Page 95 of The Mortal Queen

“I’ll join you until dinner this evening,” Aisling said to her father, hardening her expression so it exposed none of her inner turmoil. “After all, I’ve been dying to hear your response to my letter and what occurred to the raven, who not you but another returned to me.”

Nemed’s brows rose, eyes widening withsurprise. Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to hold him accountable for never responding to her letters. Perhaps he’d forgotten about it himself. But his shock was short-lived. The fire hand swiftly collected himself, stealing away any emotion behind the thick walls of iron he’d built around vulnerabilities Aisling wasn’t certain existed.

Aisling turned to Lir then, exchanging a look she hoped he’d understand. But she couldn’t tell. His expression was one mortals had encountered on battlefields but never lived to describe.

Lir nodded his head at last, steadying his mount’s growing anxiety.

The fae king turned towards Galad, tipping his head in his direction. A silent command. And without hesitation, the fae knight stepped forward till he stood directly behind Aisling, hand on the hilt of his greatsword.

“My first knight will escort her,” Lir explained, returning Aisling’s look with one of his own.

“I can assure you, there is no safer place for Aisling than amongst her own blood,” Nemed argued, his voice as smooth as milk, the vein atop his forehead growing more prominent, his scar reddening.

“It’s non-negotiable.” The forest hushed in response to their lord’s tone, a subtle growl deepening his every word.

Nemed considered for a moment, his knuckles burning white.

“Of course.” Aisling’s father bowed curtly to the fae king, before spinning on his heels. His back now facing all the fair folk whose temper matched their savage sovereign’s.

“Starn, escort your sister and her shadow to my private chambers. I’ll join you all in a moment,” Nemed said. Without a word, the sea of mortals parted to make way for their high king as the mortal sovereigns followed in his steps. The anxiety of turning their backs to the fair folk written across their mortal features.

Starn approached then, his countenance softening slightly. And behind him, Iarbonel, Annind, Fergus, and Dagfin waited for Aisling, gripping the hafts of their weapons. Still eyeing Lir who was already ignoring Friseal as he made his introductions to the fae king; Friseal hadn’t changed in the slightest since Aisling had last seen him. Instead, Lir focused his attention on Aisling, eyes glinting through the thickening haze.

“Keep your distance lest you answer in blood.” Galad moved closer to Aisling, stopping Starn mid-stride.

Her eldest brother scoffed, turning to exchange glances with the rest of her kin.

“I wondered if I’d ever see you again.” Starn beamed at Galad while squinting his charcoal eyes. Eyes he and the rest of Aisling’s brothers had stolen from their mother.

“You know him?” Iarbonel asked, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Aye, he does,” Galad answered for him. “We’re well acquainted.”

At his words, Aisling swatted away the image of the fae knight’s mass branding. The vicious abuse her eldest brother had inflicted on the one who sought to free hiscaera.

“You’ve recovered well since the last I laid eyes on you, other than Aisling’s union, of course,” Starn continued. “In fact, you promised my head on a pike if ever again we met face to face.”

“A promise I’m more than willing to uphold should you not quiet your tongue. After all, I need only wait for time to shrivel your bones and slow your beating heart.”

“It appears this fae has a death wish.” Fergus flushed with rage. “How dare you speak thus before the future high king of all Rinn Dúin?”

Starn rolled his neck, ignoring his younger brother. “There are stories that claim your iron scars still burn like the day they were dealt. So, tell me, fae, do yours still wakeyou in the night? Or is the memory of my face alone enough to bind me to your late-night horrors?”

Galad laughed but it was humorless. Hollow. Chilling the air they shared till Annind noticeably shivered.

“I harbor no late-night horrors, fleshling. I am the nightmare your clannsmen fear when your dirt roads and your iron walls can no longer guide nor shelter you.”

Aisling saw the loathing churning in Starn’s expression. The veins cording his neck and painting his rounded ears red. But she felt no sympathy nor pity for her own blood. What he’d done was unforgivable in Aisling’s eyes. There was reason and vengeance in death and destruction if committed in the name of their home, their clannsmen, their futures. But what Starn had done was senseless hate. A wicked form of pleasure he’d satisfied with Galad’s torment.

“Enough,” Aisling spoke before any others could. “You’re meant to be escorting me towards Father’s private chambers, are you not?”

Starn reeled, facing Aisling for the first time. Aisling’s heart twisted at the sight of him. For there was a lack of recognition in his eyes. They were an arm’s reach away, and yet farther than they’d ever been before.

“Hello, Sister.” Her eldest brother extended the curve of his arm to Aisling. A mortal custom Aisling had forgotten, her brief, puzzled expression exposing her lapse in memory, for her brothers and Dagfin each exchanged knowing glances. She should’ve remembered such etiquette. It hadn’t been that long since she partook in such customs. Yet, it felt like a lifetime.

At the gesture, Galad half drew his sword, pausing only for Aisling’s touch on his arm, her violet eyes requesting he surrender this battle. For now. And so, he stood down, allowing Starn to guide his sister onward.

“It’s good to see you.” Iarbonel eyed Aisling, too afraid to touch her lest her fae shadow react once more.

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