Page 1 of The Last Heir of Elsewhere

PROLOGUE: BAEL

THE WAYWOODS, HUNTING DAY, ONE YEAR AGO

“The dead are loud today.”

Scion let out a long-suffering sigh, and dug his heels into the sides of his horse. “I have never known you to make a single statement without some insipid follow up, Bael. What are you getting at?”

“I was merely commenting.” I grinned. “I think they know it’s hunting day.”

He snorted with derision. “What a wretched existence. To be foolish enough to die in the hunts and then to haunt the grounds where one died. I’d rather face true death.”

I chuckled darkly. “If you say so.”

Scion offered me another contemptuous glance. He still rode his war horse, even in the quiet woods on the outskirts of the palace grounds, and it was a testament to how well he’d trained the beast that it didn’t break stride or react to his constant movement.

My cousin and I looked nothing alike. Where he was dark-haired, silver-eyed and pale, I was golden in all ways. Even his expression was opposite mine: set in a perpetual scowl. Scion had only been back in the capital for a matter of weeks and clearly the confines of court life were grating on his temper.

Selfishly, I didn’t care.

Miserable or not, I was thrilled to have my companion back. I’d been painfully bored this last decade. There was hardly anyone to talk to except Gwydion, who was duller than dishwater, and Aine, who was away from home almost as often as Scion. Still, it was plain to see that Scion was miserable.

Of course, that was hardly a novelty in our family.

To be an Everlast was synonymous with misery, and had been for the better part of seven thousand years.

“This is pointless,” Scion groused as we crossed over a small stream and into a denser patch of trees. “There wouldn’t be anyone foolish enough to enter the woods today.”

I hummed in agreement. King Penvalle had sent us out today to make sure that the hunting ground was secure. It was a pointless task that anyone could have done—we had thousands of servants and any number of them could have ridden through the woods, yet he’d demanded that we go personally. It wasn’t clear to me if it was a power play or if he was simply mad. Perhaps a bit of both.

My gaze caught on the path ahead, where the sun shone through the trees. A translucent spirit flew past, chased by an errant Underfae. I raised an eyebrow. It was as I’d told Scion: the dead were loud today.

They always were on hunting days.

Perhaps because the first hunt of the season was always held in the capital. It was impossible to count how many souls had been lost here over the last seven thousand years. These woods were full of the imprints of those who had lost their lives—or rather given their lives—to the Wilde Hunts.

Interrupting my thoughts, Scion craned his neck back to me again, this time turning nearly fully around in his saddle. “Are you planning to attend the hunt?”

I tensed. What he really meant was: “are you still going to tow the family line and stay well away from the woods this evening.” He could have asked straight out, but for some reason he did not. While it was rude in the Fae court to be so direct, we never followed such laws amongst ourselves.

I shrugged. “I thought I would attend the party at the very least.”

“Hmmm,” Scion said.

“What?”

He paused, and it was only the tiny stiffening of his shoulders that told me he was struggling to come up with a reply. “You know I would prefer you came with me, but it might be too dangerous for you.”

I rolled my eyes. “If you’re concerned about my getting caught up in the violence, don’t be. You haven’t been here for the past years, so you haven’t seen how bad the court has become. If I were to be overtaken by bloodlust it surely would’ve happened already.”

Scion’s hands clenched around his reins, his knuckles turning white. “If I didn’t know better, I’d call you a fucking liar. Grandmother wouldn’t allow that.”

I laughed. “She always had a blind spot for her sons, you know that more than most.”

Scion fell into an uncomfortable silence. His father had been our grandmother’s oldest son, the one who, if not for his untimely death, would wear the crown now instead of our Uncle Penvalle.

I would’ve liked to say Belvedere would have been the better choice for king, but then I really would be a fucking liar. Penvalle was bad—half-mad, violent, and power hungry—but Scion’s father had been worse…whether my cousin acknowledged that or not. Not that I should judge anyone for having a monster for a father. The heinous actions of my own father—my real one—would easily outweigh anyone else’s crimes two times over.

I opened my mouth to say something about it, but lost my train of thought as leaves rustled up ahead and a breathy moan reached my ears. I turned my head toward the sound like a wolf scenting prey. “Did you hear that?”

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