Page 20 of The Cursed Crown

Hesitation. Theyhadnews, that much was clear, but it wasn't good. None of them wanted to share it first.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" His voice was soft as velvet. Fear flashed in the eyes of the woman and the two men who knew better than to test his patience at the best of times.

Morgan stepped forward, clicking the backs of her heels and bowing her head in one gesture. "I'm not sure how to say it. I regret to announce that we have a confirmed sighting of your father, sire.”

"Oh boy," Khal grumbled, wisely choosing to make his way to the wooden cabinet where Rydekar kept his liquor. “Wait a minute. We better be imbibing for this." He poured six drinks, before taking one in each of his hands.

Khal joined Rydekar and raised the cups, wordlessly inviting him to choose one. Indifferent, Rydekar vaguely pointed his chin toward the left one.

He was suspicious of almost everyone, with good reasons. Not Khal though. If that drink was poisoned, it was the cup, or the alcohol itself that had been tampered with. Khal had risked his own life dozens of times for Rydekar. In exchange, Rydekar offered him something he bestowed upon no one else: his blind, unfailing trust.

Khal took a sip of both drinks before handing one to him. Rydekar frowned. He didn’t like Khal using himself as a tester, and Khal knew it.

Most poisons couldn’t take the life of a highborn fae, but Rydekar’s bloodline was considerably muddled—with a colorful heritage that included human, pixie, and puck blood. Most of the time, it was a good thing. For one, his family was more prolific than most fae. Human blood had strengthened their seed. He was also faster, thanks to the swiftness of the pixies. And Rydekar was blessed with magic beyond the wildest imagination of most gentry. On the flip side, he could be poisoned. Not killed, perhaps, but certainly weakened.

Khal had a human grandfather—he’d feel the effects of a toxin faster than him. Rydekar still disliked his cousin’s zeal.

The rest of the advisors served themselves, rightfully not expecting the general of Tenebris’s armies to serve anyone but the high king.

Morgan downed her entire glass in one go. She was looking everywhere except at him, though Rydekar knew his spy was no coward. Whatever her awkwardness was about, it was terrible news for the realm, which meant that he had to hear it—now.

She bit her lower lip, a move that would have captured his attention in the past.

Morgan was a beautiful air folk, a winged fae of dainty limbs and rapid, graceful movement. Her nature made her the perfect spy, silent and swift when she needed to be, but also capable of infiltrating whatever court she wished to enter. Rydekar wasn't one to mix the affairs of the realm with his pleasures, but there was a time or two he had been tempted to make an exception for Morgan Vayra. Now, her sensual lips seemed too thin, too pink. His mind was on another mouth—darker, plumper.

He circled his desk and sat upon his imposing seat.

They stood in an informal study, one he occupied only when he wished for privacy. When they woke in a few hours, he would have to address the entire council, the lower kings and queens of various unseelie courts, and the rest of the lords, including the pompous seelies who’d graced him with his presence. For now, he wanted to be informed of everything going on, so that he could take action on the urgent matters, and think upon what could be dealt with later in his sleep.

Hisfather. Rydekar’s jaw ticked.

Dorin Bane was a consistent thorn in his side. After having killed his elder sister Nebula, Dorin fully expected his mother Charlotte to name him heir to the realm. When the queen retired, choosing Rydekar as her successor, Dorin pronounced her mad, and raised a pitiful army of fanatics to claim Tenebris.

Dorin wasn’t a bad strategist, and his skills at combat couldn’t be underestimated. Still, his insurrection was squashed like bugs. They were too few in number to manage to take the crown. Charlotte's last act as ruling queen was to banish her son. Since then, Dorin had attempted to sneak back into Tenebris a number of times.

Hearing his name now could not be a coincidence. Rydekar took a sip of his drink and let the alcohol burn his throat on the way down. "Talk."

"He is with Antheos, sire. I saw him myself, when I was leading a flight over the northwest of Denarhelm to see the progression of the enemy through the seelie land.”

Khal spewed a trail of curses, but Rydekar could only sigh. He couldn't even pretend to be shocked about this development. He was certainly surprised, but it made sense for Dorin to ally with the west. A selfish, self-centered, ill-tempered fool with no sense of loyalty to his kind, Rydekar's father was the worst of the high fae. He took everything for granted, and when he didn't get what he wanted, he lashed out in anger, no matter who got hurt.

Dorin had always been an issue of minor consequence. He lacked supporters in the courts, and worse, he’d lost the respect of most unseelie courts—not for attempting a coup, but for being so easily thwarted. That said, at the head of a foreign army, he could become a true problem. For one, Dorin knew the land. He knew the location of the Old Keep, as well as every other castle and fortress in Tenebris.

“How do we feel about patricide in these parts?” Havryll wondered out loud.

“Indifferent,” Rydekar shot back.

That much was true. His ancestor, Nevlaria, had killed her own mother for the good of the realm—and her mother hadn’t been a treacherous, spineless bastard.

Havryll nodded, and exited the room without taking his leave. If he was commissioning assassins, Rydekar didn’t need to know.

"What of the seelie?" Useful as the news of Dorin may be, he hadn't sent Morgan north on a mission to locate his father. The spies had been dispatched to see what was going on with Denarhelm. “Are they sending their forces to us?”

Rydekar had addressed his missives weeks ago, as soon as a threat from Antheos became real. In all this time, the seelie realm sent a fair few number of ambassadors to discuss treaties and potential alliances, but nothing concrete happened. Only in the last few days, since Antheos breached the western borders of Denarhelm, had he been contacted with promises of troops traveling to him. But they were just that, promises. He needed the soldiershere.

Morgan nodded. “Some are. I've seen movements from the Court of Bone, the Court of Stars, the Summer and Winter Courts, though I can't say they sent all of their army. They’re sending their people with a portion of their troops, and posting soldiers on the paths Antheos is taking.” Rydekar nodded. He’d expected as much, and that was exactly what he needed. “Nothing from the Court of Sunlight. They reinforced their own borders, though.”

"Is that all?" Denarhelm was divided into thirteen courts. One for each season—autumn, winter, spring, and summer—one for night, one for day—or Sunlight, as it was called. Then there was a Court of Stars, one for blood, one for bone, one for iron, one for silver, crystal, and the most reclusive of all, the White Court. Too many. The country should never have been divided and taken by so many rulers. Rissa had been right in her assumption that the lower kings and queens wouldn’t like bowing to her after a thousand years of independence.

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