One
Ivy stood from the royal chair in the empty throne room and stared down at the unfolded parchment she was clutching. She read the message again. She didn’t believe the words the first time. But nothing about them had changed. Teagan wasn’t backing down. Neither was Fhaescratch.
Which meant the entire Seelie Realm was in danger. Winter was in danger.
Queen Ivy,
King Fhaescratch and Teagan have marched on the Seelie Court. They have made camp outside the castle walls and are working to penetrate the wards that protect us. Queen Endellion has asked that I write this letter as a plea to unite the Seelie Courts and defeat the Darkling Army.
The time for neutrality has passed. We need the power of unified magic if we have any hope of enduring. Please send every able-bodied soldier your court can spare.
Humbly,
Barrett, Prince of Seelie
“The Darklings have not backed down?”
Lochlan’s voice echoed off the stone walls of the cavernous room, where Ivy had spent the morning issuing rulings over squabbles between neighbors, friends, and family members of her kingdom. It was one of her less glamorous duties, but it was her duty nonetheless. The arrival of Barrett’s letter, however, had done nothing to lift her spirits. She had hoped—they all had hoped—that with Slaine’s capture, Teagan could be bargained with. Slaine was the oldest of the two sisters, and Ivy had been counting on their sibling affection to quell Teagan’s anger. Apparently, though, Ivy’s traitorous cousin had no problem allowing her own sister to be collateral damage in a war that never should have started.
“That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?” Ivy groaned. “The Darkling forces have marched on the Seelie Court. I guess I can’t really blame them for wanting to go directly to the source of their fury.”
Endellion had banished the Darklings from Seelie hundreds of years ago. Now, with Teagan’s help, they were determined to reclaim their place in the Seelie Realm. The most ridiculous part of it all was that she—and the rest of the courts, she suspected—wouldn’t mind sharing their courts with the Darklings as long as they followed the laws. But King Fhaescratch, the Laltog king, wasn’t interested in living peacefully together. He was after some kind of dictatorship straight out of a human dystopian novel. Teagan was merely the match that lit the fuse.
Lochlan sighed. “I guess Queen Endellion thought the plea would be better coming from Barrett. There is no end to her manipulations.”
Ivy raised her brows, nodding in agreement. Barrett’s mother was treacherous.
Ivy had only been queen for a week. But, as she knew all too well, Endellion would do whatever was best for herself and her family—above the priorities of her own court. While Ivy’s first instinct was to deny Endellion’s request for aid, she could never abandon Bear, regardless of how drastically their relationship had changed. He—aside from Jules and Padraic—was the only friend she could trust.
Ivy had recently experienced how life could be drastically transformed, destroyed in only moments. She’d been a widow for eight days.
A Queen without a partner and consort.
She’d lost the only person she had grown to depend on above all others. But it was Bear who had tried to stop Slaine. He had rushed to Unseelie in an effort to warn Ivy of Slaine’s plans. But he’d been too late…
In the days that followed, Bear had stood beside her in the unspeakable aftermath. Ivy couldn’t abandon him now, not when he needed her help.
Frigid air rolled from Ivy like a gathering storm as she thought of Ardan.
Ardan.
She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to stop the images of their final moments from flashing in her memory. The knock at the door. The shuffling sound from the corner of the room. Ardan’s body blurring in front of her as he used it to block Slaine’s lethal arrow. The way he had looked up at her with golden eyes and smiled that strange, bewildered smile as he took his final breaths. There hadn’t even been time for him to react with magic. He had just moved instinctively, placing himself between Ivy and death.
It was a vivid memory that would haunt her for the rest of her life, no matter how long that might be.
“Easy, Your Majesty,” Lochlan said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. The air inside the castle turned cold and began to circulate as her magic leaked from her in a tempest of emotion.
Her father had been by her side almost constantly since it happened. She knew he was worried about her. About Winter. About this war.
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Ivy, you are a lot of things—determined, smart, strong—but you are not fine.”
But that was the weirdest thing of all. Ivy was fine. She felt more at ease in the throne room, issuing decrees, passing judgments, corresponding with the other royals, and overseeing the welfare of her people than anywhere she had ever been. As long as there was work to do, as long as she was moving, Ivy felt stronger than she had ever been. Her role as Queen filled her with energy and purpose. It kept her focused on others, and as a result, she felt some measure of fulfillment during the day.
Her duties as queen were not the problem.
The long nights were another story.
They reminded her just how broken she was. When the sun went down and she was alone in her room—in their room—her mind moved in a single direction. There were no eyes on her or expectations of her. Alone, she was free to mourn as she pleased.
And she did.
The first three nights after Ardan’s death, Ivy had wept. She went back and forth between denial and despair. She refused food, company, and visitors. Even Jules. Ivy had lain in bed, wracked with grief, magic leaking from her, along with her pain. Ivy’s torment had been enough to engulf the Winter Court in a snowy vortex that kept even the most adventurous Winter Fae indoors. She would drift restlessly in and out of sleep, thinking when she woke that it had all been a dream, only to mourn all over again when she realized it wasn’t. Finally, after weeping most of the night, the tears had stopped, frozen on her cheeks like diamonds. Her body had stopped shaking. Her nose had stopped running.
And she was just...cold. Not sad or depressed or angry.
Just cold, as if the very blood in her veins had frozen, though she could feel it, swimming in her veins. Then, she had forced herself out of bed, taken a shower, and called for Madra to help her dress for her coronation.
Since then, she had done what was necessary for her people. But when she was alone at night, the entire process repeated itself, leaving her cold and depleted by morning.
God, she missed Ardan. His snarky remarks. His witty banter. His playful innuendos uttered at the most inappropriate times. The way he could send her blood racing faster than her heart with a single look or touch.
As Ivy longed for Ardan, snow began falling from the ceiling and drifting to the floor, freezing in a slick sheen against the marble. Lochlan was probably right, but Ivy couldn’t afford to be weak right now. She reined in her emotions, and the snow shower tapered off. Ignoring him, she turned away and rushed to the table in the corner of the room.
Grabbing a pen, Ivy hustled toward the old oak secretary settled against the wall and scrawled her message on a piece of fresh parchment. Jules and Padraic had assured her the day before that the best way to defeat the Darkling Army was to unite the courts in battle while weakening the ties between Fhaescratch and Teagan. If Endellion was actually willing to unite and get her hands dirty, Ivy agreed it was their best chance of putting a quick end to the uprising.