by C. S. Wilde
Trumpets sounded loudly, drawing everyone’s attention to the dais at the end of the throne room.
Leon moved up the steps and away from the crowd. Loud clapping and the clamor of his people followed when he stopped on the dais, close to the ivory throne.
He looked simply magnificent. His long hair waved over the right side of his face, in a fashion similar to Bast’s, except his wavy moonlight threads draped down to his waist. Leon’s frock was made of a soft white fabric that reminded Mera of feathers, encrusted in glittering patterns. A belt wrapped around his waist, carrying the royal sword inside a beautifully engraved ivory sheathe.
Leon bowed to his subjects, something no light court king would ever do. It was also why nightlings loved their leaders more than the light fae loved theirs; why they’d followed mad kings and queens to the very end.
Their ruler loved them, and they loved him in return.
Maybe that had been why Hollowcliff allowed the Night Court to govern Lunor Insul almost freely. To avoid a civil war.
Not much different to what they’d done in Tir Na Nog, really, yet those days had ended, thanks to Bast and Mera.
The trumpets sounded again, and Benedict walked up the dais, wearing a gray suit that matched his hair.
He was in much better shape now. A few days of rest had worked wonders on him. Mera could barely spot the dark circles under his eyes.
His dark-gray hair was fixed neatly in a comb-over style, and he walked with a straight, nearly military posture as he carried a velvet pillow with the Crown of Land and Sea—if Charles Grey’s story was to be believed.
Bast explained that according to tradition, a Night King could only be crowned by their own blood. Leon had asked Bast to do it, but he was a disowned prince, and disowned princes couldn’t crown anyone.
“Brother of Night,” Benedict began, his voice booming around the throne room. “We’re here today to pass the torch of leadership, the torch of strength, to you.”
His tone and manner differed vastly from the party-animal who never took anything seriously; from the frail, dazed fae she’d seen back at Charles Grey’s apartment; and from the numb brother who’d watched Theodore’s body in complete shock.
‘Save him,’ her siren whispered.
Save him from what?
‘Himself.’
Benedict continued. He spoke about how their father had begun his journey, and how Leon would continue it with grace, kindness, and a strong fist. He recounted childhood tales and Leon’s adventures, telling the faeries in the room about his bravery, his heart, his nobility.
He told them how much he loved his brother, and how proud he was to call him family.
The story of a king.
Once Benedict was done, he stepped closer to Leon. “Kneel, brother.”
Leon followed his command, utter joy and gratefulness beaming from his face.
Bending over, Benedict whispered something in his ear. Leon’s grin vanished instantly, and as he glared at Ben, his brother set the crown atop his head.
The room burst with applause, the crowd cheering. “Long live the king!”
Trumpets boomed around them, filling Mera’s ears.
Standing up, Leon turned away from Benedict and bowed once again to his people, this time not like a king, but an actor thanking the audience.
He didn’t seem as confident as before. He wasn’t smiling either.
“He’s king now,” Mera whispered, watching Leon and Benedict step down the dais. “Not much else Corvus can do.”
“I guess not,” Bast muttered with a confused frown. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
It absolutely didn’t.
Suddenly, Raes grabbed Bast by the arm, startling Mera.
Where had he come from?
“I must speak with you, Sebastian. Now.” He nodded at Mera absently, before pulling her partner into the crowd.
She attempted to follow them, but faeries had already closed in her path.
Great. Freaking great.
There she was, left alone in a room full of high-society fae… and possible accomplices to whatever Corvus was planning—if he had anything planned at all.
Nightlings welcomed human tourists, but not humans in general. Right now, Mera stood in nightling territory, inside an event reserved for the night fae. A sharp line cut through Lunor Insul, a clear distinction between what its inhabitants showed the world, and what they kept hidden away.
Mera was the only “human” there; on duty, granted, but still the only “human”. Also, faeries would always be faeries.
If only they knew she was a siren… Well, they’d probably kill her on the spot.
Her eyes skipped the disdainful glances the room shot at her, to finally land on Benedict from across the room.
With a dismayed grin, he raised his wine glass to her. Mera couldn’t tell what seemed weird about it, other than the fact it had happened before, back when he’d poisoned her with enchanted wine.
She peered at him, trying to figure out why her instincts tingled, why her gut-feeling sent her all sorts of warning signs, until she realized his eyes were glistening, and his hand was shaking.
Benedict was scared.
No, he was terrified.
Gone was the wittiness she’d witnessed moments ago; gone was his easy manner and proud posture. Either Ben was a remarkable actor, or he had another twin.
Crap.
If Mera had learned one thing as a detective, was that people did crazy things when they were afraid.
Ben must have noticed the worry on her face, because he turned away and hurried through the crowd.
Mera rushed to him, pushing high-nosed Sidhe out of her way. They glared at her with complete outrage, but she didn’t give a rat’s ass.
“Stop!” she yelled to Benedict, but either he couldn’t hear her through the crowd, or he was officially on the run.
Mera dashed after him anyway.
Chapter 25
The throne room’s shiny ambience and loud music faded quickly, giving way to a complete darkness cracked by the moon and wayward faerie lights.
“Benedict!” Mera yelled, her voice echoing against the corridor’s arched ceiling. “Stop!”
The bastard picked up the pace.
Mera’s high heels clicked against the marbled floor as she rushed after him, the back of her shoes scraping against the skin and tendons behind her ankles.
Damn it!
What she wouldn’t give to have her boots right now.
On she went, the loud clicking of her heels the only sound in the night while Benedict descended through the palace’s outer stairways.
The path twirled around the mountain in a downwards spiral, sometimes showing them the island, sometimes the cliffside⸺and the steep fall to the rushing waves below them.
Benedict’s form mingled with the night, only to reappear moments later a few steps ahead. He was winnowing between short-distances, which meant his magic must be too weak to take him somewhere safe. He probably hadn’t fully recovered from Charles’ feast, and even if he had, winnowing demanded a great deal of energy.
“Ben, stop or I’ll shoot!” she bellowed, knowing fully that she would have to halt and lift her dress to fetch her gun, which would cost her precious time.
Also, Mera wasn’t looking forward to shooting Bast’s brother.
Calling her bluff, Benedict didn’t slow his pace.
Fuck!
Mera’s muscles ached, and fresh night air pricked her lungs. She had to catch him soon or she would lose his trail.
‘We could always use the macabre,’ her siren whispered.
Maybe, as a last minute resource. Yet if she did, Ben would find out her secret.
So, no. No macabre. Even if it meant losing his track.
Boosting forward, she moved as fast as she could, but when she nearly stumbled over her damn heels, Mera decided she’d had enough with them. Taking off the super expensive shoes, she flung them away into the o
cean, hoping Bast wouldn’t mind.
Mera went after Benedict bare footed, her chest and legs aching as she stretched herself to her limit.
Ben pivoted abruptly into an empty courtyard drenched in moonlight. Hurrying down the inner porch’s stairs, he headed toward the grass, where he finally stopped and turned to face her.
Mera bent over the edge of the porch while catching her breath. “Why… the fuck… were… you running?”
His chest heaved up and down from the effort. “I didn’t want company.”
“No shit,” Mera snapped between deep inhales, raising her head to study Benedict, the garden, and the vast ocean view beyond it.
Night covered the trees and flowers around him in a navy mantle, the darkness forming a perfect canvas for the neon patterns blooming on the foliage.
Mera blinked, realizing Benedict had stepped into a rainbow-garden that showcased thousands of different patterns across the darkness, breaking through the night. At the center of the space, the plants’ colorful glow reflected on a small pond’s pitch-black water.
The entire place looked outwardly, enough so that Mera lost a breath.
“Whoa…”
“Theo loved this place,” Benedict muttered absently, and only then did Mera notice the purple specks of dust glittering atop his skin—a pattern all too similar to Bast’s.
Captivated, she stepped into the garden, the grass prickling the bare soles of her feet.
Benedict stood in the middle, before a row of stone archways that led to the cliffside. The sound of waves breaking down below made for an eerie background noise.
“Are you alright?” Mera asked, genuine worry taking over her.
Fretting about a Sidhe, especially one such as Benedict, might be stupid, but she worried nonetheless.
He chortled without any amusement. “Haven’t been alright for a while now, Detective.”
Carefully, Mera stepped closer, trying not to startle him. “Why are we here, Ben?”
Studying his own shoes, he shoved both hands in his pockets in a very Bast-like manner. “I killed Theo, and my father.”
What the…
Mera considered her options. She had to, even if she didn’t fully believe him.
The cuffs were with Bast, so she couldn’t arrest Benedict yet. Should he choose to attack, though, she wouldn’t be able to reach her gun fast enough, leaving the macabre as her only option.
She glanced at the water in the pond.
Yeah, she would have that, too.
Not that Benedict seemed eager to fight. In fact, his confession was awfully convenient, his timing too perfect. Wrapping himself in gift paper might have been less obvious.
“Nah,” she replied. “I don’t buy it.”
He scowled at her. “Does it matter? I’m admitting my guilt.”
“You’re covering for someone.”
Looking away, Benedict strolled in lazy circles. He propped both hands on his waist, raising his shoulders. “What good has the truth ever done to anyone?”
She didn’t take the bait. “Why are you and Corvus so eager to take the blame for things you didn’t do?”
“I’m guilty. I assumed detectives were more… pragmatic.”
“Oh, we are.” She tapped her temple. “It’s why I don’t buy your confession.”
“Does it matter?” Ben studied the stone arches, the blowing wind fluttering his suit jacket. His gaze held loss and grief at the same time. “Please arrest me quietly. I’d hate to ruin my brother’s coronation.”
It hit her at once.
Ben loved his brothers, enough to go to jail for them. So did Corvus. It’s why he’d given himself in, actually. To protect …
A knot tied in her throat.
“It’s Leon, isn’t it?”
Benedict glared at her with sheer terror, his mouth half-open. He seemed to scrambled for words, but couldn’t form any.
“Nonsense,” he finally managed. “I admitted to⸺”
“He gave up his life, his independence, to watch over the rest of you,” she stated, the pieces of the puzzle coming together as she carefully stepped closer to Ben. “Now, you’re both doing the same for him.”
Ben’s jaw strained. “You don’t understand. Leon isn’t like father. He’ll snap out of it, eventually.”
Ah, there you go.
“If he’s behind the murders, you must tell me right now,” she pushed, her tone menacing, though Mera wasn’t in any position to threaten him.
“It’s not about if, Detective.” He frowned at her as if she was the crazy one. “It’s about why.”
Leon had gotten the crown and more power than any faerie in Hollowcliff, all because his father was dead. So the first crime made sense. He had motive and opportunity, but why kill Theodore? Why frame Corvus? And most of all, why feign an attempt on his own life?
Leon loved his brothers, had given up a lot to raise them. Murdering the monk was out of character.
No, scratch that.
It was insane.
“The monster is dead,” Ben muttered as he stepped closer to the pond, watching his reflection on the pitch-black surface. “Long live the monster.”
“Nightblood,” she realized. “It’s taken over him.”
“Maybe it’s the crown.” Benedict shrugged casually. “Mom always said that sanity is acknowledging this world is twisted. Insanity is believing we’re in control.”
Whatever reason for his actions, Mera couldn’t let Leon walk free. “I have to arrest your brother.”
“You can try.” Pivoting on his heels, Ben faced her. His blue eyes gleamed fiercely against the darkness, the neon blue contrasting with the purple freckles crossing the bridge of his nose.
Mera stepped back.
The asshole stepped forward.
“Ben…” she warned.
“I would do anything for my brothers, but I don’t want to hurt you, Detective.” Once again, he showed her his wrists. “I beg you, arrest me.”
Mera shook her head, her teeth grinding behind tight lips. She had to buy herself time, though for what, she didn’t yet know.
“What did you tell Leon before setting the crown on his head?”
A soft smile grazed Benedict’s lips. “I told him I’d go down for his crimes. That I hoped losing my freedom was worth it.”
Fuck this.
“I’m not arresting an innocent fae.”
He tilted his head left, watching her as if she was daft. “You have no choice.”
Literally.
It was either that or fighting Ben, which meant risking revealing her secret to him. Bad outcomes, no matter what.
Before Mera could make a decision, Benedict twitched and gasped, his sharp inhale nearly covering the squishy sound of metal cutting through his chest from behind.
Dark splatters of nightblood sprayed on her dress, but Mera barely realized it.
A blade. No, a sword.
Benedict had just been impaled by a sword.
Catching up to what had happened, she yelped and stepped back, shock reigning in over her academy’s training.
Benedict glanced down at the blade poking out of his chest, the metal coated in his own blood. Shaking fiercely, he glanced up at Mera as a line of nightblood trickled down the edge of his mouth.
“Run,” he croaked, before his body slid around the edge of the blade, and he fell face first on the grass.
Gulping, Mera faced the Sidhe standing behind Ben’s limp form.
Leon’s skin was coated in glowing-pink patterns, his cheeks drenched in tears. His sharp fangs grew bigger as his hair swirled against the wind, underneath the spiky crown atop his head. The sea silver shone softly, nearly mimicking moonlight.
He glared at his fallen brother with glistening, rosy irises that soon became pitch-black, all the wrath in the world burning inside him.
“You did this,” he growled lowly, his focus shifting to Mera.
Poseidon in the trenches, he wasn’t just any ragin
g maniac, but Bast’s big brother. She had to thread carefully—at least as much as she could.
“I’m not the one holding a bloodied sword, Leon,” Mera countered pointedly. Maybe it could help him snap out of whatever had taken hold of him.
Absolute fury wrinkled his features, nearly turning him into a monster.
The mad king had arrived. And he was out for blood.
Chapter 26
Stepping back, Mera glanced around, heart slamming against her chest.
She could, and should, run, but Leon was a powerful fae, who used to be an assassin for the League. If she tried to escape, the Night King would get to her before she reached the end of the courtyard.
Her options were the macabre and waterbending, but she wouldn’t unleash her siren, not yet. Regardless of what he’d done, Leon was Bast’s brother; not only that, but the one he loved the most. The only member of his family who Bast put on a pedestal, other than his mother.
Shit.
Gulping, Mera looked down at Benedict, who lied motionless near the edge of the pond. His arm was twisted onto his back, but his finger twitched slightly, even if the rest of him didn’t move.
“We have to call a healer,” she urged Leon. “Maybe we can save Ben.”
The Night King glared at her, refusing to pay attention to the body on the grass. “Trying to distract me is futile, Detective.”
“He’s alive, damn it!”
“Ben will join Theo in Danu’s prairies soon enough. There’s no salvation for him here.” Leon’s entire body quivered, his teeth clenching so hard Mera wondered if they would shatter. “No salvation for me, either.”
A tingling sensation burned at the back of her head, as if someone was trying to push through the base of her skull.
“Let me in!” Bast’s voice rang faintly inside her eardrums.
What a fantastic time to be losing it.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped backwards, distancing herself from Benedict. Mera might not be able to help him, but she’d make sure he would be safe until, if, someone got there.
Yeah, protecting a fae who neared his death might be pointless, but hope was an illogical thing.
