, her hands, her ears. Galad, reluctantly, offered her the letter, eyeing Filverel as he did so. Aisling snatched the page back and tucked it into her jacket.

“‘Fae princess?’” Galad repeated Dagfin’s words.

“Aye, he must be referring to Peitho.” Filverel ran his fingers through his hair. “She’s the only trooping female of such rank in Rinn Dúin.”

Aisling swallowed. She despised Peitho uniquely and to imagine Dagfin, her childhood friend—her only friend—either destined to duel or beboundto her? Aisling grimaced.

“She’ll never agree,” Cathan said, joining their conversation.

“She might not have a choice,” Filverel said. “Peace isfragile. A rejection, one so early on, could jeopardize all our previous efforts.”

“So, we do whatever the mortals bid?” Rian chimed.

“We satiate them where we can,” Filverel replied. “Peitho was raised for the potential of one day marrying for her court.”

“Not to the mortals,” Aedh said, spitting on the ground.

Hagre, unbuckling his flask from his hart’s saddle, lifted the canteen to his lips before piping in as well. “Lir will never allow it.”

After all, Peitho and Lir had once been…what had they been? Lovers? Friends? Something in between? It was never clear. If it was up to Peitho, the fae princess would have Aisling believe the former.

“Peitho will do what the Sidhe require of her,” Lir said at last. Aisling whipped her attention towards the fae king. “If what the Sidhe need is another union, she’ll give it.”

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