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Chapter 37 ~ The False King

Dàibhid

The sun remained hidden when we set out to meet Balor.

Somehow, with each step forward, the tension in my chest eased. I settled into the saddle, head higher, crown a little less heavy. Though panic still clawed at my throat, though the sight of three hundred Exiles and rebels before me pierced my gut with fear for those behind me, those feelings would do me no good now. My father once told me that in moments like this, you had to become a King. Not just someone with the title, but the concept personified. I imagined he was next to me as we approached our enemies.

Cianán and Liam took up spots on either side of me, while a soldier held our standard behind us, the wind flying the green and gold flag straight. The Exile’s mockery of the standard waved just as surely, red swords on a field of gray. Their bearer sat behind three others, forming a mirror to our group in the lush grass. The two flanking warriors—a bronze bald woman and a pale freckled man with dark hair—were clad in sturdy leather cuirasses embellished with crossed swords. The man in the middle, broad and dressed in a similar fashion, was tall, even in his saddle. His blond hair fell just past his fair chin, a matching, close-cropped beard framing lips pulled back over straight teeth. An angry wound, jagged and stitched, cut down his left cheek, and a sun tattoo in the style of effigies to Soral decorated his thick right forearm.

I forced down nausea as I took in the man who had taunted me for months and ordered the death of my people. But the nausea was swiftly forgotten. The thought of soldiers at my back didn’t seem like such a terrible idea anymore.

I wanted this man gone.

“The little king arrives,” Balor said.

And the murderer sits before me . “I’m glad we’re finally meeting.” After I requested it for months. “It’s about time we put this behind us.”

“Yes, I suppose you would be grateful for that.” He assessed Liam and Cianán as though looking for weaknesses. My gut clenched. I needed his focus on me.

I took a steadying breath, going over the words I’d practiced before speaking them. “While what you’ve done is unforgivable, I’m willing to discuss a course of action that will benefit both our peoples.”

He raised his brows, smirking. “What I’ve done?”

My jaw tensed. Was he blaming me for everything? I might have done that enough to myself over the last six months, but it was infuriating coming from him.

“What you’ve done—”

“Oh, no, you have it all wrong. I’ve done nothing you’re accusing me of.” He glanced behind me to our host. He gave them a mock wave. “Your friends can attest to that, I’m sure.”

I hid my confusion and looked to Liam. The blankness of his expression told me enough—he didn’t know what Balor meant, either.

“You want me to believe,” I said slowly, methodically, “that you didn’t order the destruction of farms outside Ardanna? Or for The Crown to be burned or the capital stormed? For rebels to amass here behind you?”

He laughed. “Unfortunately, you have me confused with someone else. For such a smart man, you’d think you would have seen this coming.” His grin turned vicious. “I’m not him, kingling. But not to worry. Balor sends his regards.”

My stomach dropped out from under me, and I tightened my thighs to prevent myself from sliding off the saddle.

He had to be here. This man had to be Balor. That was the plan. Either talk with Balor or fight the Exiles—with Balor at the helm. I looked behind him as though Balor would materialize. Cianán shook his head, features stiff.

No Balor means no negotiations, he’d say. He’d never send someone else to do such a monumental job.

No negotiations meant this host wasn’t simply for intimidation. They wouldn’t expend resources like this to tell me Balor didn’t feel like making an appearance.

They were here for destruction. And destruction meant death.

I kept the image of my father in my mind, trying to be a King but feeling more like a lost child.

“Where is he?” I asked, no trace of anything but calm annoyance—which was hardly fake—in the words.

The man sneered at my crown. “He has more important things to do.”

“Did he not read my letter?” I’d taken Rígan’s advice and threatened to expose him as a coward if he didn’t show.

“He did. He found it amusing. A puppy trying to growl at a wolf.”

“If I’m not worthy of his time, why bother trying to take my country at all?”

“You aren’t your country, boy. This country is destined for greatness; you’re stalling it.”

“If you haven’t noticed, it’s considered great by many nations.”

His straight teeth were off-putting as his mouth widened. “Not ours.”

“What of peace talks?” I refrained from looking at the rows of fighters behind him.

A sharp laugh was his only reply. He glanced behind me again. “It’s such a shame I didn’t kill them in Tírdorcha when I had the chance. Especially the bitch who cut me. But watching them flee like cowards was rather satisfying, in its own way.” The freckled man’s answering smile was chilling. The first tilted his head. “The redhead is lovely, though. She’d been the one to examine my face. I hope I get another chance to kill her.”

He waited for a reaction. I gave him none, even as white-hot anger tore through me. The team had fled after Exiles had found them on their last mission. Their description of him—and the man beside him—was coming back to me now. áine had gotten a cut in, but Rígan had been the one to describe them to me. She assumed the blond was high-ranking.

If he got his hands on her, I might just break my own rule and kill him.

Though, realistically, if he got his hands on her, she’d beat me to it.

“I imagine she’s hoping the same,” I said.

“Oh look, the puppy has bite. How cute.”

Liam inched his sword out enough for it to scrape against its scabbard.

The Exile tsked. “None of that now. Not yet. Tomorrow, an hour after sunrise. I’ll be generous and allow you this night’s rest. The sun will set soon, after all, and battles are much more satisfying when you can watch the blood stream from your enemies’ wounds.”

The Exiles turned their horses and galloped to their host. The mass cheered, waving their swords, and terror swept through me.

They wanted a slaughter.

I wheeled Coirce around, keeping him at a steady pace to hide my nerves.

I rode closer to Liam. “I can’t . . .” The rest of the words choked me.

“You can,” he said. “You can tell them. You have to. It’s not a failure. It’s reality.”

I shoved the terror, any emotion, down until I barely registered what was around me. I must have dismounted and told our host what was happening. Some faces fell. But I remembered little else.

Cianán stood beside me, weary. “Let’s meet the others at your tent.”

I followed dutifully, weaving through the tents, proper ones this time, hoping my facade didn’t crack. My people couldn’t afford to see that, not now.

But partway to our destination, a pair of young fighters—twins, by the looks of it—huddling together drew my attention. They were too young to be in the army, too young to be guards. What were they doing here?

I walked toward them, Cianán watching after me.

“Your Majesty,” the boy said. His sister focused on her feet.

“What are your names?”

“I’m Harry. This is my sister, Tara.”

I took a tentative seat across from them. “What are you doing here?”

Harry frowned. “We’re here to defend the country. Like you are.”

“I admire that, and I thank you for it.” I hesitated as Tara shifted closer to her brother, making her look even younger. Her bark-brown hair was matted, and a poorly bandaged cut sliced through her tan forehead. “But you’re both so . . .”

“Young?” Harry finished. “We’re from Tàs. When the Exiles came, and rebels rose up with them, my siblings and I ran for the Stone Fortress. When Princess Bríghid came, Tara and I knew we had to join her. We couldn’t let the Exiles keep our home, and we couldn’t let them take someone else’s.”

I forced myself to keep looking at him through a swell of overwhelming emotions. Fear. Gratitude. Grief. Anger at Brí for letting them come. Dread that I hadn’t known anything about Tàs. “You didn’t need to do that. Come here, I mean.”

“We did.” Tara finally focused on the conversation. Or maybe she’d been listening the whole time. “Like Harry said, we won’t let them do this to anyone else.” She rubbed a woven bracelet tied to her wrist. “No matter the cost.”

I spotted a matching bracelet on Harry’s wrist. His earlier words came back to me, and my eyes stung before I could get the question out. Before I even knew for sure. “You mentioned you had more than one sibling?”

“We had an older brother,” Harry said. “He didn’t make it out of Tàs.”

Gods, that hit me harder than anything else. The thought of anything happening to Brí was physically painful, but at least she was a trained soldier. If I sent her out, there was a good chance she’d come back. But this . . .

“I’m sorry,” I said. By the way they looked at me, I was doing a shit job of comforting them.

Was this semi-stoic king what they needed right now? They sat apart from me, like they respected me but didn’t see themselves getting too close. Like they had to hold back for propriety’s sake. But their brother had died. They didn’t need a talking statue.

So I let the tears come. “I am so, so sorry.”

Harry broke, and Tara pressed her lips into the thinnest line possible. I held out a hand to her. She grasped it.

“We know the risks.” Her voice was thick with the tears she wasn’t shedding. “But we can’t sit by while someone else loses a sibling. Even if it means we get hurt, if we can stop the Exiles from hurting anyone else, it’s worth it.”

“We all think that way,” Harry whispered.

I tracked where he was focused, landing on a group of thirty or so people. They weren’t wearing anything to mark them as soldiers or guards. In fact, they looked remarkably out of place in a battle camp. Cianán talked with them, his hands clasped tightly together.

“Did they come from Tàs?” I asked.

Tara nodded. “There are a few who escaped Ardanna, too, who made it to the Stone Fortress.”

She was right—there was a handful of people I recognized, fellow patrons of the music store I shopped from. They were talking with a few people I’d seen at the Midharvest Festival. Grove citizens had stolen away with the guards and I hadn’t noticed? Had anyone?

“There are some more, somewhere in the camp,” Harry said.

I squeezed Tara’s hand before making my way toward the group. They may have seemed out of place, but there was no sense of regret from them. No signs they wished they hadn’t come.

One of the music store frequenters noticed me first and bowed at my approach. The others followed suit. Cianán’s smile was tight-lipped. He couldn’t have liked the idea of civilians here any more than I did. What had Brí been thinking, letting them come?

“Your Majesty,” the first person—Mo, I believed—said. “We are sorry everything has escalated to this point.” Their downturned eyes darted to the field opposite, where the Exiles and rebels were likely reveling.

“It’s me who’s sorry. None of you should be in this position.” None of you should have come, is what I wanted to say. They may have known the risk, but did they truly wish to take it?

“Balor hasn’t made things easy on any of us,” a middle-aged, motherly woman said.

“I wouldn’t mind giving him what for, King Dàibhid,” an older man said with a gap-toothed grin. “Give him a taste of what we can do, too.”

“We’re all able and willing,” Mo said. “Well, perhaps more willing than able, but we want to be put to good use. We want to help you defend our country. We’re not much, but we couldn’t sit by and let Cunlaran be invaded.”

“We appreciate everything you’ve done for us during these last few months,” the motherly woman said. “It’s our turn to support you .”

I bit my cheek to keep my fears in check, glancing at each of their faces. As I did, the grip on my cheek, on my heart, loosened. The guards and soldiers were here because it was their job; I hated it, but it was true. They had chosen this life for themselves, and I had to respect that. Had to let them do their jobs, especially when it came to something as monumental as facing the Exiles. But these people, it wasn’t their job. They didn’t choose this life. I didn’t order them here, nor would I ever.

And yet they still chose to come.

Still chose to defend their home.

Still chose to support me.

Still believed in me.

“Thank you,” I said, breathless. “Your support doesn’t go unnoticed, or unappreciated.”

After a few more polite exchanges, I followed Cianán the rest of the way to my tent in a daze. The weight of the crown settled heavier than usual, the loss of Harry and Tara’s brother crushing, the loss of these people’s lives more tangible than ever. But.

Even if Brí had made a decision I would never have condoned, I couldn’t fault her. Not really. These people wanted to be here. Wanted to help. That meant something. I knew what it was to want to protect what you care about. How could I possibly tell them to leave?

I couldn’t. And, surprisingly, I didn’t want to.

Despite the weight of my crown, somewhere, somehow, a different part of me felt a little bit lighter.

Like it had actually started to believe I was doing the right thing.