He saved my life.
Can I do any less?
2
ISKVIEN
The first day of the queensmoot dawns bright and golden as my mother’s servants set up the tents. Asturian colors flutter in the breeze as a warning as to whose quadrant this is.
Beyond them rise a sea of tents, clinging to a gently sloping hillside that envelops a circular valley. The tents of the Seelie Alliance stretch almost halfway around the valley. The sight makes my breath catch.
There are hundreds of fae here.
Thousands.
And tonight they will sing and dance and seek to drive away the restless spirits that haunt Arcaedia on nights like these. I’ve seen paintings of the queensmoot and heard all the tales, but this is the first time I’ve ever attended.
Asturia is granted the land right on the flank, and everywhere you look there’s a sea of red and gold. My mother’s rose and thorn standard rises above her tent. She’s somewhere within, no doubt plotting ruin for some poor soul.
I don’t want to know.
I never want to know what she’s up to.
That doesn’t mean I always get my wish.
Beside us stands the Askan encampment, with its golden serpent leering from a dark green background.
And then the burgundy of Ravenal, with a black crow picked out in stark relief upon their flag.
The blue and silver of Stormlight is next, and right at the end, as far away from the Asturian camp as one can possibly get, squats the sinister black and silver of Evernight.
I can see the moon in eclipse on their banners. It looks like some malevolent wolf swallowing down the sun. Seven stars twinkle in the black velvet; one for every tear that Roswyn, a long-ago queen of Evernight, shed when a curse settled over her kingdom, drawing endless night down over the north of her country.
A shiver runs through me as I tear my gaze away.
Best not to look to Evernight, even though I can’t help being insatiably curious.
Their murderous prince is wicked, cruel and unrelentingly handsome, according to my sources.
He’s also my enemy.
I desperately want to explore the ruins that run rife through the surrounding forests, but the risk is too great with Evernight here. Mother told me not to go too far, but everyone is busy setting the tents, and I was shooed out of the way when I tried to assist.
A footstep behind me is the first warning I’m not as alone as I think I am.
Hands clap over my eyes, and a hard body steps into mine from behind. “Surprise, Princess.”
Panic beat its wings in my chest the second I feel those hands, but at the sound of his familiar voice every inch of me goes still.
Etan.
It’s been two years since I saw him last. And yet I’d know that voice no matter where I am. My body can’t help reacting—all those practiced touches he bestowed upon me tamed it like a beast to the halter—but it’s my heart that drives a wretched mallet through the shock, and forces me into action.
“I love you, Vi.”
Yeah, almost as much as you love power.
“I want you to be mine. Forever.”
Pretty little lies. Blessed Maia, I don’t know how I believed it for even a second.
He’d been too good to be true. He was still too good to be true.
And if I hadn’t overheard him that day, fucking a sprite I’d later discovered was his mistress and laughing about the foolish little princess he had wrapped around his finger, then I’d probably still be following him around Queen Maren’s court like some lovesick fool.
“Etan.” I duck out of his clutches, spinning around. “What are you doing here?”
Each queen in the Seelie alliance—or prince, for there are two of them, though my mother despises their inclusion—is granted a certain coterie to attend them. Fifty guards. A hundred of their inner court. Thirty servants. Ten family members at most.
No more. No less.
There are appearances to be kept and wars to be avoided, and it results in five very carefully kept apart camps spread around the ruins of Hammerdale.
Hammerdale is neutral ground and to spill blood here would result in the entire alliance coming down upon you.
Etan might be the Queen of Aska’s distant nephew, but he’s hardly one of her favorite relatives—nor is he crucial to the alliance talks. He’s a professional courtier it seems, currying favor wherever he can find it, and Queen Maren knows it.
I thought I’d be safe.
“Looking for you,” says the tall, handsome fae lord grinning down at me.
Etan of the Goldenhills. It’s a name I once scrawled in the margins of countless notebooks. I hate myself for that. I knew better. I was raised as an Asturian princess. I should have seen through him.
But I was sixteen, lonely and sentenced to a foreign court where I knew nothing and no one, and his was the first kind smile I’d seen.
I spent nearly two years serving Queen Maren as her lady-in-waiting; a little negotiation between my mother and the sister-queen she kindly calls the Queen of Nightmares. Long ago, Maren was named my godmother, and though she’s never been the kind to bestow kisses and advice, there was always a birthing day gift. Always a present at winter solstice. To have her as a godmother was an honor.
It was never a kindness.
But the second I saw Etan he took my breath away, and my thoughts along with it. He swept me into a world where I was finally welcomed by the young swains who ruled Maren’s under court. There were balls. Music. Dancing. Stolen kisses in the hedge maze that guards the gardens.
Even after two years apart, he still takes my breath, if I’m to be honest with myself.
Tall, lean, built like a powerful warrior fae, his skin kissed by the sun and his hair as golden as wheat beneath a blistering sun, he looks every inch the fairy tale prince.
Truth be told, once I realized he was playing me, I found the charms and potions on his vanity that help veil him.
Belladonna to darken his eyes, crushed pearl to brighten the inside of his lids, and powdered gold swept through his hair—it all plays its part and it’s common to see the likes of such powders among the Seelie courts. But it was the little vials with trapped Will-o’-the-wisps that made my breath catch.
The tiny demi-fey are spirits of light. Some of the poorer villages in Seelie use them for lighting—trapping them within lanterns, or bartering with them to exchange milk and honey for several hours of their assistance.
But it’s said that in Unseelie, the creatures there have discovered a darker use for them.
Their magics are small but if you can consume that magic, then the effect of it will brighten your skin and hair for a week. It’s a tiny surge to your powers, but they say it’s addictive and such magic has long been outlawed in Seelie.
I can see it in Etan now.
The natural warmth of his smile, the glow of his skin—it’s all a lie—and it’s used as bait in order to lure someone like me into his trap.
Hunger shadows his eyes as he stalks toward me. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before—or maybe I didn’t want to. I wanted to believe the sweet lies he whispered in my ears. I wanted to let every gentle kiss he bestowed upon me steal me away from the wretchedness of my life. I wanted the white knight, the handsome prince, and when Etan appeared, blinding in his gloriousness, I let myself overlook the shadows etching his soul. He was a dream I refused to examine too deeply, and maybe I own some share of the blame in what became of us.