Dethroned_An Inimical Prequel Novella

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

  Can determine the fate of its people

  - Glamma’s Grimm

  I’ve never heard my Roue scream like that.

  It ramps up and up and up, raking cold claws down my back, rattling my very bones. I’m not the only one, either. The entire Throne room—Ebon Knights, Adamant Guard, arch-Eld—they all grab their ears in agony.

  Boom! The scream hits its crescendo, crashing over the chamber in a shockwave, blasting everyone into the walls.

  As for King Reinghûl?

  He gets it the worst.

  Roue’s scream blasts him right in the face with a wall of violet lightning. It knocks him off the dais, where he gets some really great hang-time, then goes crashing to the floor like a chump.

  That’s what he gets, the lying McLiarface.

  And yours truly? My fairy wind kicks in, pushing off the walls, saving me from going kersplat. Yay, Summer power!

  “Come, Father.” Roue stands up from the throne. She taunts him with a toss of her raven-dark hair and a bring it on gesture. “Let’s get this fight over with.” She’s all cocky sexiness wrapped in black leather, but I can tell she’s stalling.

  She doesn’t really want to hurt him.

  Which means…no white flame for me. “Roue?” I send, letting her know I’m ready. The Ebon Knights are still picking themselves up off the floor, so I’m a free agent.

  At least for the moment.

  The home team is definitely rallying. The Knights straightening, the arch-Eld shaking off the effects of Roue’s scream. The Adamant Guard… Who knows whose side they’re on anyway?

  I’ve lost track.

  “Find the vorpal sword.” Roue sends to me as she comes down the stairs. “He’ll have it on him, under a Glamoury.”

  “Right!” I’m already summoning up my Fae-sight.

  “And Syl?”

  “Yeah?” I sense her hesitation down the bond. I can guess her next words.

  “Don’t hurt him.” Her hope is a bright pulse in my mind.

  “Got it.” Even though we’ve gone way beyond “innocent until proven guilty,” I’ll respect Roue’s wishes. If she thinks her dad can be saved, maybe he can.

  Reinghûl’s already getting up off the floor. He laughs, a deep, rolling sound that echoes in the wintry chamber. “Rouen, you get your passion from your mother. But in the end, you are young and naive—a little girl.” His eyes are so cold they freeze my blood. “And little girls can never be kings.”

  His taunt hits the mark.

  I feel her pain shoot down the soul-bond and have to remind myself. Do not burn down the dark Fae king, do not burn down the dark Fae king…

  Easier said than done.

  He paces before her, his boots clomping the polished floors, a sneer curling his lips. He’s looking for a weakness, an opening in Roue’s defenses so he can attack.

  Showtime. I switch to my Fae-sight. My vision blurs, then settles into the swirling colors that signify people’s emotions. But looking at the king, there are a million shades of black twisting and dancing hypnotically, a billowing cloak of darkness, whirling and cutting through the air all around him.

  What is that? And where’s the vorpal sword?

  “You will fight me, Father.” Roue’s heart’s not in this, but she makes a strong stand anyway. “I can make you.” She gestures, and the Adamant Guard rise to their feet, weapons at the ready.

  “My queen!” Liriel calls, and the other Guard echo her, ready for my Roue’s command.

  “See, Father?” My girl’s posturing like a boss. “Your Ebon Knights are no match for my Adamant Guard.”

  “Perhaps.” The king plunges his hand into the swirling shadow-cloak and plucks out the hearthstone. To normal sight—and everyone else—it looks like he pulls the fist-size black gemstone from thin air. “But this is more than a match, wouldn’t you say?”

  He clutches the hearthstone so hard his knuckles turn white. “UnderHollow, heed the call of your king.”

  The pressure in the chamber drops as he calls on the realm’s dark power.

  Uh-oh. This isn’t good.

  Both the Knights and the Guard step back as the stench of rotting decay and asphalt chokes the air. Instantly, the shadows around the king deepen, tendrils billowing out from the shadow-cloak. They writhe like the roots of an ancient gnarled tree come alive, then shoot outward, plugging in to the floors, the walls, the ceiling.

  Everywhere he touches, UnderHollow begins to glow.

  It answers his call. The call of the king.

  “Roue!” In a flash, I recognize what I’m seeing. “He’s pulling on the power of UnderHollow.” The power granted to whoever sits the Adamant Throne and rules the realm of Dark Faerie.

  “I see it.” Roue snatches up her bow and violin, but before she can lay her bow to the strings, King Reinghûl touches something on his belt—something I can’t see.

  In a racking wave, my wound flares up, stabbing me in the side like a psycho-killer on speed. “Gah!” I bite back a gasp, jamming my fist into my ribs.

  “Syl!” Roue grits her fangs at my pain. Her bow-hand falters.

  A smile curves Reinghûl’s mouth. “Having trouble with your little pet, Rouen?”

  Little…pet? I clench my fist. I want so much to flame on and light him up. But I can’t. Instead, I focus on piercing his Glamoury to find the vorpal blade.

  One wrong move, and Roue could join me in Vorpal Wound City.

  He keeps his hand near his belt, the threat obvious. His eyes glint like cruel ice. “You would do well not to try my patience.”

  Even in pain, I roll my eyes. “Did you get that line from Villains R Us?”

  He looks past me at Roue. “Silence your pet, daughter.”

  “Nah. I don’t think I will.” Zzzap! Without warning, she blasts him with her gramarye.

  He throws up a casual hand, forming a shield sizzling with black lightning.

  Ka-crak! Her lightning caroms off it.

  From behind that shield, he raises the hearthstone high. “UnderHollow, obey me!” In answer, the gem flushes black, pluming with ice and shadow. Tendrils of dark energy fall to the polished floor, like ink dropped into milk.

  That’s when all our problems multiply. Literally.

  In an eye-blink, the tendrils swirl and dance, solidifying into heavily armored soldiers. A dozen, two dozen three… The shadows pump out warriors in droves, scimitars, swords, glaives in their gauntleted hands.

  Each one looks like a rook from a chess set—a dark suit of empty armor wearing a jagged towerlike helm. They surround the Adamant Guard in twos, threes, fours, spilling out as the hearthstone pumps more and more of them into the chamber.

  Until the entire Adamant Hall is filled.

  The Ebon Knights and Rooks outnumber the Adamant Guard by a factor of five. Above on the semicircle, the three arch-Eld loyal to the king draw weapons on the other four.

  Our odds are getting worse by the second.

  “Roue…” We should really run, get the heck out of Dodge.

  But my girl’s stubborn. “Not without the cure.”

  And that’s when my Fae-sight decides to pierce the shadowy black cloak around the king, passing through layers and layers of Glamoury to see…

  The true nature of Reinghûl, King of Dark Faerie.

  A withered, broken-backed thing, his body ravaged, hollowed out by Winter’s Sleep. The stench of decay and rot cloaks him in a choking cloud. His doublet and breeches hang off a skeletal frame, his fingernails long yellowed claws stroking the hearthstone’s facets.

  Stretching from those claws are shadowy-black tendrils. Hard as roots, each one plugs into the hearthstone’s dark surface, tapping its power.

  What in the—

  Hearthstone in hand, the king strides toward us, the Rooks parting in waves to let him pass. Ghastly light casts over his face, making his bones stand out, skeletal and creepy.

  With every step, he pulls more energy from the hearthstone.

 
Those pitchy, rootlike tendrils choke the gemstone’s surface, sucking at the dark energy, stealing it to make that shadow-cloak of power around him. Slowly, the hearthstone dulls to a flat black.

  “Roue…” I send her what I see, wincing at the agony in her heart.

  Our problems? They haven’t just multiplied. They’ve grown by a factor of 10.

  Breath by breath, the king is devouring the hearthstone.

  Chapter Nine

  Rouen

  Princess, I will always protect you

  Always and forever

  - “Always and Forever,” Euphoria

  My heart cries out, for in this moment, everything good I’ve ever believed about my father seems like a filthy lie. His words, his promises, even his appearance.

  At Syl’s urging, I look, really look, and see my father beneath the Glamoury, as he truly is—ravaged and skeletal, his face a grinning skull, his skin stretched taut as parchment over his bones. His fingernails are hooked claws, plucking strands of energy off the hearthstone.

  Plucking strands so he can consume them.

  Heartbreak and fear wreck me. He really is devouring the hearthstone.

  This is why it cried out only to fall silent. He sucked away its screams. With every strand he drinks in, he seems to grow stronger.

  “Father!” My heart doesn’t want to believe it. No, he wouldn’t… “Stop it!”

  But my cries fall on deaf ears.

  Even now, his Rooks form up around him on every side, black-armored waves waiting to crash down on me and Syl. If they attack, we’ll have no chance.

  But he’s waiting.

  Consuming the hearthstone bit by bit.

  I try again to reach him, make him see his madness. “The hearthstone is the source of all power in Dark Faerie. If anything happens to it, our entire realm will crumble to ruin. All our people will die!”

  A sly smile curves his lips, a smile born from his dark side. “The hearthstone and its power are mine.”

  A collective gasp erupts from the arch-Eld, even the four on his side. Griffa Gris, the blue-skinned, ram-horned troll, tusks protruding from her mouth, growls deep in her throat. Zoba’ah, the ifrit, crosses his tawny muscled arms, tiny dervishes swirling around his lower body. Even Prattlerattadooley, the mischievous hob who takes nothing seriously, gives my dad a glaring side-eye.

  He’s not in his right mind. I clench my fists. That evil smile, his malicious actions… Why didn’t I see it before? On rare occasions, when a dark Fae suffers a terrible trauma, their dark side can take control, turning them into a horrible, ravaging monster. Ever since Mother died, his dark side’s been getting stronger and stronger. It must have taken him over.

  Like an animal who’s gone feral.

  “Syl,” I send to her, my thoughts whirling, desperate and wild. “I have to save him!”

  “I’ve got your back.” Syl’s waiting for my signal. “What’s your plan?”

  That’s a damn good question. “Working on it…” As far as I know, there’s no way to separate a Fae from their dark self. It’s an integral part of us. I don’t know how.

  But the arch-Eld might. They are the most powerful among us.

  Hope racing through me, I look to Etana. A liannan sidhe, she’s the arch-Eld of all dark Fae who feed on mortals. Plus, she’s a powerful sorceroscientist, able to combine magic with science. She’ll know how to stop this.

  “Etana, help me reach him.”

  But she only looks away, her bright green eyes pained.

  I know she’s angry I accused her, but surely she can see what’s happening. “Etana—”

  “She can’t help you. None of the arch-Eld can.” Father chuckles mysteriously, then turns his ice-cold glare on them. “Can you?”

  The other arch-Eld who, moments ago, stood so strongly for me back down at a single glare from my royal father.

  Mag Mucklemouth, arch-Eld for the uldra-yaga—hags, bog witches, gorgons, and other curse-casting dark Fae—hides behind her seaweedy hair. The water drake Mizumichi, normally serene, tenses, silver brows knotted; the koi and dragon tattoos on his arms vanish beneath their inked waves. Even Vanya Visya, the powerful tiger-shifter rakshasi, avoids my eyes.

  “What is happening?” Syl shivers by my side, huddled in my leather jacket.

  I put my arm around her protectively, drawing her close. “He has some leverage over the arch-Eld. He must.”

  Cold shivers rush through me.

  “No?” Father lets the question fall like a stone in the throne room. “None of you wish to openly defy me?”

  Crickets, crickets. No one answers.

  Finally, Vanya Visya moves to rise from her seat, but Father pins her with a knowing glare. “Think of the children.”

  The rakshasi’s golden eyes flicker in pain. She sweeps her sari around her and settles down. The rest of the arch-Eld shift, uncomfortable.

  “Think of the children?” Syl folds her hand into mine.

  “No. He wouldn’t…” Not children! But scanning the faces of the arch-Eld, I see the truth. Somehow, he must have their children captive.

  Father’s set the perfect ambush. Now Syl and I are trapped, surrounded by hundreds of Rooks, their pikes at our throats. I look to the Adamant Guard.

  “My queen.” Even surrounded by Ebon Knights and Rooks, Liriel gives me a nod. She’s ready to fight. Alystin, too, from the steely look in her violet eyes.

  “Say the word,” Harkariel, the most stoic of them, says, his voice grim and resolute. “We are ready to die for our queen.”

  Shock rolls through me. They would give their lives for me.

  “I’m with you, too.” Syl readies herself to fight.

  Dread and despair sink deep into my bones. If I give the word, the throne room will erupt in battle and bloodshed. People will be hurt, maybe even killed. The Adamant Guard, the arch-Eld, even Syl.

  The worst part of it? None of that will save my father.

  “I can’t do this.” For now, I have to concede.

  We’re trapped. Just like in battle chess, Father’s outplayed me.

  As always, he pushes his victory to the limit. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.” He gestures, and a tall figure moves through the ranks of Rooks toward us. The leader of the Ebon Knights, he removes his helm to reveal a handsome face, chiseled cheekbones, full lips, dreamy blue eyes.

  Suddenly, I know what Father means by “arrangement.”

  Because Captain Dreamy is everything a girl should want in a guy.

  Assuming she’s into guys, that is.

  This again. The moment I came of age, Father’s been trying to marry me off to a dark Fae prince. He craves a dark Fae wedding the way a megalomaniac craves power. It’s all to build up his legacy. At least that part of him is unchanged.

  Too bad it’s the most obnoxious part.

  “These are the Ebon Knights,” Father says. “Stavrin of House Eterne is their leader. Marry him, renounce your claim to the throne, and you can have the cure for your pet’s vorpal wound.”

  “Oh hell no,” Syl deadpans, her pain forgotten.

  Fury surges up inside me, sweeping away all my sympathy for my father. If there was one way to piss me off royally, this was it.

  I’m starting to forget I don’t want to hurt him.

  My father keeps right on going, though, because he’s always been blind and deaf to what I want. “These are the sons of the arch-Eld,” he says, like that makes any difference, and now I see their family sigils emblazoned on their armor: the black sun-and-stars of House Eterne, the all-seeing eye of House Visya, the cracked banhammer of House Gris. “You will marry one of them.” Father gestures across the Ebon Knights. “Choose.”

  Now I get it.

  Father’s conscripted the sons of our most powerful elders into his service. This must be the leverage he has over the arch-Eld. Their children.

  I look the Ebon Knights over the same way a velociraptor looks at salad.

  Pretty. But not much
good for anything but decoration.

  “Nah.” I shake my head. “I’m with Syl.”

  “Are you?” Father caresses the hearthstone, his claws tick, tick, ticking against the dark facets. With his other hand, he draws something glimmering from the shadows.

  The glint of light on polished, glassy ice sends a bolt of fear through me.

  The vorpal blade.

  Frost plumes off it, the edge so sharp it seems to cleave the very air. My ears pop as the pressure sinks and he calls upon the vorpal blade. It flashes a deep blood-red.

  At my side, Syl crumples. “Roue!” Her pain shoots down the soul-bond, stealing my breath.

  “Syl!”

  “You will obey me.” Father’s eyes gleam cruelly, his dark side on full display. The vorpal blade flushes deeper red, frost burning from its edge. Syl cries out again. It’s drinking my girl’s blood. “I’ll drain her down to death, Rouen.”

  In that moment, I forget he’s controlled by his dark self.

  I forget I’m trying not to hurt him.

  In a flash of fury and love, all the fight comes rushing back to me, a cold wind that galvanizes me. I snap my bow like a whip, and violet lightning lashes around it, small sparks zipping like fireflies off the strings of my violin.

  “Over my dead body.” Bathed in thrashing violet, I square off against him. “I won’t hurt you, Father. Much.”

  Chapter Ten

  Syl

  No fair Fae

  Ever came to the defense

  Of a dark Fae

  - Glamma’s Grimm

  One second, I’m in the worst pain in my life. The next, I’m in a fight for my life. Only, our enemy has a weapon capable of killing me in one strike. Now I know how the Jabberwocky in that poem feels…

  Worse, Dark Faerie is ready to explode in violence, Roue’s side against her father’s.

  But, thing is? It’s not a fair fight. Not by a long shot.

  Along with the vorpal blade, King Reinghûl’s got the hearthstone, he’s got the Ebon Knights, and the most powerful arch-Eld on his side. Plus, he’s controlled by his dark side, which means, we can’t unleash our full power on him.

  For a long, tense moment, the two forces stand facing each other across the Adamant Hall—Rouen vs. Reinghûl, daughter against father—and then the next, the moment shatters like glass.