Page 25 of The Witch Queen

“I swear, Your Majesty, I didn’t know there would be any bombs or explosions. I just thought—they said—I thought we were going to come and scare you. That’s all,” a terrified and sobbing rebel chokes out. I’ve been in the prison for hours, my attempt to coax information out of those who attacked me unproductive. As usual, no one seems to know anything about the leadership of the rebellion. “I have a wife and child at home. A little girl. She’s only seven. Please.” His whimpers are infuriating, mostly because I’m falling prey to them. I sigh as I release the dagger of ice pinned under his jaw.

Everyone I’ve spoken to is a member of Thayaria’s rural population, where the decline is most impactful. This fae lost his livelihood transporting the flower from the refinery in Arberly to the southeastern region where he lives. With less thayar comes less need for it to move throughout the kingdom. While I don’t condone their violence, I empathize with my people’s fear. Rebellion leadership, whoever they may be, have preyed on that fear and used it to bring people into this who are just looking for a solution. Paired with misinformation and outright lies about the support the Crown has in place for those impacted by the decline, rural Thayaria is a tinderbox just waiting for someone to strike the match.

“For now, you’ll stay in the cells until the Council of Advisors decides when your trial will be,” I inform the rebel before me, my voice taking on an icy and emotionless tenor. The male collapses, in relief or fear I’m not sure. I don’t wait to find out, exiting this room and nodding to the Royal Guards who stand watch outside the interrogation chamber to deal with him. Then I walk to the identical room across the hall where the final rebel waits for my questioning.

The red-headed fae who spoke for the group of attackers is chained to the wall in iron cuffs, his eyes darting around the room in fear. When I approach him, he cries out. “Please, Your Majesty, have mercy.”

It’s always the same.Have mercy. Don’t kill me. I didn’t know.I wonder if Mazus’s prisoners plead their case to him in the same way, or whether those found guilty of treason in Velmara know not to bother. Before speaking, I carefully study the male in front of me, looking for any clues about him. Red hair and blue eyes give him a striking look, a unique set of features in Thayaria. He wrings his calloused hands, his dirt-lined nails catching my attention. He does manual labor. It looks like I’ve found yet another layperson. As my assessing look travels up and down his body, he trembles, unwilling or unable to meet my gaze.

“You seemed sure of yourself when you had a blade in your hand and a group of rebels at your back,” I hiss. The male swallows in fear, eyes darting everywhere but at me. “You spoke for the group. Was it you who organized this attack? Tell me the truth, and I’ll consider your request for mercy.” My words are a command, though not with the aether-voice. I don’t need it to strike fear into the hearts of my people.

“N-n-oo, Y-y-your Ma-majesty.” He’s shaking so hard now he can barely speak, his words a quiet stutter.

“No? Then tell me who sent you, and don’t tell me you don’t know. Somehow, you knew when and where to show up with a blade, so I want details about how that came to be.” He wrings his hands, his mouth opening and shutting. “Tell menow.”I will the room to shake a bit, but still, I avoid using the aether-voice to force the confession. Ihatethe power of the aether-voice, knowing exactly what horrors it can force upon someone. It’s an abomination, made even more appalling by the fact that it’s granted to monarchs who already have unlimited and unchecked power. While I use it occasionally to intimidate or scare, I try to avoid using it to compel.

“There were pa-pamphlets. Th-they told us wh-where to m-meet. It s-said if we were t-tired of our s-situation, that we s-should come and d-demand you li-lift the m-m-mist.” My teeth grind at his words. It’s always a demand to lift the mist, the one thing I cannot give them and cannot explain, not without risking Thayaria even further. If Mazus and the other leaders knew the mist was not wholly in my control, there’s no telling what they would attempt. Of course, now that he’s alone, the confidence and grandstanding are gone.

“And yet—that’s not how the interaction played out. You, who took upon yourself to speak for this group that you know so little about, said not one word about the mist, only declaring that my reign was over. Tell me, which is it? Does the rebellion want me to lift the mist, or does the rebellion simply hate my reign and wish me gone?” Without looking in a mirror, I know my eyes are bright with malevolence, and even I wouldn’t want to be chained to the wall in this room with me right now.

“I d-don’t k-kn-know…” He slumps, his stringy red hair dropping around his face like he’s accepted his fate to die, and the smallest twinge of guilt takes root in my stomach.

“What do you do when you aren’t rushing off to attack and injure civilians?” I ask, my voice a bit softer but still emotionless. His eyes widen, like he didn’t expect the question from the monster standing before him.

“I’m a f-f-farmer. Well, I w-w-was.” Of course. That explains the calloused hands and dirty nails. Just another person whipped into a frenzy by leaders who won’t show their faces or do the dirty work. Without another word, I leave the room, and the Royal Guards enter behind me to return him into his cells. Making up my mind about what to do with these prisoners, I aerstep to my rooms to prepare for my follow-up visit with the Velmarans.

I bathe and wash the grime of the prison off me. Despite how frequently I visit the cells beneath the palace, I never get used to the way they make my skin crawl afterwards, even as someone who can still access the aether while down there. I can’t imagine what it’s like for those who lose their power completely to the nulling effects. Walking to my closet, I select a deep plum gown with long bell sleeves and a high slit. I leave my hair in loose waves around my shoulders. Opting to keep up appearances with the Witch Queen makeup, I line my eyes and paint my lips once again, trying and failing to keep my mind from wandering where it absolutely should not wander.

It’s been three days since the meeting with the Velmaran entourage, and I can’t stop thinking about Prince Hawthorne. Every time I remember his winks and smiles, I’m irritated all over again. I can’t seem to reconcile his reputation as the entitled and always-drunk Shining Prince with the dauntless and handsome male I encountered in the throne room. Irritating smiles aside, he’s not what I expected. The power he displayed when he was truly angryimpressedme—he’s undoubtedly the most powerful fae I’ve ever met, potentially second in power to only me. And even though his plans were artless, the political maneuvering he showed was expert. I’ve gone over our meeting in my mind a hundred times, trying to determine his motivations and whether he’s genuine in his desire to build an alliance behind his father’s back.Is that even possible?

If he is his father’s lackey and this is all a ruse, he’s playing it well. And if he’s not—well, I don’t know what that means. A potential alliance with Prince Hawthorne could change everything for my people. Regardless, I can’t turn down the opportunity to infiltrate the Sons and Daughters without my Council’s—and the potential mole’s—knowledge. I’m playing a dangerous game, opening up to the Prince and his advisors even this small amount. They’ll certainly uncover information about the declining thayar, and if Mazus didn’t already know, he will soon. I sigh and rub my temples as I lean my forehead against the mirror in my closet. I’m juggling too many things—the rebels, the mole, and now whatever this alliance with the Velmaran entourage is. I wish Nemesia were here to help me sort through this mess.

I chuff out loud thinking of my best friend. Nemesia would think it madness I’ve enlisted the help of an enemy from abroad to foil plans hatched against me by the enemy within my own borders. It probablyismadness—not only have I broken our agreement to never meet with Prince Hawthorne, I also didn’t kill him when he learned too much, and now I’m willingly partnering with him. I’m blindly trusting three strangers more than I trust the thirty plus advisors on my Council, who have an average service tenure of more than one hundred years.No, not blindly trusting—you’re smarter than that.I won’t let them get too close, nor will I truly trust them. They’ll get just enough information to help me achieve my goals, and nothing more.

Prince Hawthorne’s face flashes across my mind, and my body tingles with the memory. Pressure builds low in my belly at the thought of seeing the Prince again, but I brush away the idea that it’s anything other than nerves for pulling this subterfuge off. I cannot—will not—allow him to become a distraction. I’m going to uncover the rebel leaders’ identities and thendisposeof theShining Prince.In whatever way necessary. Mazus was a fool to send his son here—he won’t be returning home, especially not now. Something churns in my gut. Uncertainty? Guilt? I push it down, and with a final glance at Lunaria, whose eyes are too keen for my liking, I aerstep to the ground floor of the palace.

Fionn and the Prince jump in their chairs when I arrive in their apartment with no notice. Their eyes meet mine as they stand quickly, bowing low, and I find myself tracking the Prince’s movements with interest. Like the day of our meeting in the throne room, he’s well dressed, the perfectly tailored tunic and fitted pants emphasizing the hard lines of his body. He catches me staring and gives me a wink, causing my cheeks to heat involuntarily. Fionn’s suspicious gaze stays fixed on me, eyes narrowed. I bare my teeth in a hiss to cement Fionn’s fear and distract the Princeandmyself from the focused way I was taking in his form. Scaring males is my specialty, and even Prince Hawthorne takes a small step back. Satisfaction thrums through me.

“Well, Your Majesty, I’d welcome you to our rooms, but since they are in factyourrooms, I’ll skip those pleasantries,” Silene says with forced cheeriness from my left. She walks out of the primary bedroom, and I freeze for just a moment at the implication.They’re betrothed, of course they’re sleeping in the same bed. I shake away the thought and the twinge of something I can’t explain, focusing all my attention on the small female. Her petite and toned frame practically bounces with excitement, and I can’t help myself from warming to her lighthearted and exuberant personality.

“Silene,” I say, “thank you for receiving me. I trust Prince Hawthorne has advised you of the purpose of today’s meeting.” Silene nods as she follows me to the other two chairs across from Prince Hawthorne and Fionn. “The Prince informed me of the contact you received for the Sons and Daughters, and of your plan to infiltrate them. I’m still a bit suspicious of your motivations for seeking them out.” I pause, letting them feel a zap of energy and the smallest squeezing of their necks with a rope of air. Three sets of wide eyes stare back at me, but they remain silent and otherwise unaffected. Prince Hawthorne smirks, like helikes it, and it makes me want to rip the air from his lungs, but I refrain. They’re well trained, or at the very least used to veiled threats—I’m sure Mazus is quick to use his power to threaten. “However, it would be foolish of me to pass up this opportunity.”

“Thorne didn’t give us much information,” Silene begins cautiously. “How do you intend for us to pursue thisopportunity, as you say?” Something about the Prince’s nickname gives me tingles down my spine. Ignoring it, I walk them through the high-level details of my scheme.

“Prince Hawthorne’s intent to approach the contact himself and remain undercover is… underdeveloped.” Silene’s mouth drops open. She clearly didn’t know about or endorse this foolish idea. I can’t resist leveling my own smirk at the Prince, like I’ve won some game we’re both playing. “You should not hide your identity from the rebel group. They likely already knew who you were and targeted the Prince intentionally at that pub. Even if he somehow managed to remain inconspicuous at the pub, he won’t remain so for long. Plus, you’re more likely to be introduced to their leaders quickly if they know who you are and think you want to help them.” Silene nods her agreement, while the Prince keeps his eyes trained on my face. His expression is calm, but he won’t look away, and it’s unsettling. I continue the conversation quickly, ignoring the way my blood heats under his gaze. “Silene and Fionn, you’ll go to the contact as a confirmation of sorts. They’ll expect Prince Hawthorne to send his entourage ahead first. Once the two of you have secured an introduction to their leadership, you’ll bring Prince Hawthorne into the scheme.” The Prince opens his mouth to protest, but Silene cuts him off.

“I like the plan. Not only is it morebelievablethat a prince would send his advisors ahead of him to scope the situation out…” She gives the Prince a pointed look that nearly breaks my trained expression, my lips quirking slightly at the way she can boss him around with just a look. “It keeps him out of danger until we can assess any potential risks.”

“I don’t need to be protected from a rural group of fae and humans playing at insurgents,” the Prince interjects, but Silene merely looks at him with a no-nonsense expression that reminds me of Nemesia, and he shuts up. I like her, and I don’t want to. Ican’tallow myself to—not when I’ll have no choice at the end of all this but to make them all disappear, Silene included.

“As I was saying…” Silene draws out the phrase with a pointed glance at the Prince, “I think this is the right approach. But how are we going to convince the rebels to trust us? How will we convince them we’re on their side? If they’re smart, they’ll spot the ruse.” I smile wide, the final pieces of my plan clicking into place only hours ago as I realized the rebels rotting away in my cells were no more Sons and Daughters leadership than I am.

“Because you’re going to offer to break out the group of them I took prisoner after the attack.” They did not expect this. Even Silene remains quiet—a quizzical look upon her face.

“Why would you give up the prisoners?” Prince Hawthorne asks, studying me with an uncharacteristically guarded expression.

I shrug. “I’ve learned what I can from them. They’re rural citizens whipped up into a frenzy by zealous radicals. They aren’t the real prize. I want to know who their leaders are—what they’re planning. The group who attacked don’t have any of that information. Better to have you pretend to break them out to gain favor with the rebels than for me to keep them from their families.”

Prince Hawthorne’s eyes look me over carefully, his gaze traveling up and down my body. I cansensethe strength of his power as he assesses me, like it somehow calls to my own power and watches what I’ll do. Something buried deep inside of me, an awareness not dissimilar to the way the mist feels when it calls on me, stills and focuses wholly on the Prince, making its own assessment. The intimacy of the moment sends shivers through me that I attempt to mask. Those mossy, olive eyes flash brightly and he smirks again, like there’s some secret between us. I pointedly return my gaze to Silene, who is thoughtful and oblivious to whatever was just happening between the Prince and me.

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