by H. E. Edgmon
What I do know is that the way humans interact with systemic oppression comes in a different box than the way the fae do. It looks different on the outside, and it operates by a different set of rules. But really, when you get down to it, bigotry is bigotry.
Derek touches a hand to his temple as if to rub away a headache. “I understand this may mean very little to you, but it means a great deal to a lot of people. For all his convictions about change, I don’t believe Emyr is strong enough to face the backlash that will inevitably come with his inauguration. He will crumble under the stress of being king when he realizes no one in Asalin supports his new ideas. And should his meddling in human business risk our exposure? I don’t believe he is strong enough to defend us.”
I’m not sure what to do with that. Emyr seems pretty adamant about being king. Adamant enough to drag me here because he thinks I’m somehow going to help his chances of winning the popular vote. Not that there’s an actual vote. In this scenario, winning just means avoiding some kind of revolution.
“Even your marriage...” Derek frowns, like he’s trying to find a way to say what he needs to say without offending me. “It’s very unorthodox. No one understands why the king and queen agreed to this contract in the first place. It has nothing to do with you as a person, Wyatt. I understand Emyr cannot help the bond. But he could have kept you hidden. He could have chosen the crown over his selfish desire.”
We were children, I don’t say. Children are meant to be selfish.
“And now the damage has been done. The fae don’t want to see a witch on the Throne. Tell me, do you believe the humans would want a dog for president?”
I want to say something about the fact that he just compared me to a dog, but despite a flare of rage simmering under the surface, I can’t summon the will to snap back. Maybe because I get what he’s saying. Of course the fae are terrified of a witch taking the Throne. Then they might have to deal with an itty-bitty fraction of what the witches have dealt with since the dawn of time, living under the rule of fae without any say of our own.
“He believes this union will help to bring our two sides together. He refuses to acknowledge that all it has done so far is drive us farther apart.” Derek sighs. “Hostility on both sides is growing worse. Of course I believe that witches should have the right to live in peace, but...peace is not the goal of every witch.”
What does a peaceful witch look like to the fae? One who’s quiet? Subservient? I wonder these things, but don’t bother to ask. Derek has already made it clear what he thinks of me and people like me. And we’re alone out here. I don’t need to push him.
At least not any more than I can’t help myself to.
“I’ve tried talking to him,” Derek presses. “Tried reasoning with him. I’ve held meetings with my uncle, sent messages to the Court. I have attempted every high road I can think of. I don’t want this to get ugly. I never wanted it to come to this. But I have to put Asalin first. The people of this kingdom deserve a leader who respects what they want, who protects their ability to live as they always have. Even if that means taking the low road.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “So, what’s your plan?”
Derek stops walking and turns to face me. His black wings billow across his back, creating a cavern around us both. My throat tightens as he backs me up against a wall of greenery.
Once again, unseen flames light along the surface of my body, burning just beneath my skin. My black energy snaps out around me, creating a shield between my body and his. I do not like to be cornered.
He doesn’t seem to notice my bad reaction. Derek inclines his head toward mine, pushing right past the barrier of my magic. It dissipates like smoke. His forehead nearly touches mine. I can feel the heat from his mouth against my own when he speaks. “I want you to help me keep Emyr from ascending to the Throne. Whatever it takes.”
My chest tightens. The crisp scent of him is overwhelmed by the smell of flowers all around us. “Are you asking me to off him, my good bitch?”
I’m hoping the words will throw Derek off. Will force him to take a step back. Will make him roll his eyes at me. They don’t. Instead, he shakes his head. That one errant blond tendril brushes against my temple.
“Of course not. I want Emyr to live a long and happy life. So long as he’s far away from the crown.” He reaches down and wraps his hand around one of my wrists. I want to jerk away, but I can’t. My body, flooded by heat only moments ago, suddenly feels cold. My bones feel impossibly breakable in his big palm. One claw presses into my pulse point. My throat closes. “Wouldn’t you do anything to go back to your life out there? To take your human and return home? Do you really want to stay here in Asalin forever, constantly reminded of the horrific thing you did?”
My lips part but not even a breath escapes them. Derek isn’t wrong. After a long moment, I finally manage to ask, “Your plan gets me my life back?”
He smiles again, all teeth this time. “I am the head of the Guard. I will drop the charges against you at your trial tomorrow afternoon. You will spend your time here in Asalin making sure there is not one citizen among us, fae or witch, who wants to see you on the Throne. You will make them hate you. The more they turn against you, the more they will turn against Emyr. And when there is no one left who will follow his rule, I will take my rightful place.”
My tongue drags against my own little fangs. “Everyone already hates me. Emyr doesn’t seem to think that’s a problem.”
“Some of them hate you. Some of them see what you did as the actions of a misguided child. Emyr intends to use you to sway them toward the latter.” Derek chuckles against my cheek. “But I believe you would have more fun becoming the villain.”
“Oh?” I manage a sneer. “You think you know me?”
Derek’s other hand rises to my cheek. His skin is impossibly warm, his fingers soft from a life that hasn’t known a day of work. His claws bite tiny imprints into my face. How is he leaning closer still? “I may have missed the last few years, but I watched you grow up, did I not? And unlike my cousin, my eyes were not clouded by some bond. I saw you for exactly who you have always been.” His thumb strokes beneath my eye, sweeping down to press into the space above my upper lip. “I have always had a certain fondness for you, though, in spite of that.”
I am not breathing when I manage to say, “Back. The fuck. Up.”
With a lingering look into my eyes, Derek finally does, taking a few steps back and letting his hands fall away.
I collapse against the hedge, struggling to calm my racing heart. My gaze drifts to the bushes directly behind him. Shrubbery, ivy, flowers. Desperate for something to concentrate on, I focus in on a single white rose, turned to face the sun, petals still glistening with morning dew. A nest of thorns surrounds its delicate body. This flower won’t be plucked unless someone is willing to risk slicing their hand open to grab it. Steal the flower, face the consequences.
Finally, my chest begins to unravel.
“I will do whatever it takes to get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER SIX
I WISH YOU COULD BE MY PET
For the rest of the day, I do my best to balance the hurricane in my head with Briar’s excited insistence we explore every corner and crevice Asalin has to offer. I manage to placate her with a long tour of the castle, too anxious to venture anywhere else so soon after our arrest, but not at all strong enough to convince her to hide with me all day.
But that night, when we’ve returned to our room and she’s snoring quietly on the other side of the bed, I start dreaming up ways to make sure everyone in Asalin wants my head on a spike. Luckily for Derek and me, I don’t think it’s going to be that hard.
Part of me wonders if I should feel guilty about doing this to Emyr. Derek isn’t wrong about anything he said. But Emyr isn’t wrong, either. We are supposed to be together. We did love each other once, as
friends. Maybe as something more. I’m betraying some part of myself by agreeing to go along with Derek’s scheming, I know I am.
But Emyr dragging me here against my will feels like a betrayal, too. How might things have unfolded differently if he’d agreed to stay in Texas, to keep talking, to get to know me again as me? We’ll never know.
I’ve got a running list of possible shenanigans to get myself into—I am going to do something chaotic with the dragons, I think—but the fantasies aren’t helping to lull me to sleep. And as seconds tick into minutes and the night drags on longer and longer, restlessness finally starts to eat away at me. Quiet as I can be, I slip out of bed, drag my hoodie and sweats on, and let nostalgia carry me back to my favorite place in this castle. One of the few places I didn’t take Briar today, a little hideaway I’m not ready to share, even with her.
The north tower is the highest point in the palace, up a long, long staircase that leaves me gasping for air by the time I reach the top. The dome and its many, many embrasures have all been taken over by the ivy outside. It climbs in through the openings and covers parts of the floor and ceiling, nearly concealing the walls all together.
I lean against the base of one opening and gaze at Asalin, spread out beneath me. From here, I can take it all in. The moon hanging low over the village down the hill, most of the lights in the houses turned out except for the last few night owls. The field where the peryton sleep and, on the other side of the village, the base of the mountains where the dragons have settled in.
In the forests, hellhounds can be heard baying at the night sky. Treetops rustle with energy as the nocturnal pixies begin to wake, shaking the branches of their homes as they do. Though I can’t see the goblins—because they don’t like to be seen, sticking to the parts of the woods they’ve claimed as their territory and theirs alone—I know they’re probably stomping through the stream right now, muddying themselves up before bed.
There is beauty here, in this kingdom, if someone knows where to look for it.
“Firestarter?”
I grind my teeth. How did I not hear him coming up the stairs?
I turn and find Emyr standing on the other side of the tower. He’s dressed in slouchy azure pants and an oversize white cloak that clips at his throat and hangs down to his knees. There are a pair of strappy white sandals on his feet.
When moonlight illuminates his full mouth and the beautiful, dangerous hint of fangs against his lips, I force myself to breathe like a normal person. My god, I don’t know what to do with him. And while my brain would love to suggest several ideas, I refuse to acknowledge any of them.
“How’d you find me?”
He approaches me slowly, before leaning against the wall a few feet away. “No one answered my knock when I went to your room. I thought maybe you were still on your tour. This was the first place I thought to look.”
Because this was my favorite place, once. Because he knew a lot about me, once.
“Why were you creeping into my bedroom in the middle of the night?”
“I—You are insufferable,” he growls, a hand shooting up to snatch at his curls. He gnashes his fangs, other hand fisting at his side.
“Are you suffering, Your Highness?” My voice leaves me in a near-singsong. I can’t seem to help myself. “Would you like to cry about it? Is that why you were looking for me?”
“I was looking for you because, for some unthinkable reason, I hoped to apologize.”
That isn’t the answer I was expecting. I slump against the wall, shoving one hand in the pocket of my pants.
“For what?” There’s an abundance of things he should be sorry about.
“For how poorly things have gone since you arrived. For Derek’s treatment of you. For my behavior yesterday.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I know you had reservations about coming here at all, and I haven’t exactly proven to you that you made the right decision in choosing to show up.”
It wasn’t my decision, either, considering I was basically held at gunpoint. (Spellpoint? Whatever.) But he isn’t wrong in that things haven’t been a piece of cake.
“I didn’t expect to be treated any better than this. Not in Asalin.”
It’s the truth and nothing but the truth, but I still see the way it hurts Emyr when I say it. He winces, rolling over one shoulder to gaze out at the night in front of us.
His profile isn’t horrible to look at. Dark, thick eyebrows sit over the long lashes that frame his brown eyes. His sharp cheeks create hollows on either side of his plush mouth. That golden hoop dangles low from the center of his broad nose. After another long moment of staring at his face, I turn my own head in the direction he’s staring.
The pixies are beginning to rise from their trees, a thousand tiny lights swarming into the sky, a quiet buzzing filling the air all around us.
“You didn’t really think it would be different, did you?” I ask the night.
Emyr swallows, and in my periphery I think I see him shrug. “This kingdom fails its people in many ways. But I believe we can make change for the better. I’d hoped you would be more excited about the prospect.”
Be the change you wish to see in the world? Really? I sigh.
As the pixies begin flying across the sky, a handful bobble up toward the tower. Their glowing wings light the air around us like fireflies, little bodies covered in thick white hair floating in front of us. I can just barely make out their pinched faces. When one smiles in my direction, I can see several tiny rows of razor-sharp teeth.
Pixies are cute, but they will eat you alive if they feel like it. I was once incredibly fond of them. No wonder. That’s called projection.
When I turn my head, I catch Emyr staring at me this time. I can’t help the way I jolt a little, not expecting to find his gaze boring into me the way it is.
“What?”
“You did want to marry me once.”
He’s not wrong. I look away from his face to twist my fingers together, shoulders rising and falling. “Yeah, well. You wanted to become a poet once.”
A beat passes before Emyr laughs, the sound taking me by surprise. It’s deep, echoing off the walls. Something about it reminds me of a tree, solid and grounded and filled with life. I look back to find he’s moved a little closer to me, propping himself up by the elbows to lean back against the opening in the tower wall. His horns glint in the light of the pixie wings. “It took me way too long to realize those poems were just really, really bad.”
I don’t trust this.
And still, I can’t seem to help myself. I grin a little, shaking my head. “Remember the one about the turtle?”
“Oh, the turtle poem.” Emyr groans, reaching up to scrub his hand over his mouth, claws scratching gently at his chin as he does. “Please, don’t.”
“How did that go again?” I raise an eyebrow at him, my voice taunting. “Little turtle, green and wet. I wish you could be my pet—”
“Shh.” Emyr reaches up and presses a finger to my mouth. “That’s enough of that.”
Suddenly, I’m a child again, and we’re hiding in his closet to try and escape the attention of his nanny. He’s reading me one of his poems and my head is in his lap, his fingers sliding through my still-long hair, his voice soft and even and comforting.
Shit. I blink myself back into the tower. I can’t think about that.
Still, I can’t seem to right myself. His hand is still touching my lips. All around us, my energy gives one shaking pulse, like a wave of black going out in all directions. My heart thrums too hard. I can hear it trying to climb up my throat.
Time no longer exists. It’s simply one moment suspended, the two of us in this tower, our gazes locked. In the darkness of night, Emyr’s eyes almost look black, but flecks of pixie light catch them and create a smattering of amber specks across their surface. It reminds me of the sky outs
ide, blackness decorated by stars.
Slowly, as if afraid of scaring me away, Emyr slides his hand to the side of my face, moving his finger from my lips so he can cup my cheek. Derek’s grip was firm. Emyr touches me as if he thinks I might crumble. His voice has taken on a quiet rasp when he speaks again. “We both grew up. We both changed. But we can find our footing again.”
“What if we can’t, though?” I twist my hands in front of my stomach, try to think of how to word this. “I know you think the bond is irrefutable. But I have a hard time believing that just because some weird, old-ass fae magic decided I’d be your perfect baby factory, we don’t have any choice but to live happily ever after.”
Those thick eyebrows drag together, and he says nothing.
So, I press on. “I mean... I know you say you need me. But you don’t want me. Especially not anymore. Right? You said yourself you wouldn’t have chosen me.”
Emyr’s gaze is heavy as it ticks away from mine. Down the length of my face, hovering over my mouth. Skimming my throat. Along the folds of the black hoodie, down to my hands peeking out past the sleeves. To my thighs behind the fabric of the sweats. Then back to my face.
We both swallow.
Finally, he answers, in his own roundabout way. “You haven’t changed as much as you think you have.”
I raise my eyebrows, because that seems untrue.
“You have always been you. You just found the language to talk about it.” He shrugs.
I huff. “Well, it’s not just that, you know. I mean, seriously, ask anyone who’s spent time with me recently. I’m a complete asshole.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’ve never been a saint.”
“Oh. Gee. Thank you so much.”
Emyr grins, flashing those dimples again. After a moment, though, he sighs, his expression growing more serious. “The bond is a compulsion. And you’re right. I would not have chosen you. Not because I don’t want you, but because our union is complicated.”
