Page 12 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

I nod, remembering all too well the elitist rules of the academy. “You think she acted out of love? I always thought she was too proud not to show you off, or that she hoped to destroy Thorald’s marriage in the process.”

His lips purse to the side, and I get the feeling he’s actually considering the question and not at all ticked off by it.

“Who knows why my mother does what she does? She wasn’t wrong about me having the pedigree to pass the academy’s trials, though.

” He takes a long, dejected gulp of cider.

“I was an outcast there. Too frivolous for the darklings, and too dark for the Light Fae. That’s when they coined the ‘prince of nowhere at all’ nickname.

It’s difficult to have the power but not the pedigree to become king.

Must be hard to grasp for a first-born, golden child. ”

A sardonic grimace tugs at my lips, but I lean back in a stretch to hide it.

I don’t pity Seth for his fucked-up childhood—I beat him in every aspect—but it reinforces my belief that the very concept of illegitimacy is idiotic at best and toxic at worst. I could never tell him, but we have more in common than he realizes.

My intoxicated gaze keeps drifting to him. His posture is effortless, yet there’s an unspoken readiness in the way his shoulders are held, as though he's always prepared for a brawl. The fabric of his shirt pulls taut across his chest, and the line of his jaw sharpens when he speaks.

I shouldn’t notice these things, so I gulp down the rest of my cider and climb to my feet. “We should get going. I need a minute alone. Just…wait here.”

The stairs creak under my weight as I make my way back upstairs.

The loft bedroom is quiet, but my pulse thrums loud and fast, dizzy with the promise of impending change.

For eight decades, this room has been mine.

Cracked walls. Scuffed floorboards. Shelves lined with books I’ve read three times over just to dull the sting of time.

I crouch beside the bed and pry up a loose floorboard, revealing the hidden cache beneath.

Glass vials glint in the moonlight. Tinctures.

Ingredients. Tools of a witch’s trade, wrapped in handkerchiefs or tucked into velvet pouches.

I retrieve them with careful fingers, checking each one, then tuck them into the small leather overnight bag I used to carry around when Jonas and I were still a couple.

Funny how it’s the only piece of luggage I own.

But I was never meant to leave for long—not without risking my life.

For years, this place was a cocoon. A place to wait. To grieve. To heal.

But I didn’t come here to wither and die.

I might not survive what comes next—and I’m weirdly okay with that.

I slip Nickolas’s invisibility amulet into the bag first, followed by my Shadow mask, a vial of Spring water, and a few other trinkets I’ve collected over the years.

Each one a spell in disguise, a carefully chosen weapon.

Many Fae sneer at such tools, dismissing them as parlor tricks.

But I can’t use my own magic without conjuring monsters from the ether, so I’ll survive on whatever scraps I can borrow.

My fingers brush over Mabel’s spindle. For a moment, I consider taking it with me. Instead, I tuck it deep into my warded cache, out of sight but not forgotten. It’ll be safe there, warded against tracking spells and out of sight.

Percy hovers beside me, wings twitching. “We’re really going with him, huh?”

Dim city light filters through the window, painting long shadows across the wooden floor. I move to the window, scanning the street below for any sign of the cupids. Timing my escape is crucial. “We’ve been waiting decades for an opportunity to get back in the game. This is it.”

He hesitates, his tiny arms crossed. “You should discuss it with Mabel first.”

“Mabel has already given up on Faerie.”

“She has a point.”

I shake my head. “We can’t stand by while our homeland is under attack. If a war is coming, we have to help the common folk so they don’t get caught in the crossfire of ambitious, ruthless, and privileged royals.”

Percy huffs. “But we don’t need him.”

“We’ll use him, that’s all.”

“I saw how you looked at him earlier.” His voice drops. “You want to hurt Freya through him, but it’s not going to make you feel better. You’re letting your double-H guide you.”

“Double-H?”

“Hatred and horniness. You crave two things, diamantay —sex and vengeance. And not necessarily in that order. Seth is the embodiment of both. You have a crush on him, I can tell.”

“A crush? I stabbed him.”

Percy raises his hands in a mix of defeat and incomprehension. “Foreplay, apparently. You’re totally attracted to him.”

I freeze, my fingers tightening around the strap of the bag. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

I glare at him, but Percy never backs down.

“You want to mess him up, yet you fancy him. It’s a rubbish plan,” he insists.

Arguing with him feels like arguing with myself.

He’s not exactly a voice of reason—too protective, overly cautious at times.

Yet he becomes downright murderous when we’re under attack, playing both angel and devil on my shoulder.

He knows me better than anyone, so whenever we disagree, I feel this annoying pang in my sternum.

But I’m done waiting. I’ve spent too long rotting in exile, watching the world move without me. Faerie is calling me home, and this time, I won’t be checked out of my own chessboard.

“Seth’s hot, but I’m not about to fawn over Freya’s son. We’ll use him as long as he serves us and discard him when the time comes. Besides, the crowns will never give their assent for us to marry.”

“And what if they do?”

“They won’t.”

“Stranger things have happened…”

Again, the possibility of being linked for life to Freya’s son sets my teeth on edge.

But a new, insidious scenario pops into my brain.

If the seven crowns somehow gave permission for us to wed, I’d be free to shut this gorgeous Fae’s mouth with a kiss and ride his cock to my broken heart’s content…

“Be good,” Percy says quickly, like he followed my thoughts down the gutter.

I change from the skimpy dress, opting for a form-fitting burgundy turtleneck and black jeans, and meet Seth downstairs.

The dark Fae is inspecting the saggy tea leaves at the bottom of the teapot as though he’s hoping to read his future in them. His gaze darts up from the pot, and he raises a skeptical brow at the ruby-incrusted mask covering my face. “Didn’t they confiscate your Shadow mask when you were banished?”

“Of course they did.” The weight of the mask over the bridge of my nose sparks excitement in my blood. “This is a new one.”

Seth studies me. The moonlight streaming through the bay windows of the shop deepens the purple flecks of his irises, and I swallow hard.

“You used to fuck him, no? The Shadow King,” he asks.

“That’s old news.”

“And Elio?”

I roll my eyes, suppressing a disgusted grimace. “Are you slut-shaming me right now? I thought you were a modern, enlightened man, not one of those silly Storm Fae traditionalists?—”

“I’m not judging you,” he says quickly, tipping his chin. “Just wondering how any of them could let you slip through their fingers. You’re a catch, witch. Makes me wonder what’s wrong with them.”

“Who says I wanted to marry?”

He shrugs. “Every Fae wants to marry. It’s a double-your-power-for-free card, and very few resist the appeal for long.”

He’s not wrong. When a king dies, the magic they inherited from the realm’s Hawthorn leaves their significant other forever, but the magic they were born with stays with their spouse for life. That’s how Freya inherited my grandsire’s god-given power and became strong enough to compete with me.

It’s hard to refuse the hand of an old king when you know you’ll get to keep his magic forever, when every dead husband means accumulating power.

I’ve always judged Freya for the way she rose to power and held myself to higher standards, but old, serial widows are not regarded with the same distrust as single, independent women. What a world.

I slip into my rain coat and pull the hood over my head, tying the sash at my waist.

“There’s no mirror here, I gather. Not even a warded one,” Seth muses.

I let out an amused huff. “Who do you think I am? I’m not stupid enough to keep a mirror in my home.”

He tugs on one end of the loose knot in the sash of my raincoat. “Don’t bother with that, I can get rid of this weather?—”

“No,” I answer too quickly. The heavy storm will make it harder for the cupids to track me. “Leave it be.”

I keep the breast pocket open for Percy, who flies into it with a resentful pout. “We love the rain,” he adds for Seth’s benefit. Faeling can lie, a fact that is not well-known amongst the Fae.

Seth observes us with a trace of wonder and curiosity. “As you wish.”

Heavy rain glides down the waterproof fabric as we make our way down the street. The dim glow of the street lamps casts menacing shadows across the cobblestones, each of them surrounded by a halo, and I glimpse at the red clouds overhead.

The distant hum of wings on the wind rakes through my core. Seth’s expression darkens, and the energy shifts around him. His fingers twitch, barely a movement, but enough for me to know he picked up on it.

We finally reach the laundrette, and Percy flies out of my pocket to make the window panes permeable, allowing us to slip inside unnoticed. The scents of old detergent and bleach assault me.

Four rows of washers and driers are separated by two alleys, and a huge mirror gleams against the far wall.

"Ready?" Seth asks.

"Let's make it quick.”

He plasters his own mask over his eyes, but just as we’re about to cross the mirror, he grabs my arm, stopping me. My breath catches. Shit. They’re almost here.