Page 97 of The Mortal Queen

“Are you going to keep us in suspense? Tell us about your time with the Aos Sí,” Fergus demanded, waving his arms dramatically.

“What would you like to know?” Aisling replied, taking another sip.

“Where do you sleep?” Starn asked first, leaning his elbow atop Iarbonel’s chair.

“The dungeons?” Fergus chimed.

“She doesn’t smell as if she’s been sleeping in the dungeons.” Annind leaned forward.

“Nor does she look it,” Iarbonel added, each of them glaring at Aisling from head to toe. Iridescent in her raven-hued, dewdrop encrusted gown. Nothing mortal hands could spin.

“No,” Aisling said, eyes flicking to where Dagfin leaned against an antique chest, spinning a dinner knife artfully between his fingers. “I have my own royal chambers. It has a bed thrice as large as Clodagh’s in Tilren. A balcony that hangs amongst the canopies. Songbirds that tie my hair and lace my gowns.”

“And what did they have you do?” Iarbonel rested his head on his fist, already half-finished with his goblet.

“Did they starve you?” Fergus asked. “You’re vastly thinner than we last saw you.”

Aisling hesitated. Paused as if reluctant to spill more information than was necessary. But what did it matter? Of course, Galad stood a breath away from her, but her hesitation was born of more than simply being caught or overheard by a member of the fair folk. No. Her hesitation was deeper than that. A pang of guilt grew larger and larger the more she considered saying anything at all. As if it were a betrayal. But how could she betray the enemy? This—her brothers, Dagfin—they were her blood. Her tuath, Aisling assured herself.

“In my experience, the fair folk are skilled in nearly all ofthe arts,” Aisling confessed, “including cooking and preparingnon-enchanted meals for me to consume. So no, they didn’t starve me. They did, however, bait me before a trow.”

“A trow?” Fergus repeated without thinking, looking to Dagfin for an explanation. Aisling’s eyes followed Fergus’s line of sight, everyone’s attention swiveling towards the Roktan prince. The shadows cast from the torchlight danced across his expression.

“A species of troll,” Dagfin said, and everyone leaned closer to listen. “Trows typically reside west of Giant’s Causeway, in which case, the Aos Sí must’ve hunted down and imported one from further north for their games.” Dagfin flashed his eyes at the fae knight. A look that both unnerved Aisling and riled Galad for the knight shifted behind her.

“So, the mortal prince has more uses than longing for a bride that isn’t his own,” Galad bit, unable to hold his sharp tongue, a personality trait Lir should’ve considered before sending him into a camp swarming with mortals. With those who’d branded the fire hand’s crest into his flesh. Those who’d imprisoned his Morrin. Or perhaps that was exactly why Lir had chosen Galad. Who else would unleash fiery retribution on the mortals if given the opportunity? One wrong move on behalf of the mortals and everything would be for naught, Aisling realized.

Dagfin straightened, meeting Galad’s eyes.

“Watch your tongue, fae,” Dagfin chided, halting the spinning of knives between his fingers. Hands void of markings, the fae tattoos Aisling had become so accustomed to over the past several months. And the malice in his tone…Aisling had never known the Roktan prince capable of such poison.

“Or should you watch yours lest you say more than you’re permitted whilst in my presence?” Aisling blurted before she could think better of it. Dagfin’s eyes shot towards her. “Lest you reveal the truth behind the mortals’ elaboratelyspun veil?”

As if he’d been physically struck, Dagfin winced, eyes narrowing in response.

“You know nothing of what you speak,” Dagfin replied, his voice laced with anger. Anger that boiled Aisling’s blood for it was she who was entitled to such bitter resentment, the only one amongst them excluded from their secrets.

Dagfin had known about, was clearly well versed in, the Unseelie. Which begged the question: what else had they hidden from Aisling? Hidden from all the mortal commoners whose only refuge from the ghoulish aberrations, aberrations Nemed claimed were the fair folk, were their overcrowded cottages?

“No, that was before, before I was traded to the Aos Sí I didn’t know of what I spoke. Now—” Aisling fumbled over the words, the rage, confusion, doubt these past several months mounting inside her, preparing to explode. “Everything is different now.”

“Nothing’s changed, Ash,” Starn reassured her, stepping nearer. Galad tensed in response, for himself or Aisling she wasn’t sure. Perhaps the urge to behead him in the name of vengeance was more potent now than protecting his mortal queen.

Starn shifted his gaze to Galad then, his lips curving into a lopsided grin before returning his attention to his sister.

“You were young. A princess. More committed to breaking rules and mischief than harboring a difficult truth. A truth, theelaborateexplanation of everything outside of Tilren’s walls, was of no use to you.”

“No use to me?” Aisling gripped the stem of her goblet till she believed it might snap. “Did you think it was of no use to me before I was handfasted to the king of the Aos Sí? He with whom my own blood would have me conceive an heir?” Aisling briefly closed her eyes, doing her best to dampen her anger. “No, you claim you protected me, but such lies were spun in the name of distrust. You didn’t believe me capable of safeguarding such secrets, did you?”

Silence spread between them as each of her brothers avoided her eyes, pretending as though the rings on their fingers, the mud on their boots, or the waxing candles harbored the answers to her questions.

Starn cleared his throat. “You were wild, Ash. Cheating at our games, lying to our father, tricking the guards to escape Tilren’s law. But you were also only a child.”

Aisling bit her tongue, collecting herself. Ground her rage into her teeth, opening and closing her fists. Cursing thedraiochtthat climbed out of its cavern and goaded to be used.

Hush, she hissed internally to thedraiocht. Careful not to expose herself. For Aisling wasn’t certain how much her brothers or Dagfin knew of fae magic. Specifically, how it was harnessed. But she knew Galad felt it, thedraiochtpushing against Aisling’s walls to be unchained, for he glanced at her, opening his mouth to speak and thinking better of it. That aura of magic so close to him, angry and eager.

“Father will arrive any moment now.” Starn watched her closely. “He should be here for these conversations.”

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