Page 42 of Kiss the Filthiest King

I try not to grimace. By my side, Calreth smirks, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Ryther does as he’s bid, serving me first, and Loch takes a sip of my glass before nodding.

The bright queen laughs dryly. "What, you think the unseelie king would poison his queen?"

She is as obliging as predicted for pointing it out.

"We can never be too careful. There could be poison directly in any of the cups," Loch replies. "Or Ryther may not like being bound to someone who wears the trousers in the dynamic."

That does bring a few chuckles around the room, and Rena sneers, clearly annoyed that her own words have furthered my point.

I wait until all cups are full before starting. "Well, I am—or was—Darina Thorn, up until last week, when I was taken from the ironside and brought here as a slave. Since then, I've learned I'm Darina Harthorn—the name ought to be easy to get used to. Daughter of your late high queen. Over the last week, I've been chased, and shot, and raped, not to mention, watched my parents being murdered. Why, one of you already dispatched servants to kidnap my adopted sister, no doubt to similar ends." I smile, leaning in. "I sit before you now because I wish for these things to stop, and evidently, the best way to do that is to claim my birthright. I understand it comes with duties, most of which have been highlighted by my advisors. I called you all here to clarify your expectations in these changing times."

In short, I'm calling them out on their shit, refusing to brush it under the rug, and taking for granted that I will rule—that I understand what ruling means.

It's their turn, but I have made several moves by the time they get to advance their first pawn on the board.

Loch comes next. "I am Loch, of the untamed lands. The shy folk there have only ever wished to be left alone and rule themselves. They are under my dominion only by these terms: I leave everyone alone, so long as no one breaks the laws of the high court. When they do, I am the one left with the pleasant task of rendering judgment." Done with the generalities, he smirks, and adds: "The high queen has named me her first advisor, due to my decision to recognize her claim and come to her aid, rather than whatever you lot were up to these past days."

I don't miss the uncomfortable glances, some shifting on their seats, other glowering.

They didn't believe I'd survive to put them in this position.

Valdred speaks, somewhat in the same vein, concluding by stating he's glad to leave the general ruling of Ilvaris where it belongs, as no one from a small court ought to make the decisions for all others.

The sea duchessRebalga,Relva's mother, speaks after that. She's as salty as the sea she hails from, but remains mostly polite. "We were just fine without a high queen," she snarls between her teeth. "But if there is to be one, we'll be fine with it, so long as she rules fairly."

That seems to be the general sentiment amongst the unseelie, shared byFoxwell of the court of blood andLoken of the court of night. Junis is nowhere to be seen.

The seelie overall are more cautious, if not antagonistic.

Tenith of the court of stone says, "We're a smaller court, all things considered, but almost every keep, every bridge, every road on your Hollow was built by us. We've made most of your castles, high up in your mountains, wings, and low down in your seas. For all that, no one thinks of us when you make decisions. My loyalty to the high crown has long been determined: any lord needs to swear it to take power. But if this seat at this table is more than a prop, then you'll also have my respect. Time will tell."

Gold and silver are strange courts, as they mostly harbor mortals; yet they're powerful, outnumbering the rest of their respective islands put together, and rich. Both of their leaders seem calculating, a man and a woman, older in looks and more dignified than the rest of us.

"I can't deny I am interested to see what a queen raised on the ironside could bring to Ilvaris," the man from silver says.

He has salt-and-pepper hair cut short, and the great frame of someone used to physical labor. His name is Tristan, which is somewhat more normal to me than most of the others around the table.

"This world, for all its beauty and wealth, is constant. Stuck in time. Why, most of those now seated around us have been alive for three hundred years, and in those years nothing has changed, while on Earth, they say things change from one year to the next. I am hopeful we might enter a more modern time. Civilized."

That is a dangerous idea, because he's right: most of those people have been alive forever. And they fear the idea of change.

"And one would think a woman of Earth would value mortal lives more than some folk," Helena, the woman from the court of gold adds.

She's the head of their merchant's guild, and that makes her their leader, though they don't use titles like ladies over there.

"Especially one with a mortal for a sister."

Again, she's correct: I do, and I fully intend to review some of the laws here, such as the one that led to my enslavement.

The thing is, I can't do all that if I'm dead. And announcing I want to do all that will get me killed.

I only smile, glad I made this an introduction, which doesn't require my commenting one way or another.

The duchess of the court of wings, still bearing scars from her fight with Ryther, when she tried to get to me, only snarls and clips out the words, "I am Serila, blood of Sibil, the first wings queen. I do not believe that after a thousand years of absence, the line of Morrigan ought to stroll back into our lives and claim to take over. If you dare order us about, like you have the right to our servitude, I will?—"

I don't let her finish. "Get up."

---