Page 164 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
Forty-Eight
Bricriu
The female’s face frosts over on a scream, and all of us cringe as Rose’s answering fear resonates through the Call. She may be sitting on the throne, but right now our Nicnevin would rather be anywhere else.
Cedwyn turns his attention to the next guard, a troll who’s already resigned to his fate, if the slump of his shoulders is anything to go by. I continue to hum softly beneath my breath, modulating the sound with my magic so it travels to Rose’s ears.
Blocking out their terror.
Caring for her is theonlyreason I’m not falling apart myself.
So far, Cedwyn has had every single guard responsible for Torrance’s confinement executed, and he’s ordered every known associate of the high fae who helped Torrance escape dragged into prison. Rose has witnessed it all, alongside a small group of trusted soldiers and generals Cedwyn has allowed into the throne room. A tiny disapproving frown is stuck on her face, but otherwise she’s doing a magnificent job of pretending this mess hasn’t left her anxious and upset.
The king is in a foul mood. Of course, outwardly he’s icily calm, but the anger is definitely there, hidden in the death he deals so casually. He stands before the throne, on the dais, so he can loom over the kneeling fae before us.
Hawkith has also wheedled her way into the room somehow and is waiting in the wings. Her pale eyes are eerily focused on her son, ignoring the fae being frozen to death in the middle of the room.
“Your Majesty.” A soldier with brown hair dares to enter the room, his eyes focused on Rose’s feet as he bows low before her. “We’ve found the traitor who switched the prisoner’s cuffs.”
I stopped humming the second I noticed him, and Rose tenses as all the sound returns to her in a rush.
“Bring him here,” Cedwyn orders, ignoring the fact that Rose was obviously the monarch being addressed.
“Regretfully, your Highness, Nicnevin Rhoswyn’s redcap killed him before we got the chance to apprehend him.”
Cedwyn turns his glare on Rose next, only to realise the error of his ways fairly quickly as Wraith looks up from his position curled around Rose’s throne and growls. I’m pretty sure Lore would’ve gutted the king for that look, but fortunately the redcap and the wolf shifter are out searching for my father.
I’d rather be out there with them, but Rose asked me to stay with her, and I can’t deny her.
So I glower at him from beside his own throne, with Caed and Drystan beside me. Together, we must be suitably threatening, because Cedwyn backtracks swiftly.
“I’m certain the Guard wouldn’t have done anything to hinder the investigation.”
“Wronggg,” Lore singsongs, blinking down from where he’s been lurking in the rafters. “He was rather uncomplimentary about my pretty mate. So he died. Such a shame.”
“We need to?—”
“It matters little.” Hawkith strides forward, her mere presence making the hair on the back of my arms stand up in warning.
That female is too familiar. Not because I’ve met her before, but because she shares Máel’s stalwart belief that the ends always justify the means. The similarity is only reinforced as she puffs herself up to address the Nicnevin, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.
“Forgive my interruption, Your Majesty, but this would never have happened if we had a strong sovereign on the throne. Cedwyn is unfit to rule if Summer Court spies can break a prisoner out of one of the highest security cells so easily.”
Rose’s fear lessens, and I expect that irritation has probably taken its place. I don’t blame her. I’ve only been witness to the drama between Drystan’s parents for a few days, and already I wish they’d just fight to the death and get it over with.
Unfortunately, fire and ice are fairly evenly matched. I suspect any duel would either end with a draw, or Cedwyn’s death through foul play. Then Ashton would take the throne.
Speaking of… The prince remains uncomfortably close after the events of the day. Rose admitted that it was likely because Cedwyn has ordered him to offer her whatever she wants to rid him of the spirit tormenting him, but still, I dislike his presence.
He has an erratic energy that’s similar to the redcap’s but without the sunny disposition. My hands run anxiously over the tattoos on my wrists as I wait for him to do something—say something—but he’s silent as he watches Cedwyn round on the power-hungry female.
“Are you claiming to have some knowledge of this?” he demands. “Because if you had some way of preventing it and chose not to, I’ll gladly hold you as accountable as the rest.”
How in Danu’s name are those two mates? I can’t understand it.
Far from cowing her, his statement only seems to rile Hawkith up further.
“Granting them all a swift death is far too lenient. A true king of winter would’ve made an example of them.”
