Page 192

‘Oh,hereyou are.’

Creon.

Chapter 40

He ducked beneath alow-hanging willow branch to step into view, dark hair unbound now, wings tucked in closely. Alyra was sitting on his shoulder – onhisshoulder, of all places – looking deeply smug as she chirped a greeting at me. She had been the one to find me, apparently, our godsworn bond more helpful here than even the sharpest pair of eyes.

‘Hey,’ I said sheepishly.

Creon’s smile was soft at the edges and laced with more than a little concern. But rather than returning the greeting, he nudged Alyra off his shoulder and told her, too straight-faced to be sincere, ‘Did I mention the alves were very grateful for your help finding fae in hiding? They said you were extraordinarily good at it.’

My familiar seemed to puff up to twice her size.

‘I wouldn’t dare tell you what to do, obviously,’ he added, still in that innocently earnest tone – and only then did I realise what he was playing at. ‘But I think the two of us will manage here, so if you want to stretch your wings a little more …’

She took off with a triumphant cry, soaring over the reeds and back towards the city. Creon’s smile went from innocent to devilish as he sank into the sun-drenched grass, stretched out his legs, and dryly said, ‘There.’

I managed a laugh. ‘Did the alves say any such thing?’

‘Oh, no.’ He tilted his head towards the sun, letting the light dance across his face. It seemed to set his bronze skin aglow, lighting up the playful twinkle in his eyes. ‘But telling her to bugger off didn’t appear the best way to get her out of here. I don’t think my godlike countenance would be improved by her biting my nose off, for a start.’

Another chortle escaped me. ‘Glad to hear saving the world didn’t lead to any existential doubts on your side.’

His gaze lingered on me for a moment, too sharp for the loose drape of his shoulders and wings. But his voice was the same melodious drawl as he looked away and said, ‘What part of existence is it you’re doubting, exactly?’

‘Where to start?’ I said sourly.

He waited, gazing out over the rippling surface of the lake, undeterred by that half-hearted attempt at dodging the question.

Hell, why was I even dodging questions at all? This ought to be a moment of celebration. We were done; we were free. No more battles, no more life and death choices to get in the way of the life I wanted to live. We could find that home we wanted. I could spend the next few decades buried in books and pretty silks, and Creon could finally let go of the dark fae prince’s role and—

Wait.

Prince.

The nameless, slumbering discomfort took solid shape all at once, the core of it crystallising in that single treacherous word.

‘Creon?’ A small crack in my voice. ‘Creon, I … I can’t believe I never thought about this before, but … if the Mother is dead …’

He tilted his head at me, a small, joyless smile teasing the corner of his lips. ‘Which is no longer a hypothetical matter, I might point out.’

‘Yes, thank you.’ My laugh inched over my lips, brittle and tense. ‘Now that she’s dead … doesn’t that mean you’re technically the new High Lord of the empire? Being her only living son and all that?’

‘Ah.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Straight to the point.’

‘So youare—’

‘No,’ he interrupted, voice calm and measured as he reclined in the grass, resting his weight on his elbows. His wings flattened out behind him, gleaming softly in the sunlight –almostconvincingly careless, except that his motions were too deliberate, too controlled, to pass for fully nonchalant, and his smile had vanished like a shadow. ‘It’s not traditionally an inherited title. Noble houses have always gone from parent to child, but the throne tends to play by different rules.’

A relief, if only the reluctance in his voice allowed for any sense of reassurance. Now I felt like I was tiptoeing into some sort of trap as I cautiously said, ‘Then how does one become High Lord or Lady?’

He grimaced. ‘By killing the previous one, usually.’

It took a moment for that to land.

A long, befuddled moment – several heartbeats in which my overcrowded mind suddenly found itself incapable of producing even a single coherent thought.

‘What?’ I said.