Page 2 of A Crown So Cursed
“Like it or not, I promised to look after you.”
My voice itself is a snarl. “Promised whom?”
“Esme,” says the Púca, and I mumble an oath.
“Her,” I say, the word an epithet by its tenor alone.
We’ve gone round and round about my long-lostsister, and I weary of asking what the creature knows only to have him shift his form every time he means to avoid answering my questions.
If he were not the last of his kind, I would murder him where he lies and be done with his infuriating evasions. “I take it you speak to her?”
He says nothing, only flicks his tail.
“Does she intend to grace us with her presence any day soon?”
In all these years, Esme has not shown her face once.
And neither did she remain in Trevena—I know because I have my spies.
The Fae can no longer traverse the Veil, but there are ways and means for a king to keep his ears to the ground, supernatural and otherwise. An intricate network of whisperers keeps me informed of events that might sway the already precarious balance of this court.
And yet, of Esme, there is naught but silence—a silence more telling than a thousand spies’ reports. Again, the Púca flicks his tail. “I am not your sister’s keeper.”
“For the last time,sheisnotmy sister!”
“I am not enjoying your mood.”
“So what?”
“Should I take my leave?”
“Please do,” I say. Somewhere far from here, I think, but won’t say it aloud. Because at the pith of it all, I am alone, and if the Púca should abandon me, I would find myself with one less friend—a commodity I am quickly running out of, in a realm where alliances are as thin as the Veil itself. More to the point, he, she—whatever it is today—is the creature I most trust.
What irony is that?
He’s also the most changeable in this land.
Inexplicably, he remains by my side, and I should be grateful for it, but I am too miserable to appreciate aught. Sliding deeper into the Horned Throne, my eyes scrutinize the glittering throng, anticipating betrayal at every turn.
Will I see mutiny if I tarry too long?
Oh, how I despise the machinations!
The ease with which allegiances shift.
And yet, my deepest enmity is reserved for myself.
I am a shadow of the creature I once was—no longerherShadow, but that is doubtless a role I would resume, only to be at her side. Instead, I am a poor excuse for a king—one who cannot even command loyalty from his subjects, save through fear.
And yes…theyshouldfear me, for I have never been more on the verge of becoming my worst self—a monster, in truth, a creature who craves only chaos and ruin…simply to feel.
My hand reaches for the chain about my neck—the one bearing the sliver of Gwendolyn’s locks. It would be so easy to give in, to allow the darkness to consume me. But even as the temptation gnaws at my soul, I know I will never succumb—for her sake, not mine.
Gwendolyn always saw the best in me, even when I could not, and my heart is not so dead that I will allow the worst of my kind to assume this throne.
The Fae are lovely, feckless creatures, and there are many among my kind who are not pleased only to see the Fae and mortal worlds divided. They would defy even the gods to destroy humankind. And though I confess there are a few amidst the mortals I would gladly see ended, the Shadow Court’s wrath would begin withher….
Becauseshedared murder one Fae king…
