Mate of the Fae King (Dark Faerie Court Book 2)

by Delia E Castel

  I nodded, and Rosalind opened the carriage door, letting in cool, algae-scented mist. The water stretched out beneath us, its gentle waves reflecting the dim light.

  “Your Majesty?” asked Aengus.

  “Retreat with the carriage at the first sign of trouble,” I said.

  His blonde brows lowered into a frown. “Your Majesty—”

  “That’s an order,” I replied. “If the harpist imprisons us beneath that water, you’ll need to wake King Drayce and work with him to get us out.”

  Aengus offered me a reluctant nod, even though he couldn’t see the logic in my words.

  Deep in my heart, I had an inkling of hope that Drayce would find a way out of the curse. Perhaps he would leave that room through the door or jump out of the window, and his soul would land in his body.

  “Good luck, Your Majesty,” Aengus murmured.

  I nodded and turned back to Rosalind, whose grip around my back tightened as we stepped out through the carriage’s door. We plummeted for a moment. My insides lurched with trepidation, and I sucked in a breath through my teeth. In the blink of an eye, she stretched out her wings, and flew us toward the lily pads.

  “My apologies, Your Majesty,” she said. “It has been a lifetime since I last stepped off a platform.”

  “It was only a tiny jolt of surprise.” I reached between our bodies and held her hand.

  Now that we weren’t traveling so quickly and without the barrier of a window between us and the lake, I noticed its stagnant state. Clouds of mosquitoes hovered above the water’s surface, and the ripples I once noticed didn’t move.

  My gaze landed on the harpist. Long strands of hair hung down from a thin face with a hooded brow and a nose as curved as a hawk’s. Cliach wore a cloak that seemed to be fashioned from an entire water lily with a matching tunic and tights.

  Along the swell of each cheekbone were five red dots that stretched outward from the bridge of his nose. He stared at us with a narrowed gaze but continued playing the melodic notes.

  The fae female glanced at us through heavy-lidded eyes and yawned.

  “Welcome, ladies to Loch Crotto Cliach,” he said as his fingers plucked the instrument’s golden strings. “The lake of my harps!”

  “Are you Cliach?” I asked.

  He nodded. “And who might you be?”

  “Queen Neara of the Faeries,” I replied.

  Cliach turned to the female in the tower and raised his brows. When that didn’t elicit a response, he turned back to me. “I won’t leave this loch to play for anyone, not even you.”

  “My mate has been cursed to sleep.” I pointed at the carriage in the distance. “We brought him here to listen to your harp. Can you awaken him?”

  “I can…” He tilted his head and stared at me with a closed-mouth smile. It was the kind of look merchants made when a customer was stupid enough to exclaim how much they liked a particular item, a gleam of greedy triumph that promised a hard bargain.

  The lining of my stomach fluttered with trepidation, and I hoped he wouldn’t make an outrageous demand. I inhaled a deep breath of cool air through my nostrils and raised my chin. “What is your price?”

  Cliach nodded toward the tower. “That beautiful maiden is the daughter of Bodb Dearg. I have played to her for two-thousand-five-hundred nights, commanded the moat to rise through the windows and drown her mother, her father, her sisters, and her servants. Each day she thwarts my love and each day, my sorrow swells.”

  I pressed my lips together into a tight line. “You killed her household?”

  “Order her to love me.” He pointed at the red-haired faerie.

  “That’s impossible,” I said through clenched teeth.

  Cliach stopped playing and turned toward us. Rosalind flew us several feet backward through the air, her hand on the hilt of her sword. I held my breath and waited for him to order the water to swallow us both.

  He didn’t say anything for several moments, only staring between Rosalind and me, his gaze assessing. “Am I not handsome enough to attract such a beauty?”

  My mouth dried with the onset of nerves. This was the sort of trick question that could lead to the male taking great offense or turning his murderous affections to one of us. I swallowed hard, my mind racing for the right way to phrase the truth.

  “It’s hard to fall for someone when they’ve drowned everyone you love,” I said.

  Cliach blinked, realization widening his gray eyes. I clenched my teeth, not wanting to say anything else to prompt him to drown us where we hovered. He was just as bad as Crom Cruach and wasn’t even deserving of a swift execution, let alone love, but I needed him alive for long enough to awaken Drayce.

  “I see,” he said, drawing out the last word. “Then you or your handmaiden will pleasure me on my bed of lilies. After seven days of your sweet devotion, I will awaken your mate.”

  The clouds around us thickened with the onset of rain, and the breeze swirling around our bodies cooled.

  Rosalind’s muscles stiffened, and she drew in a sharp breath between her nostrils. Perhaps another fae queen might have ordered her to lie with Cliach in order to wake her mate, but I wouldn’t tolerate such a request. I needed to find another way to make him agree to my request.

  “Did…” I paused as he hadn’t even introduced the object of his supposed love by name. “Did the daughter of Bodb Dearg have any beautiful sisters?”

  His amber eyes sparkled, and his thin lips curled into a smile.

  “A radiant beauty with hair the color of the afternoon sun. She died in a flood, though.”

  I pursed my lips, remembering that he had admitted to killing the female’s sisters. “When you awaken my mate, I’ll ask him to send you to the sister with hair like the sun.”

  “You would offer me such kindness?” He rose from the lily pad, making the golden harp fall precariously close to its edge.

  I nodded. “My mate is a very powerful male.”

  He smiled. “Then we will kiss on the bargain.”

  Rosalind flew me over, and I offered Cliach my hand. His grin faltered. Perhaps he expected to kiss me on the lips, but he didn’t utter a word of complaint and placed a moist kiss on my knuckles.

  “Shall I bring my mate to you now?” I asked.

  His thick brows drew together. “I don’t have the enchanted harp.”

  “But you said—”

  “I said I could play it.” He spread his arms wide, stretching the fabric over his thin chest. “But you’ll need to get the harp.”

  My chest tightened with a crushing disappointment that threatened to squeeze all the blood from my heart. I dropped my gaze to the murky water and blew out a shuddering breath. If this was a trick to lure me into its depths, I would make sure he was the one who drowned.

  “If you don’t have the harp, where is it?” I asked through clenched teeth.

  “With its owner,” he replied. “Bring it to me, and I will awaken your mate.”

  Chapter 9

  Cliach strummed a few notes on his harp and commanded the water to lower his lily pad to the surface. Rosalind flew us down after him, and we hovered above an adjacent pad, with a spider web of veins that supported its bright green skin. It curled up around the edges, revealing an underside of sienna and maroon.

  He tucked his harp under a thin arm, reached between a clump of crimson and white water lilies and extracted a small sack. “Come on, then.” He bounced on his heels and rubbed his hands. “Order the royal carriage to approach.”

  “You will address Queen Neara with respect,” Rosalind snarled.

  Irritation flickered across my skin. I didn’t feel remotely royal, let alone a queen, but it rankled to allow such a cold-hearted creature to address me with such familiarity. If I had another alternative to waking Drayce that didn’t involve confronting the Fear Dorcha, I would run Cliach through with the blade of my sword.

  I held back my roiling emotions to ask, “Do you know how to find the Harp of Dagda?�
��

  Cliach ran thin fingers through his raven-black hair. “Dagda has it,” he replied in a tone that implied I was failing to understand something of vital importance. “What are we waiting for, Your Majesty? The sooner I awaken your mate with the harp, the sooner I can meet to another daughter of Bodb Derg.”

  The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a haze across the horizon the color of diluted blood, a cool breeze blew clouds of mosquitoes across the water, making Rosalind flap her wings to keep them at bay.

  I tightened my lips. Cliach had effectively bargained for Drayce to send him to the Otherworld and didn’t stipulate anything about taking possession of the dead sister or even being introduced to her. That was the kind of agreement I was happy to fulfill regardless of whether he woke Drayce.

  “Alright.” I raised a hand, and the capall pulling the carriage flew toward us. “Do not enter the royal suite without my permission, or I will keep you alive and in pain for a century.”

  Cliach inclined his head. “Understood, Your Majesty.”

  I turned my gaze to the red-haired faerie, who stared down at us from her window.

  “Hello?” I cupped my hands around my mouth. “May we offer you a ride to dry land?”

  She didn’t respond, and Rosalind flew us up to the length of the mossy tower to where she stood by the glowing lantern.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  The faerie stared at us through red-rimmed eyes, looking as though she had cried every day since Cliach had drowned her entire household. She leaned forward, pale lips trembling, and grasped the opening of the widow with long, black nails that lengthened with every passing moment.

  A shudder trickled down my spine. The old me would have said it was terror, but this felt like a form of excitement.

  Rosalind backed away, her black-rimmed wings slicing through the thin mist. “We can’t save her.”

  “Why not?” I whispered, even though in the deep recesses of my mind, a part of me rejoiced.

  “She’s transitioning.”

  The daughter of Bodb Dearg rocked back and forth with a keening noise that sent a jolt of exhilaration through my veins. Thick, black tears poured from her red-rimmed eyes, staining the front of her nightgown. I didn’t need to ask Rosalind the question on my lips. After absorbing the dying breath of the Banshee Queen, I recognized how guilt and grief and anguish of her family’s death had twisted her soul into something new.

  I grabbed Rosalind around the waist. “Let’s go.”

  “Seven days,” rasped the newly made banshee. “Within seven days, and one of you will die.”

  Rosalind flew toward the coach, where Aengus awaited by its open door. I didn’t turn, didn’t dare to peek over my shoulder, didn’t want to consider that my presence here had triggered that faerie’s transition into a harbinger of death.

  We stepped into the coach’s interior, to the welcome scent of wood polish and jasmine.

  Aengus brushed past us to close the door, when a voice said, “Wait for me.”

  “What’s he doing here?” Aengus growled.

  I turned to find Cliach closing the door. His thin frame made him look like a wood sprite compared to Aengus, who stood six-and-a-half-feet tall with a body as well developed as Drayce’s, yet the smaller male raised his chin and stared straight into Aengus’ eyes.

  “Majesty has deemed my services vital in rousing her mate,” Cliach said in a tone of unbridled self-importance. “Step aside, so I may take my place among her Royal Court.”

  Rosalind joined Aengus in a snarl. I held back a growl. Until we found that magical instrument, Cliach would have to remain alive. Aengus pushed the door to the left, letting Rosalind into the other room and letting out the rich aroma of beef stew. I peered into a room about the size of the royal suite, its illuminated by wall lamps and a large window that provided a back view of the capall and beyond them, the lake. Bunks ran along the length of one wall and a dining table along the middle.

  On the far left, a five-foot-tall Nessa stood behind a counter, pushing a pot over a stove. She gave me a curt bob of the head and continued cooking.

  I placed my hands on my hips and turned my attention back to Cliach, who stood in the narrow hallway, clutching himself around the middle. “Now, will you direct us to the Harp of Dagda?”

  “Dagda?” Aengus paused at the doorway and frowned.

  “You know him?” I asked him.

  “Dagda is my father,” he replied.

  After checking on Drayce to make sure he hadn’t moved from where I had left him, I joined the others in the main room. A large bowl of beef stew and a plate of heaping potatoes roasted in herbs and onions and garlic awaited in the middle of the table, and Nessa emerged from behind her counter with a tray of food, which she set on the table for me.

  I lowered myself into the seat and met Aengus’ curious, turquoise eyes. “What do you know about the Harp of Dagda?”

  Aengus took the seat on my left, his thick brows furrowing. “It’s just an old relic handed down from the goddess, Dana. Nobody has ever been able to play it.”

  “I can.” Cliach strode across the room. He was about to sit opposite me, when Rosalind gripped the back of the seat, forcing him to take the chair across the table from Aengus. The musician pursed his lips and continued. “I’ve been blessed to play any instrument in existence.”

  “But not a female’s heart,” Rosalind snapped.

  Aengus grinned at Rosalind and tried to catch her eye, but she turned her gaze away. His shoulders slumped, and he stared into the table.

  I exhaled a long breath. Those two would have to sort out their differences. Right now, I needed to find this harp and get Cliach to play it for Drayce. Only then could we eliminate the threat of the Fear Dorcha and pursue Queen Melusina.

  Nessa returned to the table with two bowls of stew. She placed one in front of Aengus, the other in front of Cliach, and paused behind him to glare at me with her hands on her hips.

  I placed a heaping spoonful of beef stew in my mouth and made a show of chewing it. It was an explosion of red wine, fresh meat and herbs—far better than anything I could have made myself. After I’d eaten a few more bites, Nessa nodded her approval and walked back to her counter.

  “Let’s assume that Cliach can play the harp,” I said to Aengus. “Where can we find it?”

  He replied, “Dagda keeps his artifacts in the Palace of Bóinne, but that’s on the edge of the Summer Court.”

  Anxiety rippled through my belly, and the beef stew suddenly didn’t feel so appetizing. The Summer Court was exactly the place I needed to avoid, as I wasn’t nearly ready to face the Fear Dorcha.

  “Can we get there and avoid the Summer Court?” I asked.

  Aengus ran his fingers through his golden curls and tilted his head to the ceiling. The muscles in his jaw tightened as though he was chewing through the problem. “There’s a servants’ entrance via the Free Folk territory, but most of the palace and its grounds encroaches on the Summer Court.”

  I dropped my spoon into the bowl. I doubted that anyone who lived in a palace would lower themselves into meeting the Queen of the Faeries in such a humble manner, but our options were limited.

  Everyone stopped eating to stare. I glanced from Aengus on my left, Cliach, who sat opposite, then to Rosalind, and to Nessa, who was serving Rosalind a bowl of stew. They looked at me as though I had a plan.

  “Your Majesty?” asked Rosalind.

  I turned to Nessa. “Can you see any dangers ahead with your abilities?”

  Up close, the grugach’s milky eye was made entirely of smoke, which swirled within the confines of the socket. Her wrinkled face twisted with contemplation, and one of the large mouse ears on the side of her face twitched.

  “The Fear Dorcha needs you in the Summer Court,” she replied. “It is the center of his power and the most dangerous place in the realm for you.”

  I gulped. “Will he know if I cross its territory?”

  “Of course
, but whether he’ll reach you before you leave is a different matter.”

  Aengus rubbed his chin. “Dagda’s wards are impenetrable. His power comes directly from Dana herself.”

  I nodded.

  Like a druid. Like Father. The stew in my belly weighed as heavy as stones, and I rose from my seat. “Wake me before we reach Summer Court territory. I’m going to see if I can awaken my mate.”

  Thanks to Rosalind’s magic, I slipped into the dream with ease. Drayce stood in front of the window with his back to the room. The lichen bed curtains were gone, revealing a thick, green mattress that appeared to be made of silk. Even the tree trunks looked like benign posts that stretched to a ceiling painted with leaves.

  I padded across a green carpet that felt more like wool than moss, wondering if the curse was weakening.

  “Drayce,” I whispered.

  He turned around with a huge exhale and stared at me with shining eyes. “When you disappeared and didn’t return, I feared the worst.”

  “Time moves differently here.” I rushed into his arms and rested my head in the crook of his neck. Drayce’s masculine, leather scent now carried hints of moss, but it still warmed my heart. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and back, pressing me into his strong body.

  The tension in my muscles relaxed, and I melted into the embrace. Tears welled in my eyes and my throat thickened with a surge of longing. We had only been separated for a day, but it felt like an eternity. Perhaps it was. This dream realm wasn’t the same as having Drayce at my side. Here, he was trapped and powerless, but in the real world, he was slumbering and without a means to protect himself.

  I swallowed back a lump in my throat. “That time I spent with you was two days in the outside realm. How long has passed for you here?”

  “You can’t come back.” He released the embrace, released the strength and comfort and warmth of his body, and turned back to the window.

  I placed a hand on his back. “Why?”

  “There’s no escape from this room,” he said without looking at me. “I’ve tried the door, tried jumping from the tower but each escape brings me back here.”