Page 19 of Awakened Destiny (The Dark Ascendant #3)

Callen

I stand at the edge of the portal, my guts in knots. I don't want to leave Brigid behind at the academy but duty calls—there are things I have to deal with at the palace and I ’ ve put them off too long already.

The swirling light pulses, waiting. I take a deep breath and step through.

Emerging on the other side, I'm hit by a wave of activity. Servants scurry about, arms laden with flowers and candles. Everyone is working hard for dear old dad's funeral.

"Your Highness!" A young maid nearly drops her tray of crystal goblets. "We weren't expecting you so soon."

I nod, scanning the grand entryway. Towering pillars of opalescent crystal stretch toward the vaulted ceiling. Veins of gold thread through the marble floor, glinting in the gauzy light. Being here again after so long is a bit of a shock. Having grown up here, it ’ s easy to forget the opulence and beauty of the palace. It ’ s a far cry from Newton, that ’ s for sure.

"Where's the Queen?" I ask.

The maid bows her head. “ In the hall, your highness.”

I start toward the grand hall, weaving through the busyness. Courtiers whisper as I pass, their eyes hungry. Vultures, the lot of them.

My steps falter as I near, never sure what state of mind my mother will be in. It ’ s been like that since I was very young and I ’ ve never known her any other way. There ’ s a reason I avoid this place like the plague. I wouldn ’ t be here now if I didn ’ t have to be.

I'm not ready to be king. But I can't abandon the kingdom to the sharks that are circling, either.

With a steadying breath, I push open the ornate doors.

The grand hall hits me like a punch to the gut. Fuck, I'd forgotten how overwhelming this place can be. Gilded arches soar overhead, dripping with jewels that catch the light from a thousand glittering chandeliers. It's beautiful, sure, but cold as ice. Nothing like the warmth of the suite I have at the academy.

Memories flood back - standing here as a kid, desperately seeking a scrap of affection from my father. All I ever got was a cold stare and cutting words.

"Prince Callen!" A portly courtier waddles over, his face flushed. "What an unexpected pleasure. We'd heard whispers you might grace us with your presence."

I plaster on a charming smile. "Wouldn't miss my father's funeral for all the world."

The sarcasm flies right over his head. He beams, nodding vigorously. "Of course, of course. Such a tragedy. But fear not, the Council stands ready to assist us in this difficult transition."

Yeah, I bet they are.

I scan the crowd, searching for any allies. But there's only a sea of painted faces and predatory eyes. Everyone's moving with frantic energy, preparing for the spectacle of King Cillian ’ s final farewell.

A servant rushes by, carrying bolts of exquisitely woven black silk. I wonder where they are holding his body. If the crown still sits on his head.

My stomach churns. That crown—the very reason I ’ m here.

"If you'll excuse me," I mutter to the courtier. "I need to see my mother."

I push through the throng, their whispers following me like snakes.

A group scurries past, arms laden with garlands of purple and black roses. Their eyes dart to me, then quickly away.

A tall, willowy fae with silver hair glides up to me. "My prince," she coos, dipping into a low curtsy. "How wonderful to see you! We've missed your presence at court."

I recognize her. One of my father's many mistresses. The poison in her voice is barely concealed.

"I'm sure you have," I drawl. "Though I can't say the feeling's mutual."

Her eyes narrow. "You know, your father always said you lacked the backbone for leadership. I do hope he was mistaken."

I lean in close, dropping my voice. "Oh, I've got plenty of backbone. And teeth. You'd do well to remember that."

She blanches and hurries away. Fucking hyenas, all of them.

I continue on, searching for my mother. The ostentatious luxury of the palace is endless. Gold leaf on every surface, tables laden with extravagant delicacies, exotic flowers that have no business blooming this time of year. So beautiful, yet so devoid of any sincerity.

All I can think of is how empty and cold it felt growing up here. No warmth. No love. Just duty and expectations.

Now I will have to rule over all this. To become the very thing I've spent my life running from.

Brigid's face flashes in my mind. Her smile, her strength. For a moment, all I want is to be back at the academy with her.

But I can't think about that now. I've got a kingdom to claim and a Council to outmaneuver.

I spot her at last, sitting on the dais at the far end of the hall. My mother, Queen Maywen, looks smaller than I remember. Her dark hair is pinned back, but strands of it fall loose, unkempt. Her pale eyes are fixed on something distant, something only she can see. She ’ s dressed in white, in a beautiful garment, but the gown hangs off her thin frame like it ’ s borrowed from someone else.

I walk toward her, my boots clicking against the polished floor. The noise doesn ’ t seem to reach her. She doesn ’ t look up, doesn ’ t acknowledge me. Even as I step onto the dais and stand before her, she stares straight through me, her fingers twitching absently in her lap.

“ Mother,” I say, my voice softer than I intend.

Her gaze flickers, just for a moment, but she doesn ’ t focus on me. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, as if listening to a whisper only she can hear.

Her lips move, forming words without sound. Then, abruptly, she speaks again, her tone sharper. “ They want it. They ’ ll take it.”

I glance around, but no one ’ s paying us much attention. The courtiers are too busy with their own conversations, their own schemes. Still, her words make my skin crawl.

“ Who wants it?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

She shakes her head, her hands fluttering like trapped birds. “ They ’ re everywhere. Even here.”

I reach out, hesitating for a second before placing a hand over hers. Her skin is cold, almost lifeless. There was never any warmth in my mother ’ s touch.

Her eyes finally meet mine, but there ’ s no recognition in them. Only fear. “ He ’ s gone, isn ’ t he? He ’ s gone, and they ’ ll come for me next.”

She ’ s talking about my father. King Cillian. The man who broke her, piece by piece, until there was almost nothing left.

“ No one ’ s coming for you,” I say firmly, though I ’ m not sure I believe it myself. The Council ’ s already circling. I can feel it. “ I won ’ t let them.”

She pulls her hand away from mine, her fingers curling into her palm. “ You ’ re just like him,” she whispers.

The words hit like a slap. I straighten, stepping back. “ I ’ m not him.”

But she ’ s already retreating into herself, her gaze drifting past me again. “ They never stop.”

I stare at her, my throat dry. There ’ s no reaching her, not really. Whatever part of her that was my mother once—that might have loved me once—is buried too deep.

“ I ’ ll be back,” I say, though she ’ s not listening.

I walk away, not wanting to stay any longer than I have to, but it ’ s clear I ’ ll get no real information from her.

I ’ m barely ten steps from the dais when a hand grabs my arm, firm but not harsh. I turn, and there she is—my old nanny. Her face is lined with age now, more than I remember, but her eyes are sharp, darting around the hall like she ’ s checking for eavesdroppers.

“ Prince Callen,” she says, her voice urgent. “ I must speak with you.”

She doesn ’ t wait for me to respond, just beckons me toward a corner of the hall, and for a moment, it ’ s like I ’ m a child again, hiding behind her skirts from my father ’ s temper.

“ What is it?”

She leans in closer, her breath warm against my ear. “ The Council ’ s been here. Twice in the last week. They ’ ve been talking to your mother.”

My jaw tightens. “ About what?”

“ They ’ re pushing her,” the old fae says, her voice barely above a whisper. “ Asking questions about you, about the throne. They ’ re circling, Callen. They want the throne.”

I feel a surge of anger, but I keep it in check. “ And what ’ s she saying?”

She hesitates, her eyes flicking to the dais where my mother still sits, staring into nothing. “ You know the Queen. How she is. She ’ s confused. They ’ re taking advantage of that. They ’ re planting ideas, whispering in her ear. If they haven ’ t already, they ’ ll convince her to hand over control.”

I glance back at my mother, her frail figure dwarfed by the grandeur of the hall. She looks so small, so broken. And the Council—those power-hungry bastards—are using her weakness to their advantage.

“ Not while I ’ m breathing.”

The Council ’ s intentions are clear—they ’ ll use my mother as a pawn to keep their grip on the throne, to keep the fae kingdom under their control. And if they succeed, it won ’ t just be my mother they destroy. It ’ ll be everything I care about—Brigid, the fragile threads of hope we ’ ve been clinging to since the Morrigan ’ s awakening.

“ Thank you, I say to Marna. “ I ’ ll handle it.”

She nods, her eyes softening. “ Be careful, your Highness. The Council is hungry, and the hungry do desperate things.”

I don ’ t need the warning. I ’ ve seen what hunger for power looks like—in my father ’ s rage, in the Morrigan ’ s destruction, in the hollowed-out shell of my mother sitting on that dais. That kind of appetite is a wildfire, and it consumes everything in its path.

There ’ s no choice to be made. I have to do what must be done and claim my birthright as my father ’ s heir.

Before it ’ s too late.