Page 85 of A Vow of Wrath and Ruin

“I may have a penchant for shiny things, but I’m not dumb enough to open this.”

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

“I know. I’m just tired and paranoid.

She handed me the necklace and I clasped it around my neck. It was the safest place I could think of to keep it.

A breath slipped between my lips.

“What am I going to tell Tharan? I killed a member of his court—a royal.”

Amolie grimaced.

“I don’t know, but you better do it soon. You know how magus love to gossip.”

I leaned back on the bed, scrunching the pillow under my head.

“I’m too tired for this right now.” My heavy-lidded eyes closed. “I’ll deal with this later.”

Amolie pulled the blankets over me before sneaking out of the room.

20THARAN

Tharan staredout at the white city of Elohim. A triumph of architecture, spindled pillars of white marble rose high into the blue sky. Beneath him, the river Wayren carried elegant ships and passengers alike—all this beauty built on the backs of the sylph. Tales of the grandeur of Elohim had spread far and wide, but nothing could quite prepare him for this splendor—each building a work of art, with intricately carved designs displaying the nature of the work done inside. If only Aelia was here to see this.

He took a drag from his cigarette, leaning against one of the granite pillars of his balcony in the palace. Weeks of travel exhausted him, but the prospect of seeing his grandfather kept him up for most of the night. With morning on the horizon, he wished he had slept more. He would have slept if Aelia had been here.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yes, come in.”

Hopper and Sumac entered, each wearing their finest attire. Hopper wore a black caftan embroidered with the seal of the Alder King in gold thread on his breast. His emerald, green hair was slicked back, and his ears were adorned with jeweledearrings. Sumac wore the armor of the Hunt—tungsten leaves woven together like chainmail. Her helmet was tucked under her arm.

“You’re not even dressed,” Hopper said, disapproval plastered across his face. “We are meant to be presented to the king this morning.” He walked to the closet where Tharan’s royal attire hung. “Where is your servant?”

“It’s fine, Hopper. I can dress myself. I sent my servant away.”

“It is not fine. I need you to look your best. We must present ourselves as a legitimate kingdom, not some Wild Court.”

Tharan sighed.

“But wearea Wild Court. In fact, we oversee all the Wild Courts.”

“Yes, well. We don’t have to remind them of that.” Hopper laid a houppelande of deep green and gold on the bed. “Now, go wash. I will call a servant to do something with your hair.”

Tharan and Sumac exchanged knowing glances. Hopper had always kept them in line, even when they were children, but that didn’t mean it didn’t annoy them.

Tharan pulled himself from the balcony and quickly bathed before returning to his suite, where a team of satyrs waited to make him presentable. Weeks in a carriage had left his beard shaggy, and his fingernails needed a good trimming. The attendant made quick work of him, shaving his beard and plucking his eyebrows until the ethereal Alder King emerged once more.

“That’s better,” Hopper said, buttoning the high collar around Tharan’s neck.

“I hate this.” Tharan fidgeted under the stiffness of the fabric.

“I know, but it won’t be for long.” He twisted Tharan’s burgundy hair back behind his ears, before placing the golden antler crown atop his head. “There. Now you look the part.”

Tharan stared at himself in the mirror. A man he didn’t recognize stared back—for the first time since donning the crown, he felt like the Alder King. Power flickered behind his verdant green eyes, and he practiced holding his head high like the elves.

“You look… magnificent,” Sumac said in awe.

---