Page 2 of Chosen By the Fae King

In an instant, I vanished, going directly into my father's bedchamber, with Lorne following closely. My countenance hardened as the scene unfolded before me.

The air was dense with the metallic tang of blood, our father writhing on his bed, a puppet in the throes of an unseen malevolence. His once-piercing gaze now stared vacantly, a silent plea for release.

Liam, the king's head guard and my closest friend, tenderly wiped our father's brow. The room was steeped in an eerie hush, bearing witness to Liam’s insistent vow.

“I will stay with you, my king. Until the end.”

Liam straightened, taking his position near the door, a guardian in the shadows. His noticeable lack of acknowledgment conveyed the depth of his sorrow. He was my brother in all ways but blood.

A haunting groan emanated from the bed.

“Father,” I choked out, moving to his side.

His cold, clammy hand rested within mine. The once-mighty patriarch had been reduced to a spectral semblance of what he was the last time I saw him, mere days ago.

My heart ached at the sight, at the relentless battle that played out in his weakened frame.

“Father,” I repeated, my voice barely audible.

His eyes flickered toward me, a glimmer of recognition extinguished as swiftly as a dying ember. Lorne stood stoic at my side.

“Where are the godsdamned healers?” I demanded of my brother.

“I dismissed them. There's nothing more they can do.”

“Sage–”

“Sage agreed. I sent her to write letters to Hawke and Cade. I have two squads on standby waiting for your approval to deliver them.”

Last I heard, our youngest brothers were distant from Thornewood Castle. The request to write to them would occupy Sage’s thoughts, distracting her from self-recrimination.

Healing constituted her essence, the core of her existence. Dwelling too long within her own mind would torment her soul.

I despised the helpless feeling that enveloped me, standing idly as life ebbed from my father. My king.

His chest rose, lips moving. Lorne and I knelt, bending forward, catching the fragments of his fading orders.

“My sons,” he croaked.

“We're here,” I assured. “Lorne and I are here.” Father didn’t appear to register that only two of his children were present.

“Drayce. Summon … Drayce.”

Lorne leaned into Father’s field of vision. “I already sent for him.”

Drayce was an elder mage with the gift of Sight. He was a close friend of our father. He couldn’t choose what he was shown in his visions, but a small part of me resented his gift for not Seeing this.

Father blinked slowly and took a deep rattling breath. “Find them,” he commanded “... find the bastards. Protect ... the kingdom.”

I nodded solemnly, jaw set with a determination that mirrored the steel in our father's eyes. He continued speaking in fragments, laboring to articulate his final commands.

As Father's breaths dwindled, I directed Liam to fortify the castle and secure the grounds. Unraveling the truth behind this treachery first required ensuring the safety of our stronghold.

Yet amid issuing commands, I couldn't escape the grim reality unfolding before my eyes. The strongest male I'd ever known, succumbing to a cruel fate, was cracking a fissure through the middle of my soul.

The reign of King Orson waned, and the onset of an impending storm cast a shadow over the kingdom.

As the last vestige of breath left his body, the weight of responsibility settled upon my shoulders, a burden far more formidable than any unyielding crown. The searing pain numbed me from within, a sensation I welcomed in the shroud of encroaching darkness.

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