Chapter Text
Inspired by the excerpts from The Wicked King (The Cruel Prince #2) and The Lost Sisters (The Cruel Prince #1.5) novella
The Hunter's Moon Revel is hosted at the Milkwood, just as Locke promised. The display of wealth and ornate decorations is dizzying. Chandeliers of mica reflect the flickering candlelight in their positions above us, casting the room in a calm, warm glow. A band plays a tune that is so loud, it sends rhythmic pulses through the floor.
It is a lot to take in, but I am the only one who notices—the rest of the guests are very much in the process of getting drunk.
It is a good summary of Faerie.
Guests mingle, adorned in lavish furs and silks. It isn't hard to find Taryn in the crowd, hanging on Locke's arm like a leech dressed in midnight blue. She is whispering to him quietly, laughing every so often at something he says. Each time she does, it feels like a personal blow.
It has been six months since we have had a proper conversation. Neither of us will give the other the satisfaction of yielding. My honor will not allow me to, and her childish nature prevents the possibility of apologizing from entering her mind.
I curl my hand into a fist and force myself to look away. I desperately want my sister back, but she lost me when she betrayed my trust.
"It's funny how much I catch you looking at him."
I glance at Cardan from the side where he sits on his father's throne, sipping green-tinted wine.
Even though Locke was not the one on my mind, I reply anyway. "How nice of you to let me know."
I stand at attention by his side, my sole duty to be vigilant for anything that might cause him harm. I have not been doing a very good job so far, it seems, if I am to lose myself in regret and wishful thinking.
He chuckles. "I never tire of hearing you lie."
"I'm glad." There is no amusement in my tone, probably because I'm dead inside.
His lips pull back over a smile.
"Maybe if you found someone else to occupy your time, you might not think of him so often." His eyes gleam mischievously. "I am sure a number of these faeries would love for nothing more than to have you command them, to strip their control away."
I ignore the jibe. "You're enough for now."
"For now? Or for another six months?" His grin is cruel.
It is times like these that I am reminded of how much he has hurt me, of how much I'm supposed to hate him. I remember how he has done nothing but make my life miserable. Memories of the river, the nixies, the fear come rushing at me and level my head most of the time. But sometimes I remember other things.
Like the way his lips molded to mine as if they were crafted specifically for the other.
Or my name written over and over on a sheet of parchment.
Or how he looks at me as if I am the most alluring and dazzling and confusing thing he has ever seen.
Sometimes it is hard to hate him.
The Bomb clears her throat. I had not even heard her approach.
I break our stare faster than a strike of lightning. Cardan's gaze lingers on my face, though, and he purposefully takes longer to turn his attention over to the Bomb.
"Balekin has sent another letter," she says watching me for any tell.
"Oh." Cardan frowns. "I do not think I will read it," he drawls, swirling his wine.
"It is not for you, but for the kingmaker." She nods toward me.
I wonder what I said to Balekin that was unclear enough for him to send me a note. "Set it on my desk. I will attend to it after the revel."
When I went to visit Balekin in his cell, our discussion led to nothing more than his proposal of a ludicrous bargain. He promised he would give me anything if I released him, but I don't think he understands that I already have everything. Well, at least material wise.
I am lacking in the other department.
"Very well," she says, and disappears into the crowd. A few seconds later, the large oak doors have been opened, and I see a flash of white and then nothing.
Cardan looks surprised for the briefest moment before he smoothes his features out. "Your visit must have made quite the impression—my brother has finally realized that you are the one with the power to free him." He smirks, as he usually does when bringing up our arrangement. "But only for another six months." His smirk grows wider.
"Pray that I do not kill you before then." I don't try to keep the sneer out of my tone.
"But then who would you have on the throne? My psychotic sibling, or your brother who can't sit still for more than two seconds at a time?" he wonders aloud.
I don't have time to respond before Locke bounds up the dais wearing his usual cunning air. This time the guards do not try to stop him.
He bears two silver plates, one covered with rich, divine foods and the other bearing a mortal apple and crackers.
I know which one is for me. And I hate him for it.
"I was tasked with bringing these to you," Locke says. He hands Cardan his plate first, and then mine to me with a grin.
I stare down at the sparse food, wondering if, were I not in such a high position of power, he would have laden my plate with dirt and grass.
I do not thank him.
Cardan doesn't seem to notice and starts to pick at a candied plum. "You do have the best taste in delicacies," he tells Locke, chewing thoughtfully.
"I must admit, it is a talent of mine."
The two share a laugh, and I clench my teeth.
My hunger gets the better of me, and I bite into an apple slice gingerly, wincing at the salty flavor. It does not escape the notice of Locke.
Cardan notices that Locke does, and he whispers furtively in my ear. "Go back to the palace." There is something akin to worry in his voice, but it is gone as quick as it came. "I don't think you will want to bear witness to what he most certainly has planned."
Locke angles his body toward the crowd. "It is a shame you mortals must lather your food with salt," he says, directed at me, but loud enough to draw the attention of the gathered Folk, "while we may have whatever we wish without a second thought."
I still hold my half-eaten apple slice and grit my teeth. I shake my head the smallest bit toward Cardan, and he gives me a look that says I am on my own, that I should have left when I had the chance. He has no choice but to play along with Locke's ridiculous game.
"And sometimes even that does not work," Cardan adds thoughtfully, voice raised to reach the back of the crowd as well.
By now, our guests have stopped dancing and they all stare on.
"What are you doing?" I hiss. I thought he would at least try to salvage my dignity before Locke completely squandered it, but apparently, I was mistaken.
"Tell us what you think of our Lady," Locke says, looking like an over-eager child. It is unnerving. "Is it not tiring to watch her salt her food day after day after day? It must be amusing, though," he decides with a grin.
"Very much so." Cardan plasters an easy smile on his lips.
"It does so remind me of a story . . ."
"And what could that be?" Cardan hands his plate over to a servant and crosses one of his legs over the other.
Locke's smile widens as he gazes out over the Folk.
"The story I am thinking of is an old legend about a Faerie who enchanted a mortal queen to eat off the forest floor in front of her people. Once they saw how mad the queen must have had to become to do such atrocious things, the Faerie soon enchanted them, too." He pauses for effect and his eyes slide to mine. "This is the story of how the Queen of Mirth was created. It is a lesson, for no matter how mighty a mortal is, they are no match for their superiors."
Laughing echoes off the floor in rolling waves. Goblins, hags, pixies, and Fae alike cackle together in a chorus.
Locke's tale was not one to mock—although it did just that—but it was a warning from both him and my sister. They both know that the power I have is too great for mortals to wield and that they will not be waiting for me when I fall.
"Are you insinuating something, my dear friend?" Cardan asks, wariness gone out the window completely.
I hate him I hate him I hate him.
Locke's grin is crooked. "I believe you find yourself in the council of the Queen of Mirth, your majesty."
The laughter turns to a roar. They shriek out Her Majesty! and the Queen of Mirth!
I glare at Cardan for letting this happen. I pour all of my hatred into a single look. I want him to see how badly he has hurt me.
He only smiles in return.
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold. Taryn thinks I am too bold. She thinks that I should just marry into a position, just like anyone else that ever looked my way, and not win it as an honorable knight would.
I will disappoint her. I will continue to be bold, and I will grow bolder still. I will ruin, I will ravage, I will reign even if all that is left is nothing.