First Published by Monster House Books, LLC in 2018
Monster House Books, LLC
34 Chandler Place Newton, MA 02464
www.monsterhousebooks.com
ISBN eBook: 9781945723407
Copyright © 2018 by Monster House Books LLC
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Dedication
For my readers
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
Rouen
There’s nowhere I belong
No home, no hearth
No sing, no song
A princess with no kingdom to rule
- “Nowhere I Belong” - Euphoria
It’s December 24, Christmas Eve in the mortal realm, and you know what that means.
Only fifty-four days to go. Fifty-four days until the Lunar New Year.
Until I take my rightful place as Queen of the dark Fae.
No more being Rouen, princess-assassin and rebel. Once Father steps down—and he said he would—I’ll take his place.
Half of me, my dark self, says he’s lying through his fangs again. But the other half of me remembers the father-before, the man he was before our realm was crippled by our mortal enemies, the fair Fae. That man taught me to fight, to tap into the Winter in my royal blood and hear the wintry nightsong running through our Dark Faerie realm like a secret language.
The Adamant King. He was a good father and a great king—powerful but even-tempered, severe but just.
That’s the man I could trust. That man would keep his word to make me queen.
Even though there’s never been a dark Fae queen. Ever.
I’ll be the first. I can’t wait to rule, to do whatever I want, to be with whoever I want.
In fifty-four days.
But who’s counting?
“Not you,” Syl murmurs sleepily as we lie on the beat-up couch in the dressing room of our local club/hangout, the Nanci Raygun. It’s a snug room wallpapered with faded band flyers and covered in peeling spray paint art. The best thing is the comfy couch that’s ideal for snuggling with your girlfriend.
“Nope. Not me.” I kiss the top of Syl’s red curls. She knows me too well.
Just like I’m the princess of the dark Fae, Syl’s the princess of the fair Fae.
We’re complete opposites. I’m everything Winter—storms and squalls and brutal cold, unyielding ice and thundersnow. My Syl is the epitome of Summer and sun and brightness, with the power to purify dark magic with her white flame.
We met when I tried to kill her.
Technically, we’re mortal enemies. Winter. Summer. You get the picture.
Long story short, I tried to assassinate her. Not my finest moment, but I was controlled by Circuit Fae black-magic—a Moribund infection that stole my will and forced me to hunt her down when she was a mere mortal. Sleeper-princess that she is, though, she Awakened to the fair Fae power inside her.
Hoo-boy, did she give me a hard time. I loved it. Still do.
Syl snuggles in closer. Her nearness sends a spike of warmth shooting through me. She leans her head on my shoulder. “Is it time for your gig yet?”
Ancestors, I hope not. I’d rather lie on this couch with her forever. Lazily, I look past the Euphoria fliers plastered all over the dressing room and check the faded Blue Bee Cider clock on the wall. Almost 11 p.m. “Ten minutes.”
Ten minutes till I step onstage and take on the Euphoria half of my mortal guise. The other half is a seventeen-year-old high school junior, but this is more my style—local legend and goth rockstar violinist. Thanks to my powerful Glamoury, only Syl, her mom, and a few kids at Richmond Elite High have put the Rouen-Euphoria connection together. Otherwise, the human paparazzi would have a heyday with us.
As it is, they mostly leave us alone. Good thing, too, since tonight, I want some peace.
Tonight’s special.
In a little bit, Syl will be headed off on her own. Her task is less glamorous, but far more important. She has to leave to grab our Christmas Eve dinner.
I’ve never had a proper Christmas Eve dinner. It’s a mortal thing and very different from my people’s Dark Yule celebrations (which involve a lot of mayhem and destruction), and I’m looking forward to it.
Syl turns her face into my shoulder and says something like, mumble, mumble, don’t wanna, mumble, mumble, cold outside, mumble.
So. Adorable. I kiss the top of her head, inhaling the heady scent of sunshine and vanilla. My sweet fair Fae princess.
I’d do anything to protect her.
“When I’m queen,” I vow, “I’ll stop the war between our worlds.” Long ago, Faerie split into two halves—Dark Faerie and Fair Faerie—and the war began. Syl and I are the first of our people who, a.) don’t want to murder each other in cold blood, and b.) want to unite our realms in peace.
The fact that we’re in love is just the icing on the fairy teacake.
Still, we’ve got our work cut out for us. My people were all trapped in a stasis called Winter’s Sleep because our hearthstone, the source of all Dark Faerie’s power, was dying.
With our powers combined, Syl and I healed the hearthstone.
Now that the dark Fae are awake, though, they’ll expect me as queen to reignite the age-old war. Ha! I’m not about to let some moldy old war come between me and Syl.
No matter what my people want. When I’m queen, they’ll do as I say.
That’s the point of ruling, right?
“Silly,” Syl teases, leaning up to kiss my nose. “There can’t be a war because my people haven’t even woken up yet.”
That’s mostly true. “What about Aldebaran?”
Syl wrinkles her nose. “He doesn’t count.”
The Prince of the fair Fae, Aldebaran showed up at school earlier this year and tried to force Syl to be his soul-bound mate. Joke was on him, though, because after we kicked his sorry butt, Syl chose me. I chose her back, and now, our soul-bond links our minds, our emotions, our very souls, allowing us to speak telepathically and send feelings to each other.
There’s only one drawback.
Sometimes I send too much. I haven’t been able to protect her from my gloomy thoughts.
Because truth be told, I’m not sure if I can trust my father. I want to, but…
That Moribund infection I mentioned? It was his way of punishing me for wanting to help the fair Fae—by infecting me with black-magic circuitry, turning me into a soulless Circuit Fae hellbent on killing sleeper-princesses.
So yeah, we have a complicated history.
“I think it’s okay to be cautious.” Syl’s voice is filled with concern for me. She’s usually hopeful, but she experienced my father’s wrath firsthand when he tried to use me to hunt her down. So she’s being extra-careful. “Remember, there’s never been a dark Fae queen.”
“It’s hard to forget
.” I sigh heavily. She’s right. My people are extremely steeped in our traditions and old laws, the fádo.
And the fádo says girls do not become queens. And queens do not rule without a king.
The fádo also says that any challengers to the throne must fight the standing king in a duel to the death.
I raise my chin. “Father must’ve found a way around the rules because he said he’d step aside that day and let me ascend to the Adamant Throne.”
“When you’re ready, Rouen. When you’re truly ready.” Those were his exact words.
And dark Fae always keep our word.
Don’t we? My heart aches. It’s been bruised so many times by him, and even though my dark self urges me to proceed with caution, I just can’t.
He’s my father. I owe him a second chance.
More like a third chance. Or is it fourth? my dark self chimes in cruelly. Maybe fifth?
“Hey, Miss Gloomy Town.” Syl pokes me in the side. “You’re doing that thing again.”
I sigh, pressing two fingers to my temple. “That thing” refers to the fact that no one can descend into a negative spiral faster than yours truly. “You know me, princess. Other than kicking butt and playing violin, being gloomy-doomy is what I do best.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” Syl gives me a dubious look, one red eyebrow raised, a teasing judginess in her grey eyes. “And first things first, Rouen Rivoche.”
“Right.” I push aside my conflicted feelings about my father. “First, I’ve gotta get through tonight’s gig.”
“Not to mention” —Syl raises a telling finger— “Christmas Eve dinner with Mom.”
“Yeahhhh…” Doubt worms its way through me. Family stuff has always been hard for yours truly, and let’s just say Georgina Skye (née Gentry) doesn’t 100% approve of yours truly dating her daughter. Obviously, it’s more about me being the dark Fae princess than me being Euphoria, local goth rockstar.
I won’t apologize, though.
Syl is my everything.
A knock on the dressing room door heralds a voice, “Euphoria, you’re on in five.”
Showtime. That means…
“Time for me to go, princess.” I kiss her again, reluctantly shifting my weight beneath her as the gentlest of hints. She gets it and slides from my arms. Instantly, I feel the loss of her, coldness creeping in where her warmth just was.
“Yeah, I’ve gotta get a move-on, too.” Syl stretches her five-foot-one frame like a ginger cat, all curls and sassy cuteness. “Little Portugal closes at midnight, and Pru’s waiting with our order.”
She holds the stretch, stifling a yawn. Be still, my black heart. I can’t help but ogle her. She’s everything I’m not. Short where I’m tall. Where I have straight raven-black hair that falls to my mid-back, Syl’s got soft red curls cascading down to her shoulders. My eyes are a dark sapphire-blue; hers are summer-storm-grey. My skin’s a burnished bronze while hers is alabaster, pale and dusted by adorable freckles.
All the power of Summer lies inside that small frame—power that would kill me dead, dead, dead if it wasn’t for our soul-bond. And truth be told?
She’s kicked my butt more than once.
“What?” She catches me staring, and I blush at getting caught.
“You’re just so beautiful.” And hot and sexy. But I don’t say those things—and I make sure not to send them down the soul-bond, either. Not yet. Syl and I are taking it slow. We live the rest of our lives at a crazy, breakneck pace. We want to savor this, enjoy every step of the way.
Syl smiles, blushing, and does a little twirl, showing off her super-cute Harley and Ivy minidress. She’s so adorable I want to sweep her up and whisk her away.
“Do it,” urges my dark self—the wicked part of my dark Fae soul that craves power and possession, blood and sacrifice—but I shove it down deep, locking it behind the bars of my mind.
Not today, Dark-Rouen.
Instead, I turn to grab my violin. Its glassy surface flashes in the sallow dressing room lights. I always feel better with my violin in my hands. It could be because my gramarye, my natural Fae power, is stronger when I use my instrument as my focus.
Maybe it’s because there are only two times when I feel most like myself.
One, when I’m on stage playing as Euphoria, goth rockstar.
Two, when I’m with Syl.
I don’t want to go. But like all dark Fae, I have trouble articulating my emotions.
“I don’t want to go, either.” Syl smiles shyly at overhearing my thoughts.
Soul-bond again. Neither of us has complete control, so our sendings can be random at times. Right. Inside voices, Roue. Now it’s my turn to blush. Dark Fae shouldn’t even have emotions like mine. But I’m crazy head over heels in love with Syl, and a big part of me doesn’t care who knows it.
Once I’m queen, I’ll be able to shout it from the rooftops.
And there won’t be a damn thing anyone can do to stop me.
I brush my nose against hers and give her a soft farewell kiss. She responds, all warm and Summer-sweet. My heart soars, but it also aches deep inside…it aches like…
A jolt of fear spikes me. Like the hearthstone is calling me.
But why?
Each Faerie realm, Fair and Dark, has a hearthstone. The source of power for that realm, the hearthstone is tied to its princess. Syl’s tied to the Fair Faerie hearthstone, and I’m tied to Dark Faerie’s. It beats within me like a second heartbeat.
Only now, I sense it calling me, thrashing in my chest like a wounded bird.
Panic strikes through me, lightning-quick.
“What’s wrong?” Syl senses my fright down the bond.
I pull away slightly, dowsing for the hearthstone, reaching to feel what’s wrong. Is it breaking again? And then, as suddenly as that urgent pulse came, it’s gone. I touch my heart, reaching down deep.
But the call from the hearthstone doesn’t come again.
“It’s…nothing.” I blow out a breath, running a hand through my dark hair. Too much gloom-and-doom, Roue. “I’m just restless.”
The knock comes again, louder this time. “E, you’re up.”
Reluctantly, I step away from Syl, violin and bow in hand.
She touches my arm. “You’re going to be an amazing queen, Roue.”
“Thanks, princess.” I chin-nod to the door. “Go on. I’ll see you after.”
Smiling at our old “after” in-joke, she heads out.
My heart soars, but as I follow Joaquin, the head bouncer, down the darkened hall to the stage, the hearthstone’s sudden silence cranks my chest open like an ache that’ll never be filled.
A promise that I’ll never be queen.
And if I’m not queen, I can’t be with Syl. My people will never accept a dark Fae and a fair Fae being soul-bound and in love.
I need the crown to make them. Or else, they’ll kill her on sight.
Because when you’re a dark Fae, you’ve got two choices: rule or be ruled.
Chapter Two
Syl
Redcaps, the worst of the worst
Of all dark Fae
Quick as a cat
Strong as an ox and
Murderous as men
- Glamma’s Grimm
Christmas Eve and still no snow. They should really change the lyrics to that old song because it’s beginning to look a lot like a green Christmas in Richmond, Virginia, or, as the locals call it—RVA. The night’s got that cold crispness, practically teasing to snow, but there’s not even a single snowflake as I leap to the Nanci’s rooftop and summon my fairy wind.
In gusty Summer breezes, it wraps me up, speeding me down the street topside.
As a fair Fae, I’m good with warmer weather, but I know the lack of a “real” snow season drives my Roue nuts. She’s all things Winter—freezing cold winds, sleet, ice, and squalls, thundersnow. She needs her brutal cold weather to feel alive.
I wish that was our only problem.
If it were, we could just snickle-step to our separate halves of Faerie and then meet back up at the North Pole or something.
But the truth is, Roue’s worried sick about becoming queen.
I’m not sure all her worry is for nothing. There are definite reasons why I think that.
I leap across the tea shop to the Mexican place, catching the fire escape on the other side and springing to the rooftop. As fast as I am, though, my thoughts threaten to outpace me. I’ve always been a bit of an overthinker, and this new “becoming queen” problem is no different.
First, I don’t trust her dad. Not one bit. He might’ve been a rocking king long ago, but that was before he tampered with the evil dark magic of the Moribund. That stuff—those black-magic circuits that rewrite your DNA—they change you, and not in a good way. Fiann, my bestie/dark-Fae-queen-wannabe learned that the hard way, but only after the Moribund made her go crazy-psycho and sucked out most of her life’s essence.
They spooned what was left of her into an urn on her parents’ mantle.
Her death really wrecked me for a while, and I’ve got the sinking feeling Roue’s setting herself up for a similar heartbreak.
Second, Roue’s people hate mine. They’d sooner slaughter us both than let us be together.
I doubt they’re just going to let her be queen when I’m part of the equation.
Concern speeds my pulse as I race through the night, my fairy wind plus my enhanced fair Fae strength and agility carrying me over rooftops and down twisty alleyways, all the way from the Nanci across town to Little Portugal.
Last but not least, Roue’s father is not the “soft fuzzy bunny” type of dad.
I remember being there, in UnderHollow, the epicenter of the Dark Faerie realm, on the night we woke her people. I remember the look on her father’s face when he saw all of them kneeling before her, as if she were their new queen.
It was a look of dark fury and bloody vengeance.
Okay, right after that, I passed out from blood loss, but I know what I saw.
Her father’s not going to give up that throne. Not without a fight.
I might be new to Faedom, but one thing I’ve learned is this: the Fae are masters of cunning and deception, and they don’t leave anything to chance. I’m sure that, right now, King Reinghûl (aka Roue’s dad) is scheming some master plot against us.
Dethroned_An Inimical Prequel Novella Page 1
