Page 35

"Business first," I said, taking my place at the head of the large oak table.

Everyone took their places, and the meeting began in earnest.

There were the usual territory disputes, common among the folk. Often I declined to rule on these and forced the parties to resolve their own differences. As a rule, the folk didn’t like a heavy-handed king. The only laws we truly answered to were those of nature.

I drummed my fingers on the tabletop, wishing the meeting was over. "Other matters?" I asked, hoping to keep things moving along.

Rowan, an ancient fae with a long white beard, cleared his throat. "Yes, your majesty. One of a personal nature. While you were away collecting your bride, we were able to secure the return of your father’s sword from the little folk under the hill. Thunderblade is now in the royal armory being sharpened and cleaned."

That was good news. My father had never lost a battle with the sword, and I liked the idea of keeping it nearby. "Excellent. And what of the thieves?"

"If they or their children ever ride to battle, all of their swords will shatter and fail. Also, the tall ones used our raid as cover to reclaim their territory near the great oak."

"Fitting."

From there, the conversation took a dark turn—disappearances. While I was away, three servants had gone missing. Each served an important member of the court.

"The unseelie," I murmured, my suspicions now confirmed.

"Indeed," answered one of the members.

"Were they taken, or were they spies?" I asked.

The elder Rowan spoke again. "Taken, majesty. My guard is one of the missing. He has served me honorably for two centuries. He didn’t take a single personal effect with him, not even his sword."

A redcap growled low under his breath. "A warrior would never leave his sword."

I nodded and turned to Hawthorne, our supposed expert on the unseelie. "Hawthorne, what do you make of these disappearances? Do you believe they are the work of the unseelie?"

He bowed his head in feigned deference. "Without more information, it is hard to be certain. However, the unseelie queen has expressed an interest in meeting with you, king."

I chose my words carefully. "I have no quarrel with the unseelie queen. However-"

Rowan’s younger brother, Remus, pushed back his chair and exploded, "Except for her wretched hurricane!"

My mouth quirked into an amused smile. This was why I kept Remus on the council. He often said what needed to be said and in far less diplomatic terms than I ever could. "Quite," I agreed. Not a month ago, the unseelie had unleashed a fierce hurricane that had been set on a path to blaze across our shores before making landfall in the human kingdom. It was a violation of our shores and waters as well as the human’s land. While I had no real love for the mortals, I had no wish for war either. I had been forced to intervene.

Remus flushed, and his jaw worked in irritation. "Sorry, my king. I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just she could have taken out half of the island along with the human territory!"

"I agree," I said.

"The Unseelie Queen wishes to send her apologies on that matter. A member of her cabinet informed me the wind sprites grew restless," Hawthorne said, brazenly looking around at the council as he dished out this obvious falsehood.

I snorted. "Restless wind sprites? Do you believe that?"

Hawthorne inclined his head in more feigned deference. "It is not my job to believe or not, my king. The Unseelie Queen has given a message, and I have shared it. What you do with it is your decision and yours alone."

The aged Rowan pointed a gnarled finger at Hawthorne. "See, here, boy. You are on a council of advisors. Your job is to advise. We don’t need an errand boy for the Dread Queen."

A few people glanced around the table at the slur "Dread Queen." I hid my smile. I’d have Harry send over two bottles of our finest wine to Rowan and Remus’s rooms later.

Hawthorne’s eyes flashed, and through tight lips, he said to me, "The unseelie queen could be a powerful ally against the humans."

"We are not at war with the humans," I reminded him.

A redcap with a dark beard boomed, "Why not?" He stroked his red, bloodstained cap lovingly, hopefully. Redcaps were violent fae. They lived for war and combat. With each victory, they dipped their hats in the blood of their slain enemies.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Because we are at peace. The humans are no threat to us."