Page 27 of The Nightbound Soldier

Aamako. The Unseelie king’s magic designation isarmatuno, meaning an army of one. He commands objects, or more specifically, he turns them into military tools, which often manifests in a deranged way. Such as whispering toy soldiers.

I exit the chamber and walk down the stairs. “My dear king,” I say. Although he’s not my king, he is endearing. The reins he holds over his power have been known to snap on occasion. I can relate to that. His struggle to control his vast power endears him to me. The desire to drain the fae and devour the living so they can never threaten undead magic always churns at the back of my mind.

The lust for complete dominion over all species is a thing for males like him and me. I don’t know why he doesn’t take over the world, but I know why I won’t. Because I did take the world once before, and I disliked who I became because of it.

Wearing a thick black robe and unlaced boots, Aamako sits in a chair by the fireplace, clutching a bleeding heart in his left hand.

Seething, I sit across from him. “That better not be Ledger or Leroy.”

“Don’t know either of them.”

I close my eyes and breathe deeply to calm the million and one ways I conjure up of how to snap this living creature’s thick neck before he can even blink.

“We are in alliance,” I say. “Murdering my male warrants an explanation.”

He tosses the heart into the fireplace. “I said no locals.”

It’s neither of my twin friends. “That’s the same as me telling you not to eat from your gardens, but instead get on the stag and ride him to the market seven cities away only for a sack of the same kind of potatoes you grow in the backyard. The younger males, like the one with his heart sizzling in the fireplace, feed more often, and the locals make for fast meals. I’m sure nobody died until you made them dead.”

“I said no locals.”

“Then we must leave for the court.”

Thearmatunomagic has taken hold of Aamako more than once, and when he recognized just how dangerous he could be to himself and others, he retreated into this village in a remote part of his court, leaving affairs of the crown to his late brother’s wife and her son, Aamako’s nephew.

The mother-son team ruled over the court in Aamako’s name for over eighty turns. Only recently did Aamako wrestle the power back from them by defeating an attack on his person and crown. Unfortunately, once his magic is unleashed, it behaves like a wild winter storm, taking out everything in its path.

Provoking Aamako resulted in the killing of his nephew, the exile of the queen regent, and, sadly, the destruction of the Winter Court. The Unseelie king is the king of all the Unseelie fae without a functioning court. He’s destroyed both the Fall and Winter Courts, and his people have dispersed. But not for long.

“The power vacuum left by the destruction of the Winter Court will invite all sorts of leeches. Pun on blood leeches intended. I’ve learned that the powerful notturnos ruling their respective vampire houses have taken in some of the fae who’ve fled your court. This means they will mingle, maybe even convince the fae to pledge loyalties to the houses. New alliances will be made, and not in your favor. You need the people’s favor.”

Aamako snorts. “I need only Augusta’s favor. Everyone else can view me from afar.”

“You sound like a dragon I used to know.”

Aamako sighs. “Ah, the old spans, when dragons flew over the Unseelie courts.” The bottle of bourbon on the bar behind the king sloshes and tips as Aamako’s magic pours him a drink. The glass slides over air and lodges between his fingers. He takes a sip and makes a face.

“I hear the bourbon here is nasty,” I say.

“Nasty everywhere now since the savage hordes are making it and distributing it around the world.” He chugs the contents and shudders visibly, then holds up the glass, asking his magic for another.

I guess we all have our quirks. His are just more noticeable and destructive than others.

“The Winter Court?” I prompt. “How is the recovery progressing?”

“Slowly.”

“Is there a way to hurry it up?”

“Not without hiring lycan crews.”

“And how can we hire the crews?”

“We can’t. But I know someone who can.”

I frown. “Excellent. In the meantime, my people and I will set up residence in the Ice Princess.” When Aamako’s parents heard the prophecy that the magic that could raise the dead would be born again in the Winter Court, they built a tower. It’s called the Ice Princess, a structure containing hundreds of mini residences, ballrooms, army stations, and even dungeons. It can house thousands of notturnos.

“A stronghold,” Aamako says.

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