Page 56 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

Brothers

SETH

I hover near the bedroom door Devi just disappeared through, reluctant to leave her alone. The obvious familiarity between her and the Lord of the Tides sets me on edge. Willow Summers waved me off like it was no big deal, but she has no idea what Devi endured.

Luther waits for me at the top of the staircase. “Come on.”

My fists are clenched at my sides. “Promise me your boss won’t harm her.”

“Willow is fond of Devi. Besides, you’re very important guests.”

The humor in his tone warms my chest. It feels like old times, before Morrigan and the tides took him away from me. “Is there honor among rebels?” I ask, mirroring his cheekiness.

He grins, his eyes wrinkled at the corners. “Only for family.”

I fall into step with him.

“So…you and Devi Eros, huh?”

“I love her,” I admit freely. It’s much easier to say the words out loud to Luther than to find a way to break it to Devi herself. I’m terrified of smothering her, of running her off by being too much, too fast. “She’s all I can think about.”

He rubs his thumb across his bottom lip. “Are you sure she didn’t shoot you with a love arrow? Falling in love… It’s not your style.”

His skeptical, sideways glance rubs me the wrong way.

“Oh, stop being a jerk. If you can join the Rebel League of Evil, I can fall in love.”

He raises his palms in front of him. “Alright, alright. Just saying—a couple of weeks ago, we were two chumps on a boat, dying to fuck a manipulative, dark-haired siren. In that moment, I would have betrayed my comrades in arms, betrayed the gods of the tides themselves, just so that Elizabeth would kiss me again. Love and lust, by my count, are never to be trusted. Especially not together.” He pauses for a good second and a half before adding, “And we prefer to be called the Tides of Justice.”

I hold his gaze, lips pressed together, trying to discern if he’s yanking my chain. That bum is totally fucking with me.

“I know my own heart, Luther, and this is not a siren song situation. I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

“You and Devi Eros…” he repeats, shaking his head. “That will drive your mother mad.”

“I don’t care what she thinks. That woman is dead to me.”

He nudges my arm. “See? You’re already rebelling, cavorting with a known traitor and criminal. Freya will try to make it impossible for you two to be together, but here, with us, you’d be free to do whatever you want.”

When he asked me to join him on the boat, I never could’ve imagined saying yes.

But after seeing the damage an unchecked king can do in so little time, I wonder.

The Tidecallers might have been wrong to destroy the Eternal Chalice, but now that it’s gone, we have to rethink the way Faerie works.

And seeing what it did to Devi— allowing my mother to steal her crown because of her political sway over the seven crowns—I’m not so sure it was the neutral, balancing force it was supposed to be.

But without it, the kings and queens will hold too much power over their respective realms, and the continent will stay locked in endless war, any Fae in line for the crown ready to assassinate the current ruler, hoping to take their place.

“I’ll think about it,” I finally say.

Luther squeezes my shoulder. “That’s all I want. For you to give us a real chance.”

He leads me to his bedroom—on the second highest floor of the tower, just beneath the king and queen’s apartments. I pause before entering, my gaze drawn to the other door across the hall.

“Where’s Maddox?”

“In a cell, downstairs. I found him after our father’s death. He was drowning in a Nether cider bottle, whining about not being king.”

Our eyes fly to the sky in sync. Maddox was the golden son, but that made him insufferable. While Luther and I always got along, Maddox treated me like my father did—like I didn’t exist.

“So he’s not the new Storm King…” I trail off. “No mysterious bolt of lightning striking the prison about an hour ago?”

“No.”

I look him up and down. From what I’ve heard from the battlefield, Luther can heal fast, so he might have been able to hide his injuries. “And you’re not either?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Then who?”

Luther raises his brows. “That’s an interesting twist, isn’t it? It would’ve driven Father mad to know that none of us were chosen to succeed him.”

I grin at his logic and step inside his quarters.

Luther’s rooms used to be a teenage prince’s den, and looked the part. I remember the first time I stepped in here: curtains torn down to let the wind in, runes scorched into the floorboards, smuggled trinkets from the new world, and crude drawings of our father.

Now, it’s eerily neat. The rebel clutter is gone, the only remaining legacy of his youth the painting of the Islantide on the far wall.

Luther was always obsessed with the island.

The sting of vinegar and jasmine—typical Storm’s End cleaning products—clutters the air.

The walls are bare stone, the floors scrubbed clean, and the bed is made with military precision.

The space has been emptied out, like he boxed up every part of who he used to be to become who he is.

“Willow is wonderful,” he says, settling into a leather armchair by the fireplace. “She’s going to change the world.”

“But?”

“You know me too well.” He licks his lips, swallowing back a faint smile. “She doesn’t think suffering and grief can be avoided. She doesn’t approve of my experiments.”

My gaze catches on an odd shape in the next room—no doors separate the different spaces of the apartment.

“Is that a spinning wheel?” I ask.

“Yes. One of many.”

A peculiar bite of power ripples from the wheel, luring me in, and I walk closer to it.

“Why? Have you taken up knitting or something?”

The charred, blackened wood is smooth and warm, as though kissed by dragonfire. Golden-foiled Fae runes run along the outer edge of the wheel. The twin spindles are nerved with lyranthium, their pointy edge impossibly sharp.

Luther joins me in his study, hands tucked inside the pockets of his gray breeches.

“They say the right combination of spindle and wheel can spin a Golden-horned deer's fur into a fiber strong enough to link a soul back to its body. Replace the missing tether. I’ve been tinkering with different materials and shapes.”

I walk to the desk and squint at the dozen open leather-bound journals cluttering the space. Their delicate pages are filled with meticulous calligraphy.

“By the spindle… These are the Mist King’s journals.” I flip through a couple of pages, uncovering detailed drawings of Mist jewels and advanced Mist technology lost to this world for centuries. “Where did you find them? I thought all his work had been destroyed.”

“We found them on a remote island in the Breach.” He glances down at his collection with pride.

I brush my fingers over the soft paper. “And what do they say?”

“They talk about the Lake of Souls, the power of the Frost Peak mines, and a disease that spread from Wintermere’s glacier and infected the population, transforming Winter Fae into reapers.

The jewels in the mines fuel the Winter King’s power and make him stronger than his peers.

He gathers souls to boost that power even further, which allows him to become immortal.

The journals give specs for the weapon needed to contain his ice. ”

Ever since his mother died, Luther has harbored a profound hatred for the Fae king who came to collect her soul.

“You’re not just hating on Elio Lightbringer because he’s holding your pal Morrigan captive, are you?”

He gives a dismissive wave. “Forget Rye. She was playing her own game and let herself be captured. Come on, you always thought Elio was a dull, grumpy, better-than-thou asshole. Your words.”

“I don’t deny it.” Devi’s mysterious and intense connection to the man gets on my nerves, I’ll admit.

“But it’s a stretch between ‘mightily self-righteous’ and ‘maniacal king who schemes behind everyone’s back’.

I don’t buy it. Maybe the old Winter King cooked something nefarious on that mountain.

If he did, I bet Elio doesn’t know a thing about it. ”

Luther’s eyes darken. “You can’t deny he’s nearly unkillable.

If the Mist King found a way to bring his loved ones back from the dead—to reattach their souls without losing their essence, to stop the inevitable rot that usually takes over a dark soul—who’s to say death can’t be avoided entirely?

That a reinforced tether, similar to the one the Winter King has, couldn’t prevent the bond between soul and body from snapping in the first place? ”

The clear-cut longing in his voice brings chills to my spine, but alas, I fear this is a hopeless crusade.

“That’s a fever dream, Luther. A sales pitch Armand Moonreaver used to rally his army and launch an attack on the continent. He dangled immortality like a worm on a hook to justify his war.”

Luther taps the closest journal with his fingers. “Not according to these texts. They’ve been lying to us, Seth. The old Mist King wasn’t insane. He didn’t want to become the one true king—not at first. He just wanted to vanquish Death.”

After my chat with Luther, he takes me to the guest room below his floor.

I pause in the doorway, holding my breath.

Percy’s body is set on the mantle above the hearth, while Devi stands in front of the window.

She’s fresh out of the bath, wrapped in a soft black robe that hugs the swell of her hips and slips just enough to reveal her collarbone.

Her long brown legs shine in the light, and her red curls frame her face like a halo.

My pulse swirls. The way her robe hugs her slender waist, the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the strength in her posture even in this intimate moment…

Her beauty stings my heart.

I make my way to her and try to wrap my arms around her, but she sidesteps. “Wait.”