Page 44

“The Goldstones are the queen’s personal guards,” I said, though Gwen was perfectly aware of the fact.

She was well versed in the histories and customs of the elemental fae. As a terrestrial female of the appropriate age, she’d been brought up by her family with the hopes that one day she would be selected as the next High Queen of Annwyn. My parents had once held similar hopes for me and my brother. But once Arthur’s birth was foretold, there was no need for males. Males could not ensure another generation of peace for Annwyn. So, we were trained as warriors rather than scholars.

I hadn’t wanted for an education, but it had been focused on other things.

Bloodshed, for one.

Mercy had not been in the curriculum.

“There are palace guards as well,” Gwen observed as we passed one standing sentry at the intersection where two hallways met and opened onto an expansive, roofless courtyard. “Though I’m not sure what good they are,” she added when we were still well within earshot.

I ignored her questions. I was busy making observations. She ought to be as well. A king had been murdered in this palace six months ago. The royal council had found the human culprits and punished them. They’d declared the goldstone palace secure.

After that disastrous council meeting, I knew better than to trust them with mine or Veyka’s life.

The courtyard was open to the sky, which meant it was vulnerable to aerial attacks. But while a more powerful elemental might send a cyclone or a thunder storm rife with lightning, the possibility for damage was minimal.

But not for the terrestrial fae. An aerial regiment of winged shifters could land here with little trouble, kill the elemental fae guards posted in each corner, and storm the goldstone palace. The guards were not even equipped with bows.

I added it to my mental list. I already knew who from my delegation I’d like to post here. But not all of them had indicated a desire to stay in Baylaur. It would be a waste of time to train a team if half of it would return to Wolf Bay after the joining.

“We’d need a half dozen,” Gwen observed, as if she could read the thoughts in my head.

“Are you sure you don’t have hidden ethereal powers?” I asked, turning down the next corridor. We were getting closer.

“Ha!” she scoffed, tossing her thick black locks over her shoulder. “A queen is meant to fulfill the Ethereal Prophecy. A queen, I am not.”

I didn’t argue with her. She’d trained her entire life to sit on the throne that was now occupied by a despondent, selfish female with wide hips and even wider breasts. Veyka Pendragon would not be fulfilling any ancient prophecies. She could hardly be roused to be interested in the running of her own kingdom.

Gwen tossed her hair again, the gold-studded tips of her braids catching the firelight that flickered from the torches lining the goldstone corridor. The eternally burning flames danced against the glowing burnt orange color of the goldstone, the glittering dust particles caught within the stone sparkling bright. Goldstone, yes, but totally different than the yellow gold that held Gwen’s black locks in place.

I glanced back over my shoulder to where the guard we’d passed earlier stood, face emotionless, posture rigid. What was his power? All fae were born with magic, but he was a palace guard, so he must be relatively strong.

He’d better not be responsible for the torches burning in these adjacent corridors. It was a waste of magic. A useless expenditure for a guard, when that well should be reserved for defending his queen, in a world where all magic demanded a price. Sometimes it was as simple as an aching joint or a leaking canteen in the brutal desert. For a soldier, the price was often steeper.

If the goldstone palace was attacked, the price would likely be death.

“This place will be a bloody nightmare to defend properly,” Gwen observed as we entered yet another uncovered courtyard, this with a series of fountains in the middle and multiple verandas overlooking it.

“Yet defend it we must,” I sighed.

The throbbing headache in the back of my head had returned. The need to shift thrummed through me, making its demand once more. But the beast inside of me would not be satisfied with a mere change in the throne room, to the amusement or horror of the courtiers. My beast wanted blood—always.

“Osheen could—”

“Osheen has already studied the perimeter of the palace. Over the next few weeks, he will shore up those defenses. Tonight, it is the internal mechanisms I am concerned with.” I cut her off, curving around the fountain so she was forced to fall into step behind me.

I felt sorry for her, I did.

But I also was not in the mood to have my plans questioned.

The night sky winked above us, not a single cloud covering the bright stars. It was light enough that if any courtiers had remained on their balconies, they could have easily seen me walking through the night in the direction of the queen’s apartments.

And if they did?

By Mabon, Veyka and I would be joined. The blood oath was the show of unity, not whether we shared one another’s bed.

As we reached the other side of the courtyard, Osheen appeared.