Page 100 of Wrath of the Fae

‘Keep my eyes down?’ I whisper.

She nods and presses her finger to her lips.

‘Stay quiet?’ I whisper.

Another nod.

‘Are Cyrus or Reid in there?’ I ask as quietly as I possibly can. ‘Or El?’

She gives a slight shrug.

‘Why do they want me in there? What am I supposed to do?’

She taps her eyes, points to the ground, and presses her finger gently to her lips once more before stepping back and giving me a little courtesy. The three human women leave through a far door.

I take a deep breath and head inside.

I keep to the sides of the room, my head low but my eyes wide and starving for information.

There are a few First Kingdom soldiers. High ranking, by the medals and decorations on their uniforms. They’re drinking. Sitting at tables gambling or loudly talking to one another over the musical instruments being played, their words slurring. Goblets are filled to the brim with wine, and roasted meat and fresh bread lay on the tables. Others have cakes, pies and sweets. There are high lords. Ladies. And more figures in those sheer grey robes. Not just women but men. All naked beneath, their bodies displayed for anyone who cares to look. They glide through the revelling Fae with trays of food and wine.

Humans. Every single one of them.

I stop by the wall close to the door and press my back against the stone, doing all I can to look small and insignificant.

Not an easy task considering I’m the only one wearing a bright, revealing dress.

The other women are in heavy, dull-coloured gowns that weigh them down.

The Lords rule over this room. I can see it. Their smug faces. Their loud voices compete with each other over the music, chatter and drunkenness. There are women here too. Dressed in high Lady fashion. Heavy dresses. Grotesque jewels. Some women look just as smug as the lords, speaking over others and snapping their fingers at the humans in grey. Others look as if they are doing the same as me. Trying to go unseen. Be small. Unnoticed. Some stare into space, their minds wandering far from here. I shudder as I catch some of the words spoken. My body reacts to lie after lie from so many mouths.

I shudder at the group of soldiers huddled around something in the corner, laughing and jeering. I dread to think who or what is in their circle.

At the far end of this great hall is an elevated platform decorated in gold and pearl. On the wall, countless wings have been mounted. The entire wall is decorated with the stolen wings of the king’s enemies.

I wonder which ones belong to Wolf.

It makes me sick to my stomach. I know the intense pain of having your wings ripped from your body. To have them out on display like this is beyond barbaric. It’s downright evil.

Three thrones sit in the very centre of the platform. My eyes become glued to them. I know them. Deep inside, from my bones, my blood. Memories, lingering still from when I had my mother’s wings.

She sat upon that central throne for decades. Her hands rested on those armrests. Her back was poised as she met her people here. Heard them. Helped them. The throne to the left was Ivan’s. He rarely sat there, loathing that he was second class to her. I see him now, grimacing as he’s placed at her side to hear the Fae that came to seek an audience with the queen.

And that throne to the right of hers was to be mine.

The throne for the princess.

I blink as a man staggers towards that throne now. He laughs as he pulls a human girl with him, his hand in her hair. He slumps into my mother’s throne and pushes her to her knees. He frees his cock and forces her mouth onto it. The girl grabs the legs of the throne with white knuckles, her toes curling as he almost tears her hair out as he moves her head.

I recognise him from the many portraits around the palace and the features he shares with his son.

That and the golden crown atop his head tell me precisely who he is.

That man is the King. Reid’s father. The man who has stolen my throne.

No one pays any attention to him. Or perhaps they purposefully ignore it. He snaps his fingers, and a male human brings a tray of wine. He sits back and sips as his other hand continues manipulating the girl. I watch other men occasionally approach and speak to him, engaging in conversation as if nothing is happening.

‘My King,’ bows a man who tentatively approaches him. An older man with sleek silver hair and long robes of red.

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