Page 86 of The Last Heir of Elsewhere

The doors flew open once more, and a tall, painfully beautiful man stepped into the room.

I stifled a gasp, and schooled my face into benign interest, but inside I was reeling. I supposed I’d expected the king of Underneath to be monstrous, or at least as unusual as some of the servants and market-goers. But he was not.

The King looked like Bael.

Or rather, Bael looked like his father.

Even if I hadn’t known already that Bael’s father was Gancanagh of Underneath, it would have been evident from a single glance. They had the same dark, dangerous beauty, the same square jaw and high cheekbones, and—most obvious of all—the same cat-like, yellow eyes. More disturbing still, immortality gave the impression that both were about the same age, so that they could have more easily passed as brothers than as father and son. The only obvious differences between the two, as far as I could see at a glance, were that Gancanagh’s pin-straight hair was a dark, chestnut brown, and he was somewhat taller than Bael, so that the king towered to nearly seven feet.

The king crossed the room, flanked by a small group of nobles. Several, I assumed to simply be his inner circle—advisors, and court flies alike. Two, however, caught my attention.

They were small—shorter than the rest by several inches, and appeared slight of bone. “Appeared” as I couldn’t see anything of them, aside from the long, red-silk robes they wore. Both were veiled from head to their toes, making me wonder how they could possibly see where they were going.

The two veiled companions hurried to the king’s side, as he stood behind his chair at the head of the table. He smiled at everyone, flashing razor sharp teeth. When he glanced at me, his eyes flicked up to my crown, before he immediately looked away.

As I watched the king, transfixed, I almost didn’t notice the servant who scurried forward with a golden pitcher, pouring wine into his goblet with hands that trembled like leaves in a tempest.

“Welcome,” the king said finally, raising his goblet high.

As he sipped, I noticed that where hands should be, he had monstrous, cat-like claws. I shivered.

Everyone around me, Ambrose included, raised their own goblets and sipped, and I suddenly realized I should have accepted the wine. I sat awkwardly, unmoving, as I waited for everyone to drink.

Then, without warning, the king smashed his glass upon the ground with a loud crash. The others followed suit, the sound of shattering crystal echoing through the room, and as if it were a signal, music suddenly erupted from the players in the corner, and talking commenced.

“Welcome, Lord Dullahan,” the king leaned toward Ambrose, smiling as if they were sharing a private joke. “I trust the journey was not too strenuous?”

To my surprise, Ambrose pulled off his mask with a flourish and grinned back, like King Gancanagh was an old friend. “Only two run-ins with Charybdis, and not a single dragon. Hardly anything worth mentioning.”

The king’s face fell comically, like that of a child. “How disappointing.”

I choked on air, thinking of the monsters we’d encountered while at sea. I certainly would not have called that “disappointing” as if to see more would’ve been all the more enjoyable.

The sound of my cough turned the king’s attention to me, and his vibrant yellow eyes bore into me, flickering with interest. “Did you not enjoy the journey?”

My chest seized, meeting his too-familiar eyes. Looking at him it was hard to imagine that it was under his orders that Bael himself was currently trapped beneath the castle. “It was…eventful.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the king said to me, leaning all the way forward. “What’s your name?”

Before I could reply, Ambrose cut me off. “You must remember Rhiannon.”

Gancanagh cocked his head, clearly curious. “I do, but this is not Rhiannon.”

“One of her daughters,” Ambrose said smoothly. “The one who was a seer, Rosey, joined my cause several years ago.”

“Hmmm,” the king replied, looking away from me as if his interest had died. “It’s a shame you couldn’t get the other one.”

I sat frozen, a buzzing starting up in the back of my mind. Ambrose had done quite well, in hiding my name without lying. He’d spoken only technical truths, leading to the conclusion that I must be my sister. Except, in doing so he’d revealed new questions. How did the king know my mother? And more importantly, why would he find it “a shame” if I were Rosey, rather than myself?

“So, daughter of Rhiannon,” the king said, addressing me directly once more. “How did you come to wear that crown?”

“I gave it to her,” Ambrose said, again cutting me off before I was forced to reply. “I took it during the battle over the castle, and it looks lovely on her, don’t you think? Besides, I thought it might be enjoyable to have three queens with us, rather than two.”

Gancanagh grinned. “Ah, thank you for reminding me. Allow me to introduce my wives.” He gestured to the two veiled figures beside him.

An awkward silence followed, as neither woman spoke, and the king did not offer their names to us.

“Hello,” I said finally to the nearest veiled woman.

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