by Anthea Sharp
He was certain of Nightshade, and perhaps Rowan. Nehta, their commander, had returned to the lords there, and was a strong ally. If the Rowan rulers listened to her, they would at least send a few of their people.
“Once the courts see babes being born in Hawthorne, they’ll come,” Mara said confidently.
“I suspect you’re right.”
A knock sounded at the door, and Bran went to answer. It was Avantor, his expression weary.
“My father?” Bran asked, apprehension flaring.
“He’s well enough,” the healer said. “But he’s asking for you—quite insistently.”
It seemed the Hawthorne Lord had recovered—at least enough to be making demands.
“I must attend Lord Calithilon,” Bran told the gathering, shaking his head as Mara made to rise. “Stay, love. I’ll return soon.”
With a worried expression, she sat back, her gaze following him until he closed the door.
Bran and Avantor silently strode the hallways. There was no use in speculating about what Lord Calithilon wanted—they’d be there soon enough.
As they entered the Hawthorne Lord’s suite, Bran was relieved to see his father sitting in a chair before the hearth. Though his eyes were weary, the usual imperious expression had settled back on his face.
“Brannon.” Lord Calithilon nodded to the chair across from him. “I must speak with you.”
Keeping a wary gaze upon his father, Bran sat.
“I’ve come to a decision,” Lord Calithilon said, nodding to himself. “In the best interests of our land, I am stepping down as Hawthorne Lord.”
Bran sat back, blinking. He hadn’t expected those words.
And yet… perhaps he had, in some small corner of his mind. The balance had shifted, between the worlds and even here, in the Hawthorne Court.
“I understand you are handling the current issues competently enough,” Lord Calithilon continued. “I want you to assume the rulership.”
“Are you certain?” Bran lifted his chin, ready to take the mantle of Hawthorne Lord—provided his father was honest about relinquishing it.
In the past few moons, he’d begun to find his own style of leadership within the court, drawing from his experience as commander of Elfhame’s forces, and tempered by his wife’s empathy.
“Of course.” His father’s tone was brusque. “Who else? But I will remain as your chief advisor.”
Ah, there it was—the thorn inside the rose. Bran held his father’s gaze.
“I would welcome your advice,” Bran said, putting iron in his voice. “But I will not always follow it.”
Lord Calithilon’s eyes narrowed, but he was the first to look away. “Very well. It’s not as though I’m feeble, you understand.”
“Indeed not.” Bran kept his opinion of his father’s reduced strength to himself.
In former days, Lord Calithilon would have met him standing in the royal study, not wrapped in a robe before the bedroom hearth.
“It’s simply time.” His father glanced at the flickering foxfire in the hearth, shedding light but no heat. “And it’s better for Hawthorne to have both a lord and a lady. Even if one of them is human.”
“Thank you.” It was the closest his father would come to approving of Mara.
It was enough.
“I’m tired.” Lord Calithilon waved his hand. “Avantor, help me back to bed. Bran, you may inform the court of my decision.”
“You don’t want to do so yourself?”
A wave of utter weariness crossed his father’s face. “No,” he said shortly. “But call me when you convene your first council meeting.”
“I will.” Bran stood and made his father a low, formal bow—that of a prince to his liege.
It would be the last time, and they both knew it. Then, spirits rising, the new Hawthorne Lord went to inform his wife.
He paused at the threshold of their rooms, the door half-open. Mara sat on one of the low couches, a pensive look on her face.
They had both made hard choices, but despite the challenges that might lie ahead, he was no longer worried that his wife would find him lacking. His gaze lingered on her, moving from her earth-colored hair to her sweetly rounded cheeks, her serious eyes and square chin.
So many twists and turns had brought them there, so much difficulty and sorrow. But he could finally believe that the worst was behind them. The Void was defeated, his people saved.
And Mara had chosen Elfhame.
She glanced up and, seeing him, smiled—a look of such tenderness and honesty that it made him weak-kneed.
“Come here,” she said softly, rising.
He strode forward and enfolded her in his arms, inhaling her scent: mint, salt, and the memory of golden flowers.
A new era was beginning at the Hawthorne Court, full of brightness and hope, and the laughter of children. He had no doubt his own would be among them.
At long last, his prophecy was fulfilled.
~ END ~
Also by Anthea Sharp
Have your read the USA Today bestselling FEYLAND series yet? Fae magic, high-tech gaming, and sweet romance await~
Feyland is the most immersive computer game ever designed, and Jennet Carter is the first to play the prototype. But she doesn’t suspect the virtual world is close enough to touch — or that she’ll be battling for her life against the Dark Queen of the faeries…
~ THE FEYLAND SERIES ~
THE DARK REALM - Book 1
THE BRIGHT COURT - Book 2
THE TWILIGHT KINGDOM - Book 3
FAERIE SWAP - 3.5
SPARK - Book 4
BREA’S TALE - 4.5
ROYAL - Book 5
MARNY - Book 6
Trinket: A Feyland Tale
~ VICTORIA ETERNAL ~
Steampunk Space Opera
STAR COMPASS
Stars & Steam
Comets & Corsets
~ SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS ~
Tales of Feyland & Faerie
Tales of Music & Magic
The Faerie Girl and Other Tales
The Perfect Perfume
Coffee & Change
Visit www.antheasharp.com for a complete book listing!
About the Author
~ USA Today bestselling, award-winning author of Fantasy and SF ~
Growing up on fairy tales and computer games, Anthea Sharp has melded the two in her award-winning, bestselling Feyland series, which has sold over 200k copies worldwide. She loves to write immersive fantasy and fantastical worlds full of adventure and a touch of romance.
Her novels have won or placed in the PRISM, the Maggie, the National Reader’s Choice Award, the Write Touch Reader’s Award, the Heart of Excellence, The National Excellence in Romance Fiction, The Judge a Book by its Cover, and the Book Buyer’s Best contests
Anthea lives in sunny Southern California where she writes, hangs out in virtual worlds, plays the fiddle with her Celtic band Fiddlehead, and spends time with her small-but-good family.
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