Page 104 of Atop the Faerie Throne
His face is blank, so I can’t read him, and his voice is completely remorseless as he grates, “The stupid fox got in my way.”
A lone tear escapes the inner corner of my eye, running down my nose until I taste the salt. Eero scoffs, no doubt seeing weakness.
He’s a fool.
I’m not crying for Bram, though my throat is once again thick with grief. Nor is the tear for what he’s about to suffer. I’m not even crying for the mate my brother never found, who’ll now wander this world until death, wondering where the other half of their soul is.
These silly selfish tears are for me. For the girl who once tended a vegetable garden, hobbled around with mortal worries, and silently endured debilitating bouts of weakness. I’ve gained so much; a family, a queendom, five mates who I love with every fragment of my being, and yet…
This feels like the final death of who I was before.
Rose, the blacksmith’s daughter, would never have dreamed of doing what I’m about to do.
Even the version of me who set out on her pilgrimage so many months ago would’ve hesitated.
Nicnevin Rhoswyn steps forward, knowing she’ll do it a hundred times over if she has to.
“Please open your mouth and stick out your tongue,” I whisper, the simple instruction harsh and bleeding. “Lore?”
I raise my hand, palm up expectantly. Plucking his hat from his head, my redcap shoves his whole arm inside the crown, rummaging until he finds what I need.
He wanted to be the one to kill Eero, but somewhere in the midst of my questioning, I realised that no fae will respect that verdict.
Eero wronged me. Betrayed my throne. Killed my brother.
And so it’s me, and only me, who can execute him.
The tiny ball that Prae designed is warm. Lore hands it to me with a fang-filled grin, and his cap morphs into a delicate arching headdress, with beads that fall down to tickle my brows when he pops it onto my head with a kiss. He’s just as thrilledfor me to execute the king of summer as he would’ve been to do it himself.
“Eero Scorsha, you have betrayed me, betrayed the realm of Faerie and the people you swore to govern and protect. For that, I sentence you to death.”
The orb lands on his tongue, and I grip his jaw with my other hand. “Now, please swallow.”
It takes work. For a moment, I panic that he might not be able to get it down. It’s the size of a large chestnut, after all.
But then his throat bulges, the lump of it visible as it travels to his gut. I don’t know what to expect, nor does anyone else.
We don’t have to wait long.
Eero jerks so hard that Drystan and Caed are forced to release him as he sprawls to the left. Then he jolts upright, then back down. His hands go straight to his belly, tearing at his clothes. When he rips the fabric up, I watch with horrified fascination assomethingpresses against the flawless skin of his abdomen from the inside. Black lines spread out wherever it goes, making it clear that some kind of iron was involved in its creation, but it still takes the device ricocheting around his body several more times as his movements grow more and more sluggish for me to realise what Prae did.
She designed the ball to shred him from within.
The entire crowd watches as their king is torn apart from the inside out.
Lore is actively chanting something that sounds like it might be, “please let it exit through his dick,” under his breath, and I swallow back bile as I retreat one step.
Goddess, he’s still twitching.
This is justice, I remind myself, though I feel anything but just right now. His death is beyond cruel and yet…
No remorse shows on my face. Aside from that lonely tear, I remain unmoved. Perhaps it’s shock. Perhaps I’m simply getting better at projecting strength while I’m under such scrutiny.
Finally, he gives one great, convulsing cough, emitting a hoarse gargling noise that no living being should be capable of producing, before the ball shoots back out of his mouth, splattered in blood. I barely have enough time to note the six curved blades that have extruded from the outer shell in two crisscrossing lines before they click back in. It sits there, deceptively harmless and covered in blood, until Caed grabs and pockets it.
The king is dead.
Now all I can do is pray the new queen has the good sense not to test me.
