Page 30 of His Dark Delights
They spoke of the alliances swapping hands among the nobility. Of trade between the major cities. Then briefly, of the delicate balance of power we maintained in the shadow of the war. It made us potentially vulnerable to neighboring realms. But their voicesdroned on, blathering noise that grated my patience, until finally, finally, they narrowed onto the subject of the fae and the war.
“The fae have been absent since the battle that nearly took you, Your Majesty,” Lord Farndale spoke up, twisting the absurdly long ends of his graying mustache. “Perhaps in this lull we might send an envoy to offer a truce?”
“A truce?” I repeated, keeping my tone measured despite the scoff building in my chest.
“Diplomatic avenues are always a potential to explore—”
“With a history of tensions behind us and a mountain of proof that the fae’s word is as fragile as glass, you would suggest this? We cannot lower our guard now, as we cannot trust the fae. Under any circumstances.” The side of my fist banged on the edge of the table, punctuating my words with the finality of a gavel.
A moment of tense silence swept under the table as the council found their voices.
“War is costly—”
“Our people grow weary of the conflict, sire.”
“—both for our resources and the lives of the kingdom.”
“Your Majesty, the treasury’s allotments to fund the troops are not limitless. There are restraints on supporting conflict without end.”
I surged from the chair, almost knocking the hefty beast of wood over. The legs scraping on stone snatched the attention of the room, making me the rightful center of attention once more. A healthy dose of apprehension colored their expressions.
“Honestly, fuck the costs. We must weigh gold against the price of inaction. My own mother was slain in cold blood by a fae. Their revels and forays into our lands have disrupted our villages and left our children vulnerable. The people of Elleslan, like my mother, deserve retribution. They deserve a future where they receive justice.”
“Justice?” Grand Duchess Cecily spoke then, her voice waspish and sharp. “Soren, all you ever talk about is justice. You use it as a paltry guise for the revenge you seek. Justice. Justice. Justice. But what of peace?”
Peace.
That word summoned echoes of sunlight on a farm, of a spring breeze accompanied by the cacophony of animals, of soft touches under the stars, and a far-reaching meadow of dazzling flowers.
Knocking those memories aside, I met my great aunt’s gaze, showing her the unwavering depths of my resolve. “Peace will come. Someday. But we cannot have peace, not yet. Because, as a concept, peace is only possible when a trustworthy alliance can be formed. The fae have given us no reason to believe that good faith can exist between us. Until those savage creatures can prove otherwise, we must remain on the offense.”
A murmur of assent rippled along the table regardless of the lingering skepticism. The debate continued for some hours. Each argument met with counterpoints and logistics torn to shreds before they moved on and dissected the next. Nothing went without scrutiny and scathing analysis. I focused on talks of strengthening defenses, increasing border patrols, and gathering troops for another excursion into the mountain range.
Inevitably, as the day wore on, my thoughts drifted back to Lilly. My wishful imagination dreamed of a future where she might one day join me at similar meetings. By my side, offering her opinions and insight. Offering relief from my burdens at the end of brutal days.
When I believed the meeting would finally end, Cecily opened her mouth and struck the chord of my aggravation anew.
“With that nasty business out of the way, we must discuss the upcoming ball. The catering is lined up, but the musicians are faltering. Only half the decorations are prepared.”
Internally I groaned, externally I rolled my eyes. The ridiculous lavishness of the balls and galas set my teeth on edge. Grand Duchess Cecily strung together dance after dance in the hopes of finding me a bride. She commanded all her high society friends to parade their daughters and nieces around me like a string of polished jewels. Compared to Lilly, they were all dull and worthless.
When the council eventually rose from the table, dispersing for the day, I sucked in the first hint of a breath of relief. My lungs expanded as their voices faded into the corridor. Then I deflated when I noticed the duchess lingering. Her shrewd gaze returned to me.
The soft glow of the late afternoon sun cast thin, stretching shadows across the room. Her profile was regal, proof of the ancient lineage of royalty running through our veins. And her pinched expression was a testament to her unending disapproval of my existence and behaviors.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” she curled her lip indistaste.
She couldn’t already know about Lilly. It would be wise to tread carefully around her. But if she did…
“Oh, immensely,” I bragged, allowing a salacious smirk to twist my lips.
Her lips pressed into a thin line of dissatisfaction she would never attempt to hide. “There are more important matters to discuss.” She sniffed with distaste.
“Do you refer to the council’s decisions in regard to the war or to the woman I summoned?”
Grand Duchess Cecily lost her grip on her decorum and seethed at that. “You disgrace the palace already. You have no shame in bringing her here.”
“Might I remind you she is the one who saved your king’s life?” I barked back. “Without her kindness, there would be no Carnifex blood left to sit on the throne of Elleslan. As much as you loathe me, I am what remains!”
