Page 3 of Kiss the Filthiest King

“Where is she?” Ms. Prim snaps without preamble.

I guess we’re not doing the whole hello thing. Fine by me. “Do you really think I’d call you if I knew?” I snort. “When did you speak to her last?”

They spoke Sunday—four days before I saw her.

That’s not good at all.

Where the hell are you, Rin?

2

FATE IS A BITCH

Ryther

Ifly low, those strange, beautiful membranes instinctively batting to crush the air, racing for time. I don’t let myself think of the fact that the only heartbeat I hear is mine. I don’t let myself notice that in the dim morning light, the inert body in my arms feels colder.

She’s not dead. She can’t be. The marks prove it.

They run along her legs, her torso, her arms, snaking across her limbs like they have a life of their own, mirroring the ones that appeared on my skin.

I wasn’t surprised to see them. I wasn’t surprised to feel the bond click into place the moment I stopped ignoring what I knew. What I’d felt from the start.

Darina Thorn, cursed child, changeling, ironsider, queen.

And mine.

She was always mine. I wonder if I’ve known ever since I laid her down on that stone, frozen in time, a thousand years ago. It’s likely. I’ve felt like I’ve been waiting for her return since. I told myself I was expecting the heir to the high queen’s throne, so that she might seal the gates at the heart of Ilvaris, or chase the eldritch, or even tame the court. But between the few lords who care more than for the world than their own happiness, and my brother and I, we were managing all that.

What I wanted and needed was her, so that my life might start.

And now, she’s dead.

Or something close to it.

The journey doesn’t take long, as crows fly, and for the first time, I am one of them in earnest.

They called me the crow king as a jest, an insult that long ceased to have any sting. I am a Crow, issuing from the royal line of court of wings, but failing to don my own wings as a child meant a one-way trip off the highest tower of the highest mountain. One I only survived by the will of the high queen. I was disowned, disavowed, and ceased to use the name, shedding it for the one Morrigan called me instead. Ryther.

Then one day I found him, small and broken on the ground, doomed to die. I don’t know what pushed me to bond myself to it. All around me, the other children of the gentry were bonding to beasts with powers and strength. But I claimed him, letting him take my strength to mend his own broken wings. Crow has been with me since, and I was bestowed the name again by my peers.

The wings behind my back are velvety soft, featherless—closer to a bat’s than a bird’s, but the flock riding the wind around me doesn’t care. It’s long accepted Crow as their leader—the oldest, wisest of them—and me as something like a friend or protector. I’ve never had cause to require their aid before today. I wouldn’t have known to call; it’s not in my nature to ask for help. Turned out, I didn’t need to. Their many wings split the air in such a way, my first flight is smooth, unencumbered, and much faster than it would have been.

I don’t want to think of what would happen if her body was left too long. Those of pure, ancient fae blood don’t rot like mortals and lower beings, but would she start to morph into a tree? A mushroom?

I tell myself I’ll never have to find out.

We’re already here, at the heart of Ilvaris, the very place where I told Caenan that if Darina dared approach without me, he was to kill her on sight. Because I knew her blood would draw her to the gate, marked by two ancient trees, one yew, one oak, bending to embrace one another and mark the edge of the portal leading to the center of our world.

There are things beyond those gates, powers who whisper to the folk in the night, telling us all to come, and worship them. Praise them. Give them our energy, our prayers, our very lives.

Things that cannot be let lose in the world. That should never be free. Ilvaris was created as a prison. The folk were made to guard it. Keep them from destroying the known universe. It’s our entire purpose.

And yet, as I land mere yards away, and stride towards them, I don’t even hesitate.

Moments later, soft padded feet soundlessly fall right behind me, as the great beast that trailed us all the way lands, its wings, not unlike mine, tucking against its dark sides.

Right. Darina’s nixie. I grimace; there’s likely remains of little folk still stuck between its teeth. She’s certainly not company I would have thought—even in the wild, we stay away from their nests—but I can’t command her to go. She’s a wild creature, with a will of her own.

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