The royals from all courts chatted as they began to make their way into the castle. The two kings and the general led the way while the others, including Nik and Tauria, fell behind a little. Faythe had no idea when to move and stayed rooted to the spot with the other court members. Again, she cursed herself for not seeking out one of her friends to explain the protocol beforehand.
Just as she planned to wait until the others followed or Caius came back to help her, Tauria turned and subtly motioned for Faythe to fall into step beside her.
Faythe stumbled in her haste to catch up and likely looked very unladylike as she hurried her step. She muttered a silent prayer to the Spirits to help her get through the next couple of hours unscathed.
Chapter 15
Faythe
In the great banquet hall, lords and ladies from all courts were already being seated in clusters of their kingdom colors. Tauria was the sole representative of her tragically captured lands in green, which left the only missing color from the mainland kingdoms to be Dalrune’s vibrant amber. As far as anyone knew, the royal court of High Farrow’s eastern neighbors were all slaughtered during the Great Battles over a century ago.
Faythe kept herself glued to Tauria’s side, observing the crowd and marveling at the beauty in the diversity of the court members from other lands. Aside from the colors, every kingdom had distinguishing features represented in its people’s attire and hairstyles. Olmstone had an earthy appeal with their stonelike textures and tunics and dresses with straight-cut lines, while the Rhyenelle soldiers were clean-cut in crimson velvet textures that reminded Faythe of ash and fire, making them a dominant force in the room. High Farrow always favored flowing, light fabrics and detailed embroidery that mimicked the calm sea, and as for Tauria in Fenstead green, she radiated life and nature with the intricate patterns of her gown.
In her royal blue colors, Faythe felt strangely out of place despite having been a citizen of High Farrow her whole life. It scared her to acknowledge which of the congregations she was most drawn toward. It had nothing to do with the ridiculously striking fae general. No—while she gazed at the Phoenix crest on the shoulder clasp of one of the accompanying Rhyenelle warriors, she saw the bird’s wings catching fire in blazing hues of orange and red as it poised to take flight.
A tug on her arm made her eyes snap to the side, and Faythe was met with the ward who gave an encouraging nod for her to follow her around to the other side of the long oak table. Before she did, Faythe felt compelled to glance back once more, but she found the Phoenix emblem to be nothing more than an inanimate carving in solid brass. She blinked and swiftly averted her gaze before it looked as if she was staring. Then she shuffled after Tauria who was already being offered her place next to Orlon’s throne.
She had to shake her head to clear it, bewildered by the bizarre vision she conjured most likely out of racing nerves since she was now about to be seated where there was no hiding her heritage, among the table of fae royals and high-born fae. No one sat at either head of the table. Instead, the king was positioned at the center, with Nik on his right and Tauria on his left, and other High Farrow high fae seated alongside them. Faythe had a chair pulled out for her, and she smiled gratefully but awkwardly at the human woman who offered the seat and took her cloak. Even though she knew she was positioned next to Tauria, it still rattled her to be only a chair away from her king. There would be no small amount of speculation from all the foreign fae as to why she had been granted such a position.
Varlas sat directly opposite Orlon, with the queen to his right to engage with Tauria, and his children to his left, leaving the princes to become better acquainted if they weren’t already. At seeing Tarly’s bored look, Faythe didn’t hold out much hope for the two royals to converse much and wondered if there was a history between them.
Princess Opal sat happily next to her older brother while another lady in Olmstone purple kept her occupied. They were strategically placed, Faythe thought. Tauria and the queen were already chatting away while Faythe was completely in her own head, overwhelmed by the situation and trying to sort through the masses of new faces with pointed ears.
She was snapped from her wandering observations when the chair parallel to hers trailed across the stone floor with a groan. When she turned to see who she’d been landed with, she was instantly hit with a wave of anxiety as she locked eyes with the sapphire gaze she failed to shake from the forefront of her mind. The general’s eyes already bore holes through Faythe before he’d fully sat down.
His look was hard to read as he studied her. Curious, likely, at the unexpected human sitting across from him. But there was something else in his gaze that made every hair on Faythe’s body stand on end. She shifted in her seat. His eyes narrowed a fraction, and she had to divert her attention, or else she thought she’d turn to stone with how tense he made her.
“It is my pleasure to welcome you all to High Farrow. I look forward to our meetings this week to further secure our defenses and strengthen our alliance. I trust your stay will be comfortable as we have spared no expense or luxury. My home is yours.” King Orlon raised his glass, and the other courts followed suit, toasting his words.
As she looked at her king, Faythe’s brow raised in a shallow curve at his friendly demeanor. It was completely foreign to her. He was either a spectacular actor, or perhaps Faythe was too quick in her judgment of him.
“Now, we feast in honor of the great houses that have held allegiance for centuries. As one, we will not fall.”
A wave of arms went up on each side of the table as everyone lifted their goblets in agreement. “As one, we will not fall,” the room echoed in a cheerful cry.
It was touching moment, and Faythe felt privileged to witness firsthand the close alliance that had kept them safe from Valgard for all these years. The fae were painted as arrogant and ruthless, but it was not entirely the truth. They too had children, loved ones, and a fierce passion to protect their people no matter what.
Chatter fell over the table again as people went back to their individual conversations. Faythe kept silent as directed, but Reylan’s stare was far louder than words even though she refused to meet it. When food was placed in the center of the table, Faythe found her appetite lacking due to her fluctuating emotions, and the evening had barely begun.
Everyone else started to help themselves, the room a clamor of voices and clanging silverware. To avoid looking more unseemly than she already did, Faythe reached for her fork and speared a piece of meat onto her plate. The feast went on in full swing. She turned her attention to appear as if she were included in Tauria’s conversation with the queen. She didn’t hear a word of it, and occasionally, when the ward turned her head in an attempt to include her, she would match her emotion, hoping whatever Tauria said wasn’t open for verbal input. She couldn’t focus on anything except the eyes across from her that felt like a branding. The general cast frequent glances her way, holding his curiosity as if he were figuring out a new clue. Every time she met those deep blue eyes, her body flushed at the odd attention.
After what seemed to be close to an hour, Faythe idly pushed food around her plate, her hunger diminished completely at the tightening knot in her stomach. Varlas’s voice carried across the table to grab her interest.
“I’ve never known you to be so invested in the humans, Orlon. Now, you have one seated at your table.”
Her heart picked up in a rapid tempo, and she brought her eyes up to meet the King of Olmstone who peered at her with intrigue.
Orlon cast Faythe a bored look. “She is my personal emissary to the human towns. You’d be surprised how cooperative they can be when you invite one of them into your home and give her a title.” He chucked dismissively, and she didn’t miss his mocking tone.
They talked about her as if she wasn’t even in the room. An object rather than a being. Her grip tightened around her fork, and her teeth ground at the insult. She kept her face calm, however, recalling Nik’s warning
to be smart, and smiled sweetly at the royals in purple who studied her.
Varlas chuckled. “How interesting. Like a little pet.” Echoes of laughter carried down the table.
Faythe tried—really tried—to keep quiet and polite. She barely scraped an hour into the feast before she lost her composure.
“If you desire a pet, Your Majesty, might I suggest a hound?”
Silence fell, save for the wild throbbing of her heart and the high-pitched ringing in her ears in anticipation of the tongue-lashing she was about to receive for her fatal error. Or perhaps the lashing would come from steel. Nobody addressed a king in such a way, and she didn’t doubt the insult struck tenfold coming from a human. In a flash of rage, the words had tumbled out of her mouth faster than vomit—though that too rose in her throat as she waited for the king’s command to detain, reprimand, or perhaps even kill her.
She was completely taken aback when instead, she was answered with a bellow of laughter from Varlas. Soon, everyone else was laughing along. Torn between staring in wide-eyed bewilderment and joining in with their amusement, Faythe settled on something in-between. Her breathy chuckles felt odd considering her inner turmoil.
“I like this one.” Merriment danced in Varlas’s eyes as he addressed her directly. “What do they call you?”
Her pulse was an uneven gallop, but she kept her calm demeanor. “Faythe, Your Majesty,” she answered with false confidence.
His smile widened. “I hope we can find time to get better acquainted, Lady Faythe. I have a feeling you will be full of interesting stories.”
He had no idea, and she almost shook her head at the perfect irony. “I’m sure we will.” She gave him a stiff nod and forced a courteous smile, which seemed to satisfy him as he turned his attention back to the King of High Farrow, who was likely itching to rip her throat out at the near conflict.
Faythe knew her relief would be short-lived once he got a hold of her after the feast for stepping out of line. She focused on keeping her breathing regular as she turned back to find Reylan still fixated on her. This time, a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, disturbing the sternness he usually held. If Faythe wasn’t careful, she would end up with another confrontation, as he was starting to irk her and had yet to say a word.
Instead of voicing her dismay, she decided to get a head start on her work. It was the only reason she was here after all. She stared back and gently tested Reylan’s mind for entry with extra caution, straightening her back in the seat when she was immediately met with a firm black barrier. She kept her face mild despite her confusion and surprise.
Her first instinct was to assume he was a Nightwalker, but none she’d come across so far had such reinforced mental walls since there was no need for them in the daytime—or so they believed. There were always gaps for her to peer into and get what she needed. In fact, she’d only been met with such an impenetrable block once before, in Nik, who was always fully aware of her ability. But it was impossible for the general to know what Faythe was capable of. This didn’t prevent the quickening of her pulse.
She tried once again to access his thoughts with a bit more pressure. The general’s eyes narrowed a twitch, and she recoiled back with cold dread.
Did he know what she was trying to do?
He gave nothing away as his eyes left her at last and he casually reached for his goblet, taking a long drink. Faythe wondered why she had been placed opposite him. Even more daunting was the fact it would have been the King of Rhyenelle himself if he were present. She glanced again at Orlon, looking ever the cheerful host. Varlas had called him an “old friend,” and to everyone in the room, they looked as such. She found herself curious to know if the Rhyenelle King would have shown the same bond.
“General Reylan, I hear your armies are something to behold these days,” Orlon said across the table.
The general set down his cup. “There’s always room for improvement. We never know when the next battle might start.”
“Indeed. Your reputation must stand true.”
Faythe wondered if anyone else detected the slight awkward tension in their tone. The general was younger, but he certainly wore the coat of authority well and seemed in no way rattled by the ancient kings or the fact he was representative of one.
“I do my best to serve my king.”
Orlon hummed. “I fear my own commanders are somewhat lacking. Warriors are left to be lazy. Training is not as often or as brutal as it should be.”
Reylan breathed a fake laugh. “Warriors are more inclined to follow out of respect, not fear. An army is only as good as its weakest solider, and I don’t mean physically.”
Varlas silently nodded his head in agreement while Orlon’s smile widened. “It’s a shame Agalhor got to you first. If you ever grow tired of the south, I could use a strong commander in my armies.” The King of High Farrow let the offer linger.
Faythe couldn’t be sure of his motive in trying to enlist the general onto his side. With the alliance, Rhyenelle’s great armies would respond to a call of aid anyway.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Your Majesty.”
She was slightly taken aback that he didn’t immediately shoot down the idea. She didn’t know him, but she assumed him to be fiercely loyal to his kingdom. It wasn’t for her to speculate though. The fae could simply be many centuries old and bored of the same old routine and lifestyle.
The king raised his glass slightly, and the general responded with a short nod of appreciation. Then his eyes were back on her, and Faythe flushed red, realizing she was still staring. His head tilted faintly to the side. She’d had enough and was about to question what his problem was. Then, without warning, she felt a sharp tug in her mind.
Faythe dropped her fork in shock at the foreign feeling, and it clattered off the table, making a lot of eyes snap toward her in disapproval. Flustered, she muttered an apology to no one in particular, but her heart beat frantically. As she scrambled to retrieve her silverware, Faythe’s vision swayed, and she realized her mind felt hollow, as if someone had thrown a blanket over her senses. A young servant quickly approached to help while another began swiftly replacing her utensils.
“Is everything all right?” Tauria asked quietly.
Faythe brought her eyes up to meet the ward’s, not exactly sure how to respond. She gave a quick nod and mustered a weak smile, straightening back in her seat. She snapped her gaze to Reylan but found him looking away for once, glancing casually around the High Farrow courtiers. She still couldn’t figure out what felt missing within herself.
Until she met the eye of another Rhyenelle soldier who happened to be looking her way. Everything was quiet—too quiet. Then it clicked. She couldn’t see or feel anything, even when she tried to brush the surface of his thoughts. Faythe sucked in a subtle breath that cut through her like a spear of ice. There was a time when she wished desperately for this moment; for her ability to suddenly vanish and to go back to being her old mundane, boring self. Now, her ability was the only thing that kept her alive.
She’d despised herself for her invasive talent at first, but had then come to embrace it as a part of her being. Having it gone didn’t only panic her because she’d be useless to her king. She felt empty without it.
When Reylan’s gaze found hers again, a weight pressed down on her mind, slowly building in pressure. Faythe’s eyes widened, and she threw up her own mental block, knowing exactly what the sensation was.
Only, she didn’t know how he was doing it.
Did he have the same ability? The prospect thrilled her, only in thinking perhaps she wasn’t an anomaly in the world. But her excitement was overshadowed by the fear her life hung at his mercy. Did he know about her? It would be her end. He would tell his king or perhaps expose her before his visit was over.
Faythe had to brace a hand on the table to keep from swaying with the waves of anxiety. The temperature in the room rose dramatically, but she knew no one else would feel it. Her dress became p
ainfully restricting, and she wanted nothing more than to rip it off and be free from the scrutiny and false pleasantries of the damned feast. She didn’t know much about fae etiquette—or any rules on what was proper, for that matter—but she knew it would be on her head if she left before the end. So she breathed slow and steady, making it her only focus while taking long drinks from her cup. Usually, she would be glad for the wine, but right now, she wished her ability were to turn it to ice water.
Tauria frequently cast worried sideward glances, which Faythe responded to with a smile that would do a lousy job of convincing anyone. When she felt calm enough, she dared to face off with the lion once again.
Reylan didn’t waste any time trying his luck in her mind. Faythe felt the familiar impression. While it roused her anger, it was also interesting to know exactly what Nik felt all those times she’d tried. She cringed a little in shame.
The force grew stronger, and before she could think, she snapped. “Stop that,” she hissed under her breath.
A few of the nearby fae cast her confused, distasteful looks. Faythe cursed herself for the mistake. The general hadn’t uttered a word to her yet, and to everyone else, it would look as if she were scolding him for absolutely no reason. He cocked an eyebrow, and she saw the amusement twinkling like stars in the night sky of his irises.
“Is there something wrong?” His voice stoked that featherlight touch down her spine, blurring Faythe’s ire with desire. Her teeth clenched as she failed to form words. At least, none that wouldn’t condemn her.
After a careful breath, she forced a smile and answered through tight lips. “Not at all.” She was about to rip her gaze from his and not engage for the rest of the evening. Then a heavy weight fell, almost crushing her mentally. She blinked hard to fight the blackness that clouded her vision. Her head throbbed, only for a few impairing seconds, then she straightened as the room stopped titling, hoping no one was paying attention.
A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2 Page 13
