Page 14 of Fae Exile

At her feet rested the heads of the husband and wife.

Yorgen’s and Idra’s final moments were preserved on their faces. Their eyes were wide and pleading, their mouths open insilent screams. Their skin was already taking on a waxy, bluish tinge.

The lord and lady of Magiarantos couldn’t get any deader.

And yet, whenever their heads had been delivered to the queen, they’d been fresh enough for blood to drip from their severed necks and run down the steps of the dais to pool on the floor in incongruous, pretty, shiny puddles.

The hair atop their heads stood up in obvious handholds, where her guards had likely carried them back by their manes.

It was impossible to live at the palace for any length of time and not be aware of her cruelty, and yet, even after almost four years here, I still couldn’t help the shock that rippled through me. It was what she wanted: to stun and terrorize us all until there’d be no one left to oppose her.

That reminder alone led me to steel my resolve—without any outward sign. No, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of witnessing the effect she still had on me after all this time.

“You,” she began, her abrupt accusation startling me despite my resolve, “have betrayed me.”

A stunted whimper and a soft cry rose from somewhere in the crowd, but I didn’t search for their source. I didn’t move a muscle that might draw her attention.

It seemed to be the plan of everyone there. My brothers had perhaps never stood so still. Beyond those frightened, hushed outbursts, there was no rustling, no murmurs, no coughs or throat clearings.

We scarcely breathed.

“The”—she sneered—“ladyandlordof Magiarantos believed they could leave my court without the requisite approval, that their will was their own.”

Her stare swept the crowd, somehow seeming to bore into every one of us at once. “No!” she boomed, and even I jerked. The woman to my left jumped and squeaked, then immediatelybit her lip to keep from crying out. Her fingers shook, and the woman on the other side of her gripped them in silent support. I didn’t look to recognize their faces.

“Those aren’t the rules!” she bellowed. Ivar and Braque stood to either side of her, their approval etched across the hard lines of their faces.

A line of her royal guards, standing behind the field of their scrutiny, allowed themselves to appear as frightened as the rest of us. They defended the queen, yes, but she ordered them to.

Only Braque and Ivar seemed to choose her. Not even the king would have, he’d made that much apparent to any of us who dared note his behavior.

“No one leaves unless I say so,” the queen continued, more softly now and yet, somehow, even more menacingly. “Andno oneruns away from me in the middle of the night when I suspect theymurdered my son.”

Her upper lip curled in disgusted derision, then she spat on their heads. Her spit glistened along their hair, catching the sunlight that streamed in through the many large windows that lined one side of the room—the very wall Elowyn had leaned against when I’d had to make the most difficult and frightening decision of my life, the one that would forever haunt me.

“I declare this woman and manguiltyof the worst crime conceivable, of themurderof the crown prince of Embermere. For the murder of my son, and for the promising future they stole from him and this very kingdom, I condemn them to the death that has already been served, and to the immediate death of every descendant of their bloodline. I strip them of all of their belongings. The titles of viscountess and viscount of Magiarantos, and all their holdings, will be absorbed by the crown until such time as I decide to dispose of them.”

The free hand of the woman beside me shook violently. Still without even looking to see if I already knew who she was—likely—and whether she was one of the many unbearable pests that buzzed around court, seeking any advantage, I clasped her fingers in mine. She squeezed my hand hard.

“Bring out the descendants,” the queen commanded, and royal guards, several ashen-faced, delivered three women and one man to stand beside the heads of who I presumed were their parents. The ages were right; they appeared to be in their early twenties, though with faekind and our long lives and slow aging, I couldn’t be certain.

The guards stepped back, the rows of nobles also sliding backward to make room for them, and one of the women, the youngest, turned to run away. A guard caught her easily and held her in place beside her siblings.

“Do you know why you’re here?” the queen asked them.

The girl who’d run shook her head violently. Her hair, loose from sleep, scattered jerkily. Her thin nightgown and bare feet indicated they’d been dragged from their beds from their family home somewhere beyond the palace.

The young man dipped his head. “No, Your Majesty.” His reply was a wave of sadness so intense I could feel it mingle with my own. His downturned stare was pinned on the severed heads of his parents.

“Your parents betrayed me. Betrayed the crown of Embermere. There is no greater sin. They killed my son, the very prince of this great kingdom.”

None of the children responded other than for a truncated whine.

“Well?” the queen snapped. “What do you have to say to that?”

The young women glanced at their brother. He cleared his throat and ventured, “That, uh, Your Majesty, doesn’t sound like something they’d do. I don’t believe they’d kill the prince or otherwise harm the royals of Embermere.”

“Only they did!” she thundered, and the woman beside me gripped my fingers so tightly my bones creaked. “They ran from me instead of pleading their innocence. They’re as guilty as any of you.”

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