Page 110 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“My father could’ve found the portal and unlocked it by then,” Caed mutters, deliberately avoiding the topic.
Ciara shrugs. “I can’t make the wind blow faster. Can you?”
The silence that cloaks us is thick and bleak, broken only when the new queen says, “I have much to do here. My father’s corruption ran deep, and my sister’s supporters linger. I did have my own plans in place to seize the throne, but your return to Faerie and your pilgrimage disrupted them.”
Does she expect me to apologise? A quick glance at her contemplative expression says she doesn’t. She’s simply thinking out loud.
“My admirals will begin summoning the fleet tonight. Cyreus will be named prince consort tomorrow at dawn and will lead our ships to Autumn in my place,” she continues. “I’m no warrior, and someone needs to remain here and deal with the last of the old loyalists.”
When I say nothing, she continues, “Prince Bram’s remains will be returned to Elfhame, of course. I regret, more than anything, that he was taken from you amongst all of this. It was an awful loss of one of the greatest minds of this age.”
My throat thickens, and I jerk my head down sharply.
“Siabetha will work hard to earn the Goddess’s forgiveness. Our city is beautiful and vibrant, and my people deserve the blessing of Danu as much as any other. If you return after everything is done, you’ll experience our deepest hospitality.I hope that, eventually, Danu will reconsider her decision to withhold her blessing from our shrines and temples.”
“And conveniently, such a visit would give the Nicnevin plenty of time to bless your mating ceremony,” Drystan interjects, cynically.
Ciara frowns. “It would be an honour if she would, but?—”
“Cyreus made it a condition of his helping my mates and me escape,” I tell her.
Her mouth goes a little slack and she blinks rapidly for a moment before recovering. “Nicnevin, may I be frank?”
I wave her on, though the guarded part of me that has become used to the machinations of minor royals surges forward defensively.
“I am young,” she says derisively. “Barely sixty, and without any of the great and powerful magics that make up for that inexperience. Therefore, I would like us to be allies, if not friends.”
The quiet strength of the female beside me is enough that I actually consider her offer, despite everything. She’s not a warrior, by her own admission, but I don’t doubt that if circumstances had been different, her shrewd and quiet form of leadership would’ve eventually put her on the throne.
“The treaty of Marlen prevents the Nicnevin from interfering—” Drystan begins, but Ciara waves him off.
“I’m not asking her to secure my throne from threats. I’ll do that myself.” The steel that enters her voice is unyielding. “I’m saying that we have much in common, more than we do with other females, or even other royals. Her grandmother was great friends with Queen Cressida. It’s hardly outside the realm of possibility.” She pauses. “If nothing else, it would be a relief to speak openly of the struggles of having an under fae mate with a female who understands.”
I swallow back the instinctive urge to accept.
“You took Drystan’s head,” I remind her. “You kept me in the dark while your father plotted against me.”
She raises a brow. “I did. My position was precarious, and I had to walk the line to keep my place as crown princess. A tiny misstep was all my father and Máel needed to push me out of court, and then all my plans would’ve been for nothing.”
She’s not apologising, but she’s fae. I hardly expected her to. She’s also incapable of lying. I’m still mulling the idea over in my mind when Bree’s hands finally land on my waist and he turns me.
As his eyes rove over my body, I catch sight of Mab and mouth, “thank you,” at her before releasing the magic that kept her corporeal. She’s been watching over him since he left the privacy of his session with Claudri, just in case.
“Dragonfly,” my púca greets me quietly, stealing my attention.
His green eyes are sad, shoulders low, and he feels hollow but lighter than he did when I kissed him farewell this morning.
“Queen Ciara has promised me that the ships we need will be ours, but after Beltaine,” I say, trying hard to keep the tiredness out of my voice.
Bree’s hands go from cradling to supportive as he dips his head to mine and presses our foreheads together.
“There is still time,” he whispers, looking over my head at the males behind me. “The priestess told me that the entire city is already preparing for the celebrations. We could join them and give the rest of the Guard some space.”
He’s only making the suggestion to give Caed and Drystan some time to do whatever it is they need to do to get over this block, but I seize the distraction, anyway.
“I think the queen of summer has other things to attend to right now,” I say. “So that sounds delightful.”
Ciara takes the dismissal for what it is and bows. “Until we next see each other, then.”
