Page 8

Chapter 6

Morgana

“I won’t lie, Morgana. I was blindsided when Becane told us about you.”

Oclanna winds the end of her dark braid around her finger as she stares out the window. The gesture makes her look young, less guarded. It also helps that we’re out of that massive, terrifying chamber with the rest of the court. Now we sit together in a small drawing room. It makes me feel a little more at ease, even if this room is grander than most at Gallawing.

I think it might be all the velvet. They seem to like a lot of it around here.

“You didn’t know?” I ask, surprised. Oclanna offers me a refreshingly honest grimace.

“I know, you’d think sisters would share that kind of thing. But Elowen was always queen first. She had to be, for our kingdom. I respected her for it. But it could make her…distant.”

I think of the woman I glimpsed at the window that one time at Gallawing. The person who gazed at me so coolly and left without speaking a word to me.

“I can see that,” I say.

Oclanna shakes her head, the braid in her hands jerking with the movement. “I still can’t believe she’s gone—or that I’m talking to her grown daughter. It’s strange…they tried so hard for a child and had so many losses on the way. Then when you came along, not a word…”

She looks at me as if she expects me to have answers. I don’t know how to break it to her that all I have are questions.

“Perhaps they were doing what they thought best,” I say. It’s a line that’s been fed to me so many times, the platitude falls easily from my lips.

“I believe they were,” Oclanna agrees. “They certainly hid you well. Becane was the only one here who knew. He organized your staff. But I still don’t…” Oclanna looks torn for a moment, then continues, “Forgive me, but I still don’t understand exactly what they were so afraid of. Becane said something about your health—but you don’t seem unwell.”

I let the flush creep up my neck. It will be useful for the lie I have to tell next if I seem embarrassed.

“I don’t have any magic,” I explain, dropping my gaze. “I was born without power.”

I glance up through my eyelashes in time to see understanding flood across her face.

“You’re certain?” she asks.

“Twenty-one years and nothing—not a sign,” I say. It’s almost true. Until last week, it had been twenty-one years without a sign. Etusca had been adamant I not tell anyone here at the palace any differently. I’m not sure whether she wants to keep from implicating me in Bede’s death when the court is still deciding whether to trust me or whether she thinks I’ll need a trick up my sleeve in case I’m attacked, as my parents were.

Either reason is good enough for me. For now, my elusive shred of magic will remain our secret.

“I suppose my parents believed an heir at court without any magic would be a very vulnerable heir indeed,” I say.

“And recent events have only confirmed that,” Oclanna says sadly. “Oh, Morgana. I’m so sorry.” She reaches for my hand. It’s unexpectedly cold, but I grit my teeth and accept the touch, knowing she’s only trying to comfort me.

“ I’m sorry,” I say, happy not to have to lie this time. “You knew them much better than I did, and you must miss them.”

Oclanna looks out the window again, and I see another shimmer in her eye.

“I do. They were clever, you know. They prepared for everything. I was named regent before Becane told us about you, and I’ll stay in that position until your coronation.” She turns back to me. “I see now why they did that. It’s so I can guide you and keep you safe through this whole overwhelming process.”

Oclanna’s words offer me some relief. I’ve no idea how to navigate these next few days, let alone the first months or years of my reign. Knowing I won’t be expected to do it on my own offers some light in the darkness.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m grateful for your help.”

Oclanna smiles, but then her expression becomes serious.

“I think the first step might be the hardest. People will expect you to face your parents’ killer, to make a decision about his punishment. The Trovian people are hungry for justice, and only you can provide it.” She bites her lip. “But perhaps you’re not ready for that.”

“Honestly, I’ve been avoiding thinking about it,” I say. They told me the name of the killer at Gallawing. It was a name I already knew—and feared—from my history books. But it was all too strange and far away to believe. Now, presented with the idea of actually meeting him, I’m anxious…but also angry, the emotion gnawing and bone-deep.

“I would understand, of course, if it was too much,” Oclanna says. “Looking a cold-blooded killer like him in the eyes is no easy thing for anyone.” Oclanna touches my shoulder, and I can feel the pressure of her cold fingers through the fabric of my clothes. She must catch me looking at them, because she withdraws her hand with a wry smile.

“I’m an aquari,” she says. “Ice conjurer. I’m afraid cold hands come with the territory.”

I nod my understanding, then gather my courage. “I want to meet him,” I say quickly. “I’m apprehensive, true, but I should do it, for my parents.”

I think about the murderer—someone whose power is to conjure terror. What ways might that seep into a person? I try to picture the man awaiting me somewhere in this building.

“The Nightmare Prince,” I say, because saying it aloud might take away some of its power. Leonidas Claerwyn, the second grandson of the fae king Respen Claerwyn. He has a lot of grand titles, officially—but here in Trova? He’s best known by one.

In theory, he’s an ally. He fought beside my great-grandfather Palquir in the civil war that nearly ripped this country apart. But how can you ever really trust someone with the power to sneak into your dreams and torment you with your greatest fears?

They say he can drive men mad. They say he did it to an entire village—and no one survived. They say every one of them took poison, just to get him out of their heads.

They say he laughed when he heard the news.

If Filusia was going to send anyone to assassinate their neighbors, it’s no wonder the king decided Leonidas was the man for the job.

“Has the fae court sent any message?” I ask. “Are they demanding their prince back?”

“We haven’t informed Filusia yet. We were waiting for you. Though if King Respen is behind this, then no doubt he already knows how events have played out. Perhaps he expected his grandson to do a better job of covering his tracks, but he was arrogant and sloppy. The knife he used—” I flinch, picturing it, and Oclanna stops. “I’m sorry, maybe you’re not ready to hear this.”

“Please, go on,” I say. “I want to know the details, no matter how hard they are to hear.” Maybe if I get the whole picture, this will start making sense. The monarchs of Filusia and Trova have been allies for a hundred years. What changed?

“The knife he used was clearly fae in origin, and there were traces of sensic magic all around their bedroom,” Oclanna explains.

My mind conjures up a picture of the scene for me—a shadowy chamber, bedsheets crimson with spilled blood. For some reason, I expected more damning evidence than that—the fae prince caught stood over their bodies, weapon in hand, perhaps. But I suppose that’s too neat. He’s too smart to be caught red-handed. I push the image away. Understanding the details will help me, but picturing them will not .

“I want to see him,” I repeat. It’s important I get this done before I lose my nerve.

Oclanna nods, rising. “We’ll receive him in the throne room. It sends a message.”

She instructs a guard to bring him to us, then leads me through the halls. I’m happy to have her take charge. Like Oclanna said, there are new factors I have to consider in everything I do now: What message will this send? Will this give the right impression? Will I seem strong enough, like a queen should?

There’s something eerie about the throne room. Carved jade steps lead up to the platform of empty chairs. The same oak leaf design as the arches outside curls around the top of the biggest throne, where my mother would’ve sat. This unnerves me most—the whisper of people who should be here, my mind calling up their ghosts.

“Why would the fae want to kill my parents?” I ask Oclanna as guards march in after us.

“I don’t know for certain,” Oclanna answers. “Respen may have some design we can’t foresee. But I wonder if their view of your parents has soured over the last few decades. You’ve met Anointer Nunias. He holds a crucial position here at court, and I can’t imagine the fae would like that. No one remembers when the crown fought against the Temple, but the fae saw it all firsthand, and they don’t forget.”

I remember what my history books said about the civil war that ended with my great-grandfather on the throne. Of the two factions looking to rule after the old king died, he had the greater claim by blood, and the support of Filusia. But the Temple of Ethira backed his challenger. The Trovian royal family made its peace with the Temple years ago, but from what I’ve read, there’s still no love lost between the Temple and the fae.

It doesn’t help that the fae have different customs and traditions the Temple frowns upon, particularly the way fae permit the existence of solari—conjurers of celestial magic stolen from the gods. In Trova, their lives are forfeit for the crime of existing, but the fae ignore all that, which infuriates the Temple’s clerics. The more the Temple grows in power and influence, the more they preach against the evils of Filusia’s ways. If Respen thought my parents were becoming too friendly with the Temple, he might seek to punish them for it.

I hear the clattering of iron from behind the throne room door and straighten. Oclanna gives me an encouraging look.

“Don’t worry, Morgana. I’m here with you.”

A deep anger aches in my chest again as the throne doors open, and twenty guards march in, escorting a man clapped in irons between them. Something in my gut lurches with recognition, my heartbeat quickening as I recognize the figure walking toward me. He slowly raises his head and meets my gaze with a pair of fathomless gray eyes I last saw in a tavern before he turned me over to my guards.

* * *

LEON

It’s almost amusing, the sheer number of precautions the humans are taking with me. They chained me in irons, flanked by ten guards on each side, before they’d even let me out of my cell. The dull weight of the metal dampens my magic to some degree, but it doesn’t stop me from being twice as strong as any human and a far more experienced fighter. I could break myself free if I needed to. But I bide my time, remembering what my brother Fairon is always chastising me for.

You just jump into things, Leonidas, without looking where you’ll land.

I’ve always landed on my feet—but that’s no reason to get cocky. Better to wait and see how this plays out, even if it means ignoring my instincts and staying put, letting the humans think they have me locked down.

Stay, gather what information you can. Learn the lay of the land before you make your move.

Which is all incredibly boring of course, but I’ve found ways to make my fun.

I throw a grin at the soldier at my left elbow. She looks like she might be sick. The man next to her starts shaking when I so much as glance at him. Even with my powers dampened, I’ve still been able to massage their fear in their dreams whenever they steal a quick nap in the dungeon between shifts. As a result, they’re so terrified of me they can barely control themselves. Their captain had to threaten to put some of them in cells before they’d follow his orders to come fetch me.

“Where exactly are we going, human?” I ask the guard.

He doesn’t answer. Maybe he can’t summon the courage to speak in my presence. I look over to another for a response. He avoids my gaze but talks.

“To see Princess Morgana, Your Highness.”

“Since when is there a princess? I thought Lady Oclanna was the queen’s closest kin.”

A queen who very inconveniently went and got herself murdered , I add to myself. It took days to even find out the crime I’d supposedly committed. It’s not surprising the humans would think of me as a killer—once upon a time, the Angevires were very grateful for my skills in that department—but it is frustrating to have my grandfather’s plans for a harmonious diplomatic visit ruined. And now we have another player in the game, it seems. Could this mysterious princess be the one pulling the strings? She’d hardly be the first to get her hands bloody for the chance to seize power.

It’s tricky to know how to play this meeting when I don’t know anything about this woman. I can only hope Alastor, wherever he is being held, is making friends. Something I have no desire to attempt even if I would benefit from trying.

The guards pull a pair of heavy doors open, and I look up at the two women standing in front of Trova’s thrones. I recognize Lady Oclanna, now wearing the bright blue pendant of the regent. And beside her…

Princess Morgana tosses her chestnut hair but otherwise shows no sign of recognition as our eyes lock. It’s quite a contrast to the last time I saw her face, when she was looking at me with such hate I’d actually felt a glimmer of guilt.

It’s impossible that the same woman from that little backwater tavern is the princess, but there’s no mistaking the light in those hazel eyes. It burns with a quiet power that makes her stand out even in a room full of people—like the brightest star in the vast night sky.

The guards drag me up to the bottom of the jade steps, then take a few steps back, hovering uncomfortably, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here. Well, that makes two of us. I take in Lady Oclanna’s expression. She looks tense, even before she focuses on me and her face twists into a grimace of disgust.

“Good afternoon,” I say, deciding to get the first word in. “Lady Oclanna and…?”

I pretend not to know the princess’s name. Her face is a closed book, and I can’t tell if she remembers me. Maybe the glamour I wore then was enough to keep her from connecting the man who threw her to the wolves in that tavern with the one standing before her now.

“Princess Morgana,” she says. “Daughter of Queen Elowen and King Alaric Angevire.”

As far as I knew, the late rulers had no children, but the Trovians wouldn’t allow a succession this sudden without her bloodline being a certainty. I have no idea why they’d keep her a secret, but I’m not sure it matters. For better or for worse, she’s the one in charge. And from the venom in her voice, it’s clear the princess wants me dead—either because she believes I killed her parents or because she needs me to take the fall for her crime.

“And you must be the Nightmare Prince,” she continues, proceeding to look me up and down, scanning every inch of me. Her gaze sends an interesting heat creeping across my body, and I take a quick moment to enjoy it before replying.

“That’s the problem with nicknames,” I say with a shrug. “They tend to follow you around whether you want them to or not.”

“I suspect you enjoy your reputation plenty, murderer,” Oclanna spits.

I focus on the regent, letting my voice drop. “I am indeed a murderer, my lady, many times over. But I am not guilty of killing the king and queen.”

“So, you’re choosing denial?” Oclanna asks. “Even though my sister and her husband were killed with a dagger that could only be made by fae hands? Even when the stench of your mind-magic littered the scene of the crime? I know your twisted ways, fae. You stupefied them in their sleep before you struck.”

Ah, so Alastor and I really are being framed. I shift my eyes over to Morgana. There’s a slight furrow between her neat eyebrows, but I have no idea what it means. She looks like her mother—right down to her haughty expression. No doubt this woman is just as careless and foolish as her parents. Damn them all, and their silly accusations.

“If I were to kill the rulers of Trova, I would not be so foolish as to strike them in the most conspicuous way possible. Since my reputation precedes me, I shouldn’t have to point out that if I’d wanted them dead, they’d have died without me leaving a single trace.”

I find myself addressing Morgana more than her aunt, hoping my words sink in. To her credit, she keeps her face still. Where did she learn to construct such a flawless mask?

“Your Highness,” Oclanna turns to her niece. “Even before you are officially coronated, you have the power of decision here. Give the order, and let him be executed for his crime. The people of Trova will have their justice for this terrible wrong, and we can have our closure.”

I watch the princess carefully. I know she will want her revenge. I wonder if she realizes that giving the order is a very different thing from carrying it out. If these people think I’ll go docilely to my execution, they really don’t know me at all.

“No,” she says, the word ringing out through the room.

Oclanna’s eyes widen. “I do want justice,” the princess says. “But that takes time. He must have a trial, so the evidence can be examined properly. If he is proven to be the killer, he will be punished accordingly, but Filusia has been our family’s ally for generations, and I won’t throw that away without due cause.”

Smart.

Her aunt looks disturbed, but she can’t argue—not when she already stated it was the princess’s decision. All the same, Oclanna’s realizing she’s just handed a sharp blade to a little girl. But I suspect the princess’s decision has little to do with childlike ideals of mercy and fairness. I caught it there, in her eyes, as she looked at me just now—the same flicker of hate I saw in the tavern. She wants me dead, just in a way that won’t provoke war with her neighbor. Smart.

If I’m given a fair trial, my grandfather is less likely to feel provoked, and she can order my execution without fear of retaliation. A king and queen are dead, and Trova will need its blood payment.

“Morgana,” Lady Oclanna says, sounding ready to argue with the princess.

“There’s something else you should know,” the young woman says to her aunt. “Back at Gallawing, it was reported to me that you apprehended Prince Leonidas and the sole companion he arrived with. But I happen to know for a fact the prince was traveling with several more fae.”

Ah, so she does recognize me.

She gives me a look like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“He was?” Lady Oclanna looks over at me, her eyes narrowed.

“Yes, and the fact that he hasn’t spoken of them concerns me,” Morgana continues. “Where are they now? Holding the prince until his trial will allow us some leverage to ensure there aren’t more rogue agents running around, causing trouble.”

What was she doing running from those guards? I ask myself. Just a naughty princess playing truant? I may never know, but I know I’ve made an enemy in her…and that’s starting to look like a serious problem. She’s interfering with my important plans—the ones I actually care about. I need my unit free to do their job, and that means focusing this court’s attention elsewhere.

“I’m afraid you must be misinformed, Your Highness,” I say, weighing my options.

The princess glances at her aunt, a look passing between them I suspect means they’ll discuss this more later. Then she levels her gaze at me.

“I don’t think so, Nightmare Prince. But no matter. I shall see you at the trial.”

The guards close in before she can see me smile as they drag me back to the dungeons. How adorable, that she thinks I’ll wait around for her farce of a trial. There are clearly enemies of the fae lurking in this palace, and I’d rather prove my innocence from the comfort and safety of my own kingdom.

I may be known as the Nightmare Prince, but the humans seem to have forgotten I have another power. And once I bring that to bear, I won’t be sticking around.