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“You don’t share all you know,” Shaye said in a hushed tone as realization dawned.

“I’m not the Seelie king by happenstance.”

Dagda chuckled, those ribbons vanishing from his eyes. Or mayhap they remained, but his powerful glamour hid them from his own Council. From those he should be able to trust.

Shaye sat taller in his seat.

Dagda lacked trust in his own Court. In the High Fae who’d sworn their loyalty to him. Goddess, did Dagda fear for his own life at the hands of his daughter?

“I am immortal, Shaye. I cannot die, lest I wish for death.” Dagda’s lips barely moved, but his voice echoed through Shaye’s mind. When he dropped his gaze to Liam’s fingers wrapped around the golden orb on the arm of his chair, he caught the wisps of smoky white power feeding Dagda a path for telepathy. “Alas, we must be prepared for what is to come. A jaded spirit feeding on anger and resentment is no force to take lightly.”

“She’s never been a force to discount,” Shaye said.

“Aye. ’Tis my own blindness that kept me from seeing my wrongdoings toward you and the Talaenian people for so long. As you have learned, I will openly admit to my wrongdoings. I cannot expect my people to find fairness should I lack the capacity for it myself.”

There, in that statement, Dagda delivered what Shaye had come to learn about the Fae king over the last six months. Despite lore and rumors, Dagda was a fair and just king. Abeing with a genuine spirit and the will to fight for all he believed in.

He forfeited his pride in the face of wrongdoing.

Hegave Shaye the Fae potion to share with Moira and Chase.

“Moving forward, Shaye, I shall tell you this. Whatever should happen in the upcoming days, fear not. Find the strength within you to fight the battles—”

The double doors leading to the private Court chambers slammed open. Four heavily armed guards oozing magical spells encircled a man.

“Thierry?” Shaye whispered, shifting to the edge of his seat. Thierry’s wild gaze, stricken with fear, landed on him. Shaye’s gut twisted as he felt the sensation of a poisoned blade stabbing deep into his abdomen. He gasped at the pain, fingers wrapping tightly around the arms of his chair to keep his body from curling over.

The golden glow of his bond with Moira, a bond muted by enchantment while within the closed chambers, suddenly unleashed a brutal attack on his soul. He struggled to remain upright as he felt his body being shredded to pieces.

“This is a private session,” Dagda bellowed, shoving to his feet. “Who is—”

“Thierry, Shaye’s man,” Liam answered, skirting around Dagda to come to Shaye’s side. He’d barely realized he was about to fall off his chair until Liam grabbed his shoulder and straightened him. “Something’s wrong.”

“Your Highness, my deepest apologies, but Shaye must return home. ’Tis Moira…”

“Nay,” Shaye gasped, squeezing his eyes shut against the agony. He swore his insides were being ripped out through his stomach. “Thierry, what’s happened? Where’s Moira?”

“Liam, go with Shaye,” Dagda commanded.

“Aye.” Liam helped Shaye from the chair. Shaye’s knees buckled, but Liam kept him from collapsing. “Ground yourself. Close off the portion of your bond that is most powerful. Seek clarity. Hurry.”

Shaye followed Liam’s instructions, guilt churning inside him as he shuttered out the throbbing thread that left him practically incapacitated. Strength returned as his body evaded the battering…

He clenched his teeth, his fists, realizing the pain came from Moira.

“What’s happened!” Shaye roared.

“Come.” Liam led him from the chamber, ushering Thierry out ahead of them.

Once beyond the chamber, Liam sifted them to Shaye’s home.

Chaos rang like mourning bells throughout the walls of his peaceful home. Chaos. Terror. Fear. Sorrow.

Grief.

His world began to crumble around him, the weight of this horrific implosion pushing down on his shoulders.

Shaye raced to his bedchamber. He came up short when two men emerged from the open doors, rushing in the opposite direction with large basins draped with blood-soaked rags. The mineral scent of blood wafted through the corridor, so potent he could taste it on his tongue.