Page 4 of Until the Stars Fall

I wished my father had put an end to these royal parties when my mother died. But at the same time, I understood why he continued to host them. Planning the festivities, having the castle decorated with her favorite flowers, bringing in the musicians, requesting that all her favorite foods be prepared—this was his way of holding onto her.

He held his grief closely guarded, tucked away like a withering flower in his pocket, but I still saw it as if he bore it plainly. It lingered at the edges of his weary eyes, giving the appearance that his tears—long since dried out—might burst forth at any moment. It coursed through him, pulling his muscles tight and setting his jaw in a constant state of tension. And when he couldn’t contain it any longer, it propelled from his heart in bitter rage, flung at whoever was unlucky enough to have sparked the fuse.

King Nevan had always had a temper. It was rare to find a fae who didn’t. But the loss of his queen—my mother—had increased that inner anger beyond anything we’d seen from him when we were younger. My brother, Brennan, and I had learned to identify the signs of our father’s coming rage and had become adept at skirting away from him before it landed squarely on our necks.

It was that rage—and my desire to avoid being its target—that had me storming through the palace before dawn had broken. The thumping of my boots against the stone echoed through the cold hallway like a heartbeat thundering away with purpose and drive.

Forcing my breathing to settle into a steady rhythm to match my footsteps, I tried to clear my head and focus only on what needed to be done. But fuck, I hated having to do this. Every single season.

I turned a corner, and my stomach tightened as I recognized the unmistakable sounds of Brennan’s favorite pastime. As I reached his door, I rolled my eyes at the rhythmic pulsing of bodies meeting, the uninhibited moans and deep growls, and my brother’s name on whoever’s lips they were this time.

I had no time for this. I had men to train and security measures to review with the general.

Yet here I was, needing to pull my brother off some female he’d picked up at the pub in town, all so I could spare him—and myself—from our father’s next tirade if we weren’t both there to meet him this morning.

I banged the door open, slamming it against the stone wall, and strode into my brother’s chambers, then moved through the foyer to the doorway of his bedroom. My breath fell to the floor in a sigh, but it was not loud enough to interrupt the scene before me—a scene I’d had the misfortune of witnessing far too many times. A few times I’d tried knocking before entering or shouting around the corner, but nothing could break up the festivities except physically pulling him away.

With calm and deliberate steps, I approached the bed, where Brennan was thrusting himself deep into a redheaded wench I didn’t recognize. Her hair was spread out on the bed around her head like a flaming halo, though there was nothing holy about the moans she let out. I cursed inwardly at my body’s reaction to the scene, ignoring how disgusting it was to be aroused by watching my brother screw someone.

Bending over, I forced my mind to focus and picked up a pair of Brennan’s pants. I flung them in his face. Though his movements slowed and his hand pulled away from the female’s neck, he didn’t stop. Instead, he turned his attention to me and gave me that stupid grin I hated.

“Hello, brother,” he said in a ragged breath. “I never knew you to be the voyeuristic type. Or were you hoping to cut in and take Maeve here for a ride yourself?” He wagged his brow and tossed his head toward the female on the bed. At the sound of her name, she turned to me and shot me a wink. “She’s good for a release, and I don’t mind sharing.”

Clearing my throat, I forced myself not to look away, not to let either of them see how uncomfortable this shit made me. Commander of the king’s army, firstborn to the throne of Emeryn, and here I was having to constantly break up my baby brother’s trysts and pull him back to his princely duties.

“Maybe next time,” I said, trying my best to sound apathetic rather than annoyed. “The king needs us. Now.”

“Let me—” Brennan started to protest.

I tossed my head toward the door, saying, “Maeve. It’s time to go.”

Neither were happy with me—understandably—as they pulled away from each other and proceeded to get dressed. Maeve pressed a passionate kiss against Brennan’s lips and gave his backside a slap before turning to leave, slamming her shoulder into me as she passed by.

I ignored it.

I was used to it.

Same thing happened every stars-damned time.

Pulling a shirt over his head, Brennan sat on the edge of his bed to step into his boots.

“Is it already time for another of Mother’s parties?” he asked, his tone soaked in boredom.

“Indeed. Thought you liked the parties though. Or have you finally fucked your way through every female in our kingdom?”

Brennan’s mouth fell into a frown, and he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, as if he was actually recounting all of his escapades. “I’m sure there’s someone I haven’t bedded yet. There are always the humans.”

“Don’t even joke about that, Brennan.” The warning came out as a growl. “You know the rules.”

“And I’m nothing if not respectful of all our rules.” He took on an air of mock chivalry.

“Right. Let’s go then. The king is waiting.”

With that, I turned away from him and left his room, hoping he would follow as I needed him to. Last thing I wanted to do was drag his sorry ass all the way to Father’s office.

I found my father bent over a massive pile of papers atop his desk, one finger working at his temple. His office used to be one of my favorite places when I was a young, ambitious prince, eager to take my father’s place as ruler of Emeryn. I would run my fingers past the long row of leather tomes that contained the histories of our family and our lands. He never allowed me to actually read them, so I quickly learned to stop asking. They would be mine one day. I could be patient and wait for my time to come.

My father looked as old as those books now, and he was—for all intents and purposes—equally off-limits. Any fatherly affection he’d shown before had disappeared with Mother’s death, and now he only spoke to us out of necessity.

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