My father’s lifeblood cascaded over his and down his chin as he raised the dead organ toward the night sky, his kin’s approval thunderous, vile, and deafening.
The few remaining soldiers couldn’t be helped. I knew that.
So when my father’s heart fell to the grass beside his dead body, I retreated, shrank back into the night in search of the forgiving light of day to end this twisted nightmare.
He’d lied.
All along, I hadn’t been meeting with some rogue guard from the enemy’s kingdom. I hadn’t spilled precious words into Fang’s ears. Stars, his name wasn’t even Fang.
The monster of Vordane had multiple names.
The blood king. The king of wolves. King Dade.
And I was a fucking fool.
Before I could reach the barn or the husk of a farmhouse, I felt it, the warmth of eyes at my back. Twisting my neck, I found the king standing at the fence I’d just left—in the very place I’d watched him murder my father, his face stained with his blood, cloak billowing, and those blue eyes swirling with nothing I wanted to read into.
He didn’t know. There was no way he could possibly know it was me.
All he saw was a large black swan.
And so I turned back and flew for the cover of the woods, hoping they’d shield me, that my wings would carry me the entire way home when my soul felt so heavy.
If he’d known it was me, I had no doubt that he would’ve easily given chase, yet I flew alone.
Days passed like seeds slowly fed to the dirt.
My father’s body was eventually retrieved and given to the soil behind the castle, a giant seed beneath the cherry blossom tree next to my brother. Flowers, white and luminous, had sprouted all around the tree’s base, spreading toward our feet like tiny wishing stars.
My mother wept beside me, though no tears left her eyes.
I knew that type of heartache had to be worse than any other—the type that hurt with an intensity that stole your tears and refused to allow the grief to leave your body. For if it did, there’d be nothing left. Nothing.
To lose someone you love, a mate no less…
And it was my fault.
I hadn’t told her. I wasn’t sure I ever could. That I’d been tricked and so stupid. That I’d spent time with the enemy, never knowing, never thinking he was so much more than that.
He was our ruination.
Look at me, honey bee.
I wouldn’t let myself shed tears. Not for the same reason as my mother, but because I wouldn’t dare mourn him when I did not deserve to.
Our military had been whittled down to scraps, fear spiking through the castle halls as though winter had visited early.
No one remained to rally or strategize how to reinforce our borders and collect more people to train, be they farmers and traders or otherwise. There was only a silence so suffocating, I wondered if it would kill us before King Dade thought to finish us all off.
Elhn had been severely wounded, leaving my father’s two generals scrambling to gather some composure in a city and kingdom inundated with peril. The captain and two other soldiers were all that remained of my father’s destroyed unit.
“Princess.” My mother’s servant and closest friend, Edwan, bowed when I reached the stairs leading to her chambers.
I’d been avoiding her. An easy feat when she refused to leave her rooms, and now, I was trying to work up the courage to go check on her.
His sun-kissed face was pale and drawn, cheeks sunken, arched ears a harsh contrast against his bald head. In his trembling hands was a tray with broth and bread, and I gestured for it. “She still won’t eat?”
“I’m afraid not, my princess,” he murmured, lips whitened with worry. “It’s been four days.”
My eyes shuttered. “Has she drank anything?”
He inclined his head. “Some but not enough, and mostly wine.”
We were a species who’d live for thousands of years, but that did not mean we couldn’t fall prey to starvation like humans. It would take our bodies considerably longer to perish, but perish they would over time if not treated well.
“Thank you, Edwan. I’ll do my best.”
Gratitude wet his violet eyes, and he bowed once more before rounding the corner.
Up the stairs, the door creaked open with a thought, and I walked inside the dark, stale room. My mother’s scent, lemon rose, was fading with her health, leaving the bitter taste of sodden leaves in its wake.
Rounding the half-made bed, where she lay perched against the pillows while gazing at the swaying drapes concealing the windows and balcony, I set the tray upon her nightstand. “Mother, make haste, the food wastes.”
With a harsh swallow, she shifted a little. “I’m not hungry.”
“I know,” I said as I climbed over her legs to lay in my father’s spot, his scent of lime and leather pungent on the pillow. My heart throbbed, guilt roughening my voice. “Me either, so perhaps we can starve together?”
And there she was, Nikaya, queen of Sinshell, her glare harsher than the sun. “You will do no such thing.”
“You know I will if you do not eat.” Clasping her cool hand, I squeezed it. “You must.” Her long lashes fluttered, throat bobbing as I begged, “I cannot lose you too.”
Gazing back at me with gold eyes so similar to my own, I feared she could tell, could read the guilt in my eyes and in my voice.
If she did, she didn’t let on and gave my hand a weak squeeze in return. “Honey bee,” she whispered, a broken nickname for the daughter who’d broken her heart. “One day, you will understand what it is to feel your soul leave your chest, to fight against your heart’s instinct to follow.” Licking her dry lips, she added, barely a sound, “One day, you will know what it is to find and lose your true mate.” Reaching up, she smoothed her cool fingers down my cheek. “I would almost rather death for you, honey bee.”
Unsure what to say, only that I wanted to keep her here, present and talking, I said, “I worry such a thing will likely occur before finding a mate is even a thought in my mind.”
She smiled then, wistful and wretched. “You do not find a mate,” she stated, color to her voice now. It was dark but color all the same. “The stars bring them to you.”
I’d been told endless times before of how she and my father had come to find one another. At fifty years of age, it was past time she separated from her lover and grew up, her father had said, so a marriage was arranged with one of my grandfather’s chosen suitors.
Two nights before her wedding, as townsfolk and villagers from all across Sinshell arrived, she met my father, a farmer’s son who lived outside the woods by the border between Errin and Sinshell. A warrior not by choice but because he and his family had needed to protect their livelihoods of land and livestock. His mother had insisted he attend the wedding, for it was unheard of to miss such an event.
My mother, who’d of course been in love with another and not romantically fond of her betrothed although they were friends, had snuck out of the castle for a pint in the city. Hiding in a dim corner of the tavern, she’d watched faeries of all ilk drink, dance, gamble, and throw darts, lost to sorrow.
He’d sensed her before he’d walked in, he’d said. Unaccustomed to sitting idle, he’d decided to explore the city as night fell. Curious, he’d entered the tavern, drawn to her as a moth was to flame. Within hours, the wedding was canceled, and my father’s family was already making plans to move their farm closer to the heart of Sinshell.