Page 24

Chapter 23

B oone’s gentlemen’s club had never appealed to Loren. In his opinion, too many low-class Caersans were admitted merely due to their ability to pay the monthly fee. As it were, it remained the best social club in Laeton and one whose owner revered him long before his ascension to the throne.

Now Loren stepped through the front doors as King, Nikolai at his back and flanked by a dozen hand-picked guards. Two stopped outside on either side of the front steps. Another pair took up position just inside. Still more at the foot and top of the stairs, then outside the room in which Loren settled on a large wingback chair before a low fire. Only Nikolai followed him beyond the threshold, remaining several paces back as they waited.

Loren had called the meeting with several of the old Lower Councilmen of Central Province in the hopes of building a relationship with them, rapport amongst the other Lords, and strengthening his ties with those who now served him. Though confident that he controlled all of Valenul through the might of his military alone, only positives could come from ensuring the prestigious Caersans were on his side as well. It would prove to be most beneficial as he turned toward eradicating the disease that plagued the Keonis Valley: dhemons.

“Nikolai.” He did not turn in his seat, preferring to wait as his Sword stepped into view without a word. “It is my understanding that each of the Lords will be accompanied by their private retinues. Make it known that their guards are to remain outside this room, and no weapons are allowed in.”

Inclining his head, Nikolai gave a prompt, “Yes, Your Majesty,” and retreated to the door where he would greet the Lords and carry out the demand.

To Loren’s greatest pleasure, the ex-Councilmen did not question him. One by one, they trickled into the room and took their seats in Loren’s line of sight. He did not stand. There was no need. Not when each Lord swept into a low bow before him, awaiting his approval prior to sitting.

Lord Braxton Fletcher, a skeletal Caersan with sallow skin, hair the color of straw, and dull gray eyes, was first to arrive. He presented himself with little enthusiasm before claiming a chair nearest the fire and making room for his good friend, Lord William Kolson. The second of the pair was far more handsome with round features, well-kempt brown curls, and a vibrant glint in his gaze as he swept into a flourish of a bow. A strange duo with their vastly different demeanors.

After the two settled in, the next entered with stately confidence. Lord Edley Praad had always been a prime example of what it meant to be a Caersan man. Though thin as Braxton, he took pride in his physical appearance by oiling his black hair straight back from his face. His hooded bronze eyes were sharp and discerning as he greeted Loren. He was, by far, one of the most critical Lords to get on Loren’s side.

The final pair arrived together—the ever-elusive Lord Anders Ashfeld, an elder Caersan man with an ebony complexion and no inclination to attend the local balls, and Lord Felix Dodd, the subject of Loren’s greatest interest and the spitting image of his daughter, Camilla. Both bent at the waist, directing their greetings towards Loren’s boots before retreating to their places.

“I admit,” Loren said after a moment of silence interrupted only by the crackle of the fire, “I am pleasantly surprised you all accepted my invitation.”

An uncomfortable shift from the Lords, then William Kolson sat a little straighter and said with as much enthusiasm as his wife, Dierdre, had for gossip, “I am shocked to hear such words, Your Majesty! We are all of one mind: whatever is best for Valenul.”

Loren narrowed his eyes a touch before sitting back in his chair and studying them all. “And what, pray tell, do each of you find to be best for Valenul?”

“Your Majesty, if I may,” Edley Praad said without hesitation. “We have each sworn our undying fealty to our one and only King. Pray tell, what more do you expect from us?”

Warmth blushed across Loren’s neck and cheeks. “It is due to our good standing and your consistent guidance throughout my life that I am choosing to ignore your tone and mockery, Lord Praad. Do not conflate my generosity with weakness.”

It was Braxton Fletcher who spoke next, his monotonous tone an unnervingly solid match to his appearance. “We came before you, Your Majesty, as you have requested. I can assure you, none of us come with anything but curiosity about the nature of this urgent meeting.”

“Urgent?” Loren cocked his head. “The invitation was sent a week ago. I would hardly call that urgent with the state of things in the kingdom.”

“You have done what you believe to be best,” William said earnestly. “We are but your humble servants to ensure your orders have been carried out with haste.”

Edley sniffed. “With our titles as Councilmen stripped, it has been difficult to maintain our elevated position within the Society and amongst Caersans. We are functioning with naught but our names to hold us apart.”

“It is my desire,” Loren said after a contemplative moment, “for each of you to continue your duties as previously stated. All but that of the Council. Your positions are otherwise unchanged: continue to maintain your lands in the Central Province, and all reports should be sent to me.”

“You wish for every missive to land on your desk?” Anders Ashfeld’s voice wavered with age, but his fierce gaze did not flounder. “You will be chained to your office, Your Majesty.”

“Your concern warms me.” Loren inclined his head. “Lord Governor Gard maintains his position in Notten Province, and Lord Walney has been appointed the position for Eastwood. I am in the process of naming a successor for Waer Province and wish to do the same for Central.”

Another shift amongst the Lords. This time, interest sparked in their eyes. No matter who sat on the throne, the Caersan men of the Society would do as they always had: bid for more power. They had done so when Markus held the position of Princeps, and now that gleam proved he had been correct in assuming they would do the same for him.

“The Council may be no more,” Loren said, “but I hope to keep a company of like-minded men to guide me. The Lord Governors will be a part. Select members of my Court will make up the rest.”

Braxton leaned forward. “With how many Lords do you wish to surround yourself?”

“Naught but a handful of those most trusted.” Loren looked pointedly at them. “Though I hope to choose one of you as Lord Governor of Central Province, earning you a place…I also need the wisdom of those who came before me. Each of you would do well.”

At that, Anders sat back in his chair, hands held aloft. “Your Majesty, we are honored. Unfortunately, I do not see myself indulging in the life required to attend Court with a great King such as yourself.”

This did not come as a surprise to Loren. In fact, he had hoped the idea of Court life would dissuade the elder Caersan. Though he depended on the man to continue his duties in Central Province, there would be little need for him amongst the rest he wished to collect as part of his Court.

“Flattery.” Loren held a hand up to stop Anders from continuing. “I thank you for your honesty and expect you to continue serving the kingdom nonetheless.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“What, though, has become of your son?” Loren had seen the Caersan, a mere three decades older than himself, imbibing at the Noctium ball. “A gentleman such as he would thrive where you may not.”

Anders’s brows rose, his dark eyes widening, “You wish for Von to be a member of your Court?”

“Lord Ashfeld,” Loren said with as much sugar in his tone as he could muster, “I would be honored to have your son in your place.”

With the flattery returned, Loren watched as Anders’s demeanor turned from resigned curmudgeon to spirited enthusiasm. Von had a reputation for avoiding his duties at all costs. By placing him in the Court, Loren won over Anders through adulation and the promise of shaping his heir into the next Lord Ashfeld.

As it was obvious that William needed no encouragement to follow Loren blindly, and Braxton always did as his friend bid, Loren now had three powerful Caersan men on his side. Anders Ashfeld had been a critical piece, and by playing into his paternal role, there was nothing more for him to do in that regard. The final two Lords, however, would be more difficult to sway.

Edley Praad and Felix Dodd were two sides of the same coin. The former was reserved and upheld the traditional expectations of Caersans, not unlike Anders or Markus Harlow. The latter, though far more boisterous and outgoing than his counterpart, did not stray far from the same set of Society-imposed expectations. That Felix had yet to speak at all since his introduction worried him.

“Lord Praad,” Loren said then, turning to the straight-backed vampire. “Would you join me in my Court?”

A moment of silence gave Loren hope. That the Lord was even considering the offer to bring his wife to Court was a step in the right direction. “Victoria would be most pleased with the proposal. I must speak with her prior to making a decision.”

Beside him, William snorted. “Allow a woman to dictate your life?”

Braxton’s thin mouth curled with amusement—the first emotion Loren had seen from the man since his entrance.

“If you must know,” Edley drawled, “we are hoping to add to our family soon and wish to bring a new life into the world in the comforts of our home.”

With a nod of understanding, Loren gave Kolson and Fletcher a pointed look and said, “I thank you for your consideration. As with Lord Ashfeld, I expect your work to not be impacted.”

“Never, Your Majesty.” Edley inclined his head in silent thanks.

“Lord Dodd?” Loren turned to the final Caersan, who had chosen to study the interactions before speaking. “What about you?”

Felix brushed the golden curls back from his face as he cocked his head ever so slightly. “It would be most advantageous to accept your offer, though I fear for my daughter’s propriety if brought to Court.”

At that, Braxton snorted. “Miss Dodd has been far from proper for many years, Felix. Do not lie to yourself. Court may be the only place she has a chance now with the changes of our great kingdom.”

Red flushed across Felix’s face. It had never been a secret that Camilla spread her legs for just about anyone who wished to be between them. Nonetheless, when Revelie had brought Loren to Felix and Camilla at the Noctium ball, she had been more reserved than he had seen her in quite some time. Whatever her father had done to rein in her promiscuity had worked—a shock to Caersans and a sad night for the staff, no doubt.

“Miss Dodd has done nothing more than any of you,” Loren snapped. “She is a Caersan of worth, a close friend of my betrothed, and will not be spoken as such in my presence.”

Braxton returned to his usual neutral self in an instant. “Apologies, Your Majesty.”

“Your betrothed?” William asked, leaning forward in search of gossip with which he could return home for his wife.

Loren frowned at him. “Miss Harlow, of course.”

“Has she returned?” Felix’s eyes flashed with interest.

“She has been abducted by that half-breed due to her father’s negligence after being enchanted by the dhemon.” Loren watched with hidden pleasure as the Lords burst into talk amongst themselves at the outrage. “It is why I have done what was necessary to unite our great kingdom with our military and disposed of the compromised Princeps. He allowed my future wife to be taken right out from under him.”

With a tight jaw, Edley nodded in thought before asking, “Do you know where she has been taken?”

“I have a lead.”

“Good.” Edley inclined his head. “It is a promising match, Your Majesty, despite what became of her father in the end. The Lords of Valenul will be pleased to hear of this.”

“I only hope,” Loren said with feigned distress, “I am not too late in rescuing her. I have tried hard to keep this a secret in fear of my Court being displeased with my choice. But my heart has not wavered since our initial engagement.”

William waved a hand dismissively. “In the eyes of the Society, Miss Harlow was never married. We are eager to see our future Queen return home, safe.”

“As am I.” Loren looked wistfully into the fire.

Clearing his throat, Anders heaved himself to his feet. “Your Majesty, you have our full support. If we may be of assistance, I beg you to let us know. With your leave, I wish to return home to inform Von of his appointment in the Court.”

The rest of the Lords stood in unison, ready for dismissal. Loren nodded to them all. “I thank you for your loyalty. I will call on you all again soon.”

One by one, they bowed. Braxton and William departed, shoulder to shoulder, and whispering as much as their wives. Edley gave him a curt bob of his head, followed by Anders. It was when Felix stepped forward to bid him adieu that Loren held up a hand.

“A moment, Lord Dodd.”

Felix froze, half-bowed. “Your Majesty?”

“I did not wish to speak of it before the others,” Loren said, keeping his voice low as the door closed behind Anders. “It would be my honor to have you as a Lord Governor.”

“Your Majesty,” Felix breathed, “you honor me.”

“Do you accept?”

“Of course!” Felix’s eyes widened as though to deny such a position would cause him great pain. “Your Majesty…I am stunned. I thought, surely—”

Loren held up a hand, cutting him off. “Your daughter is dear to Miss Harlow and, therefore, dear to me. I have reason to believe Miss Harlow is near Eastwood Province. As such, I will be sending a company to search for her.”

Brows creasing in confusion, Felix said nothing.

“Lord Walney took up the position as Lord Governor in Eastwood,” Loren explained, “but I think it best for things to change.”

Felix blinked slowly, inhaling deeply. “You wish for Lord Walney to come to Central Province…”

“And for you to oversee Eastwood,” Loren finished.

“Your Majesty,” Felix said, “I must ask why you believe I would be better suited for Eastwood rather than Central? My family has resided here all my life, and I intended to move my family to your Court.”

With a slow smile, Loren said, “I need men I can trust in the farthest reaches of my kingdom. You are that man, Lord Dodd.”

“You flatter me, Your Majesty—”

“As for your family,” Loren cut him off again, “I think it appropriate for Lady Dodd to join you. Miss Dodd, however, will do best in my Court with Miss Harlow.”

Every drop of color faded from Felix’s cheeks. Had he not been standing and breathing before Loren, he would have sworn the Lord was dead. As it were, he merely gaped at Loren like a fish out of water.

“With my future wife quite possibly in or near your Province,” Loren continued, “I anticipate hearing of her whereabouts soon. In the meantime, Miss Dodd will be expected in my Court by the end of the week.”

Felix gaped at him. “My daughter cannot be without a chaperone.”

“She will be in my care, Lord Dodd.” Loren smirked. “Never fear.”

What else was there to say to such a statement? The King of Valenul would take care of Camilla—a father could ask for nothing more. So, at a loss for fighting words, Felix accepted the proposition and placement in Eastwood Province, thanked Loren for his generosity, and left.

Once alone, Nikolai said from his place in the shadows, “Camilla will be a handful.”

Loren grinned. “I look forward to the challenge.”

Why the fae had decided to follow Emillie in her search for Ariadne, she had no idea. They were, after all, spice merchants and, to her knowledge, unaffected by the turmoil present in the Keonis Valley. With nothing at stake for them, it made no sense as to why they would wish to help her any more than they had already. Luce, most of all, though the lycan had returned to her normal state of speaking as little as possible with Emillie in the nights following their fake kiss.

Emillie attempted to argue this point over the course of several nights as they moved north in L’Oden Forest to complete their rounds through the busy fae markets. Not one of them would hear a word against their developing plan.

To show her gratitude, Emillie learned the ins and outs of setting up their camp properly at each stop. Since she could not assist at the market, what with most of the goods being sold during the day, she stayed behind where she could make the most use of her time. That meant pitching their tents, starting fires by hand, and cooking with the food and culinary herbs gathered at the Noctium harvests.

Though she had begun to get a handle on the manual labor, it was the meals she made that needed additional assistance. Haen, patient as they were, made it their mission to taste each food item before instructing her on what it needed to be palatable. Oftentimes, she did not add enough salt to bring out the flavors—though, occasionally, the problem ended up being too much.

It was on the third night of this that Emillie woke to the greatest surprise yet. Dozens of voices overlapped outside the tent where she had spent the day sleeping and staying out of the sun. After pulling on her clothes and shoving her feet into boots that had worked through fast-healing blisters to form the leather to her feet, she opened the flap and froze halfway out.

The camp, empty when she had gone to sleep, was now filled with high fae, lycans, and even a handful of mage merchants. They stood in clumps around the site, talking amongst themselves, quietening as she emerged. Everyone turned to her in a wave.

“What is happening?” Emillie looked to Edira, heart hammering in her chest at the sheer number of people. She and Luce had gone above and beyond to stay out of sight from those who may wish to return her to Loren. Now, it seemed, there would be no more hiding.

Edira, however, looked to Luce. Turning her attention to the lycan, Emillie bit her lip. There had been no conversation about what happened between them on Noctium, but that did not mean the high fae woman would not know, thanks to her telepathy. Until their strange kiss, she had begun considering Luce as a friend. A confidant of sorts. Someone she could trust when there were so few in her life she could depend on—at least outside of Laeton as they were.

Yet to her surprise, Luce grinned. “I told you all…I’m a queen of sorts around these parts.”

That explained nothing. If Luce spoke figuratively, it made no sense. If not, it held no weight for someone who hailed from a kingdom ruled by an oligarchy. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Luce continued, spreading her arms, “I have influence.”

Well, that solved one issue. Emillie eyed the closest group of fae, now whispering behind their hands and pointing to the veins on her neck. Heat spread across her face. No matter how hard she tried, there was no hiding the very clear Caersan markings or Alek’s blue-stone engagement choker. They almost got her caught with Luce.

When she found her voice again, she asked, “And you called these people here?”

“Yes.” Luce looked around, a light crease forming between her brows. “Well. Not all of them.”

“Why?” Emillie had never wanted to run from a crowd of people as much as she did in that moment. Certainly, there had been moments at balls when she avoided speaking with the Caersan men, but most of the time, she had been forced to confront the Season with her head held high.

“King Azriel the Crowe is gathering an army,” Pol explained. “Everyone’s talking about it in the markets these days. He’s preparing for war.”

For a long moment, the words did not connect in Emillie’s mind. She prided herself on unraveling any knot or solving any puzzle, but none of this seemed to be tied together. War mattered not to her. “I just need to find my sister.”

Luce tilted her head, studying Emillie with those golden eyes. “And these fine folk want to find her husband.”

“To fight for him?” Emillie gaped at those gathered around the camp. “Why?”

“The dhemon usurper has been attacking merchants crossing the Keonis Mountains,” a nearby fae woman explained, her pale hair’s highlights glinting green. “And Valenul is now led by a tyrant that has ruined trade in the north. The Crowe wants them dead, so we want to help.”

For a long moment, Emillie said nothing. She looked around the camp at the faces turned towards her, and now that she had taken the time to look them over more carefully, she realized that most were not merchants as she had first assumed. Many of them had weapons strapped to their bodies—axes, swords, bows, and some she recognized only from books like something called a flail. Though she knew merchants traveled well-armed, many of those gathered appeared far more versed in the intricacies of battle than the spice merchants she had come to know and love—and even they had been able to take on a handful of mercenaries.

“I do not know where to find them,” Emillie admitted.

“We have leads,” Edira said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Dhemons are gathering in the east.”

Emillie looked from her to Luce to Haen to Pol. “I never asked you to fight a war.”

Before Edira could respond, Luce stepped forward. “You have not been listening to my words: I’m a queen around these parts. No one asked anyone to do anything they didn’t want to do already. I merely…pushed.”

“You keep saying queen .” Emillie frowned. “I thought—”

“She’s not recognized by the high fae, perhaps,” a man with a missing eye said and gave Luce a smile she could only describe as wolfish . A lycan, then. “But we honor the old lines.”

Perhaps Emillie needed to go back to bed. Perhaps she had not even awoken yet, and this was all a dream—or, more plausibly, a nightmare. Perhaps the fae were mistranslating their words, conflating two completely different ideas.

All she wanted to do was find Ariadne. After learning that her sister was still alive and Azriel had made it through the Pits of Algorath, her only plan had been to reunite and continue on with her life. That her merchant friends had agreed to accompany her to said reunion was a blessing she had not anticipated. Traveling with them, after all, would be far safer than attempting the trek on her own. She never anticipated they would stay with her, even after they found Ariadne. After all, they had a business to run.

“When did this happen?” Emillie gestured to all those gathered.

Pol grinned. “We never really discussed dhemon politics with customers or other merchants until we realized just how closely you were related to the true Dhemon King. Once we started asking around…”

Edira picked up where he left off, “People began asking why we were so interested. Then Luce ran off on her own yesterday.” The fae woman cast the lycan a withering glare. “And she came back with about half of this group.”

“Why?” Emillie turned to Luce. “Why would you do this for me? For my family?”

Tension gathered in Luce’s posture. She swept her gaze over Emillie from head to toe and back, giving her that familiar feeling of being devoured. Only this time, when Emillie let the discomfort wash over her, her mind no longer wandered to Kyra. It locked on to the way Luce’s lips felt on hers and how her body felt against her body.

But more…Luce’s eyes held a glint Emillie had never seen directed at her before: pure possession.

Before Emillie could linger on the feeling, Luce interrupted her thoughts. “We have a shared mission. You want to find your sister. I want to help the Crowe.”

“Because of what has been happening to the merchants?”

“In part.” Luce nodded to the high fae woman with the green hair. “But also because it is Valenul’s King who put me in chains. I owe him a visit.”

Gaping, Emillie took it all in. Loren had been the General when Luce was arrested for killing the vampire merchants. It was he who allowed the high fae to curse her, forcing her into her lycan form for years, with her only reprieve on the full moon. Had she been imprisoned in Valenul, she would have lived out her sentence in a cell. A cell, but still in her fae form.

“You were arrested by Loren Gard?”

“He didn’t arrest me,” Luce said and sucked on her teeth at the memory. “But he had me dragged back to the Handler and imprisoned in my own body. He traded me for a damn collar .”

The collar that imprisoned high fae. The collar that imprisoned Azriel.

A murmur went up amongst the lycans. They were of the same mind, then. The system allowing them to be cursed was unjust and hated by their people. Compared to how the high fae were treated, it made sense.

And none of it came as a surprise to Emillie—it bothered her as well, though she had no stake in it and could not claim to feel as deeply as they. Nonetheless, witnessing what happened to Luce firsthand had been heartbreaking.

And after weeks of misinterpreting Luce’s furtive glances, guilt curled in Emillie’s gut. She thought the lycan hated her. Perhaps she did in some ways after spending so long hating vampires. But the longer Emillie studied the woman across from her, the more certain she understood that look.

It was the same look Azriel gave Ariadne each night he appeared on duty as their personal guard. He had stared at her with hunger. Desperation. Self-loathing. All because she was the one thing he needed most in the world—the one thing he could not help himself from loving, thanks to the bond connecting him. And the one thing he believed he could never have.

Now, Luce looked at Emillie the same way.

“Thank you.” It was all Emillie could think of to say. She dragged her eyes from the lycan to look at the newcomers gathered around. “Thank you all.”

“Well, then.” Edira clapped her hands together. “What are we waiting for? We have a lot of ground to cover.”

Everyone began moving all at once. People organized themselves around the camp, waiting for their next instructions. The members of Emillie’s company put their magic to use and took down the tent, extinguished the fire, and packed everything away in a matter of seconds.

But Emillie did not move. Luce did not move. For several long heartbeats, they stared at one another. It was only when another lycan approached Luce that the connection broke, and for the first time in her life, Emillie felt as though a part of her very soul had gone missing.