Page 4 of Kiss the Filthiest King

The flock takes to the branches of the oak and yew, watching.

As I step forward, the warriors bonded to the trees stir, their wooden limbs stretching threateningly.

“This is queen Morrigan’s heir, blood of the high queen. She has the right to cross,” I say.

There’s no reply, but the creaking stops, giving way to stillness.

I am meant to be here. All my steps have led to this. I don’t doubt it for a moment.

I see you clear as day. And you’re nothing.

The…absence of matter.

The void of void.

You are to be the Undoing.

The little human girl who saw that fate disappeared from the palace grounds the next day, but those words forever stayed with me. At times, I lied to myself, pretending it couldn’t be more than the rantings of an imaginative child. Then the predictions she made about my brother came to fruition.

I denied it, still. It didn’t seem possible. First, that I’d be foolish enough to have anything to do with the Undoing. Second, that I’d have the means to access the heart of Ilvaris in the first place. Queen Morrigan certainly wasn’t going to bleed to give me the privilege.

But here we are.

The girl in my arm is cold, her skin pale. The soft hair falling to my shins is no longer blue, or even reddish blonde, as it is when the unconscious human glamour she wore for years clicks into place, but completely washed of any color, white as a blank sheet. I don’t let it trouble me. She’s Morrigan’s child; the queen was known for shifting eyes and hair. Just moments ago, Loch demonstrated the same ability as his appearance changed again and again, before he settled on his favorite blond locks.

It doesn’t have to mean anything.

Except that she’s not strong enough to sustain any color at all.

My jaw tightens as I lift her small frame so she’s seated in the crook of one of my arms. I take her palm, changing one of my nails to a claw, and pressing it into the pallor of her skin.

Her blood is ink black, and stinks of iron after she plunged that dagger right into her heart rather than her Loch’s.

I should have seen it coming. Of course she couldn’t make things easy and simply murder her smug, annoying brother like any hag would have. He was willing enough. Prepared for it. But Darina isn’t only the blood of the high queen, a Harthorn. She’s also a Thorn, full stop. Raised by humans. She wouldn’t have easily understood the brutal, wild ways of the folk; especially mere moments after losing her parents.

She said she imagined a brother. Heard his voice. She’s loved Loch longer than she knew he existed. And love, like iron, is poison to the folk.

I hope I never grow to love her. It’s bad enough that every single part of me needs her. Enough to do this, though it’s against everything I believe in.

I bring her hand to the immaterial barrier between the yew and oak, and a wave of power pulses under my feet, shaking the island, and likely the rest of Ilvaris. A warning.

I ignore it.

3

CASUAL LITTLE MURDERS

Rachel

I try to swallow the ball of dread clogging my throat, and plaster a smile on my face as I unlock the front door. I've been uneasy for days. It's not like Rina to fail to give news for this long. And when I asked Mom and Dad, they seemed...wrong. Just like they are when Rina shoots them her best smile, with all those white teeth, a little too sharp in the wrong light. Honestly, I've always found that smile uncanny valley-level terrifying. My heart skips a beat when I see it, and I am reminded my sister is something else. But my parents? They forget what they were about to say, losing their train of thought.

Confused.

They were like that all of yesterday. And today, I can't get hold of them either.

What the hell is going on?

The house was empty and dark when I went to check, although Mom has Zumba on Thursday evenings, so she tends to cook before her class. Dad should have been home, too, at six. Neither was there. The lights were on.

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