Page 16 of The Cursed Crown

They were testing each other at every turn, pushing and pulling the cord of power to establish dominance over each other. Rissa supposed it was natural. The king was used to having his will obeyed without question, because of his magic as much as his position, and she didn't bow to anyone. But this was the line. Innocent bystanders weren't going to get in the middle of their pissing contest.

Rissa folded her legs under her butt, and once she was balanced on the horse's back, lifted her bust to reach Rydekar's height. She tilted her head to his neck. With a clearer view of his face, she could see him open his mouth. Before he could ask what she was doing, she darted her tongue out, licking the tip of his long, curved ear. Whatever kind of magic one used, concentration was key. She didn't know one fae who could have remained indifferent to that treatment.

The poor puck dropped to the ground again, harder this time. He definitely wasn't having a good day. At least he was still breathing. Rissa sensed him, but her eyes remained on the predator she'd just nettled.

"You dare?"He looked at her like she was a bug he meant to squash under his boot, disgust mingling with anger.

She grinned. "I said enough. I don't like repeating myself."

"You dismissed my authority. In public. I've killed for less."

"We've already established that you need me. If anyone does the killing, it won't be you." Before he fit a word in, she held her hand up. "Besides, let's not pretend this little show was for the puck's benefit. You were flexing your muscles. Only, you fail to understand that I can't be intimidated. I’m not afraid of you. Youwill notaddress me as a queen, or I'll walk out of here. It's that simple."

Amethyst was supposed to be a cold color. It shouldn't have been able to burn so brightly.

The horse resumed its leisurely stroll. Considering the matter closed, Rissa returned to her former position, ass on the saddleless back.

They walked in silence until they'd reached the palace. Up close, the immense structure was as intimidating as it was magnificent. Age didn't seem to have touched the bright polished stone, though moss and ivy had claimed it. Wide, open arches curved at every floor, no doubt allowing for a stunning view of the sky. Yet the moment they entered, heat warmed her cold fingers. The place had been spelled to remain pleasant throughout the year.

The main courtyard was crawling with flamboyant folk of many stations. Tall, ethereal beauties in silk and gossamer, the tiniest of devas, buzzing like butterflies, imps with long, sharp twigs for fingers, and goblins covered in gold. They were an odd bunch—not just gentry, not even high fae. Chaotic, Rissa supposed.

In the shadows of the courtyard, close to a set of colossal iron doors, stood a gathering unlike the rest of the crowd in every aspect. Rissa only recognized one of them, but had she never encountered Lord Gaulder, she would still have known the eleven grey-clad, sober, somber men for what they were. A company of seelie folk. Three lords, a handful of knights and servants. They bore discrete sigils on their chest. A reddish-brown oak leaf on Gaulder's chest, for the Autumn Court he ruled, and a spiderweb on the man standing at his right. Spiders were the symbol of the Kraver, head of the Court of Bones.

Rissa wet her lips.

Rydekar's horse reached the center of the circular courtyard, the thick crowd giving way before him. As one, all fell low as they could. Fabric pooled on the ground as the ladies curtsied, eyes low. The men practically hit their head on the pavement in their eagerness to bow as deeply as they could.

This was nothing like the kind of honor Rissa's father received. The Court of Sunlight, though none too impressed with his choice of breeding partner, respected Titus Brear, but they didn't fold low enough to cause discomfort.

This wasn't respect. It was fear.

Rydekar dismounted, then lifted his hand without turning to her. Rissa was tempted to snub him. She could get down from a damn horse by herself. She knew better. This court was watching her from the corners of their eyes, each of her moves analyzed, dissected.

Rissa noted that the seelie folk didn't so much as incline their backs. Not to Rydekar, and not to her.

She wasn't the only one to notice.Rydekar’s glare closed on them.

To distract him before he decided on another show of power, she took his gloved hand and let him wordlessly lead her to the gates. Three large steps elevated the entrance of the keep. They walked up—as though Rydekar's great height wasn't enough to ensure he stood above all—before the king deigned turn to his folk and wave his authorization to stand.

Rissa couldn't help it. "You're a prick," she mumbled, barely moving her mouth.

"Then you and I should get along famously. Kin calls to kin." Rydekar was beyond mumbling.

Rissa felt her energy drain as they approached the iron gates before them. She couldn't make sense of why a fae keep would have such monstrous doors. Iron was lethal to the folk.

Naturally, Rydekar barely seemed to sweat. With a sharp grind that set her teeth on edge, the doors oscillated.

"Someone should grease that thing."

"I can get you a pot of fat if you're volunteering. I'll watch."

Rissa didn't dignify him with an answer. She wished she could get away with kicking the king's royal ass, but beyond the gates, there were more eyes probing for weakness.

The gathering was endless. Hundreds and hundreds of folk had rushed to this endless hall painted black, green, and white. The colors of Mab, the first and last queen who'd ruled both seelie and unseelie. Her intricate symbol was carved everywhere—on the heavy planks of woods supporting the ceiling, on the columns, alcoves, and checkered flooring. AB, within anA, within anM. Though not exactly subtle, the symbol was pretty enough.

"Anyone I should watch out for?" Rissa was glad she sounded indifferent.

Truth be told, with every step further into the keep, she felt more trapped, threatened. She was surrounded by potential enemies. As much as she'd loved the Old Keep at first glance, she would have preferred to be a thousand miles away if it meant avoiding these people. Their eyes. Their whispers.

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