Page 27 of Brutal Fae King
Oh, gods! I can’t…
I cover my face and sob a little. It doesn’t even matter though, does it? She could already be dead from Weeping Fever, just like everyone else in my life…
But what if she’s not? Whatif…?
It tears me up that I’m never going to get to go home. Knowing she died from the Weeping Fever is one thing—that’d be tragic, and the grief would destroy me, butneverknowing… that’d be so much worse.Somuch worse.
If I could just go home and check… then things would be better, I’m sure. Even if I was still trapped here ultimately, I’d be able to accept it better if I was able to at least see her once. Even being forced to be queen would not be so terrible if I could just-
Wait…
I look around myself, sitting in the dungeon; the realization has hit me like a wild horse.
I’m the Queen! What am I doing in the dungeon?!
I stand up.
The witch declared that I was Queen! That outranks even the King! I shouldn’t be spending my time in the dungeon!
In fact, it goes further than that, doesn’t it? If I’m the rightful heir, with even more claim to the throne than the king himself, and the fate of the kingdom rests on me being here, then I can use that as leverage. After all, he’s been ruling the kingdom, and I’m sure he wants to keep it that way. I’m sure he doesn’t want someone to just walk in and legally usurp him—like I could. That would throw a wrench into any of his plans. I could make all kinds of demands of him, and he’d just have to do it.
I feel a cold shiver when I realize just how much power I have. If I can just spread the word about me being the Queen, I would have the king—and Faevea—in my palms.
I smirk and walk to my bars to wait. They usually come in soon to give me my evening meal.
It doesn’t take long before the guard walks in, giving me a respectful nod as they walk in.
They walk over and reach the little sliding grate. Just as they’re about to slide it open, I say:
“Actually, I’ll take my dinner in the dining room this evening.”
The guard looks at me. They pause for a long moment before breaking out into low laughter. I start laughing as well before I reiterate.
“I’m not joking,” I say. “Tell the king I will take my supper in the dining room.”
The guard looks unsurely at me, and I nod at him with a pointed smile. They take my dinner back with them as they walk back out of the cell again.
I sit down in the pile of hay in the cell and wait.
My mind is wandering when the same guard walks back in. I can’t see their face, but the way that they’re walking signals bemusement.
“Er, the dining room is prepared for you,” they say, that same bemusement clear in their voice as well.
I nod my head, smiling softly.
“Thank you very much.”
***
The dining room is glorious—I’ve only ever been here to polish the furniture. Now that I’m here as a guest, it’s like night and day. The gigantic dining room table, with enough room for two dozen people to sit and eat there, my meal sat at the head of the table. It’s laid out perfectly, with many varieties of cutlery placed on either side, and my water poured into a champagne flute.
It’s the same food I’m served in the dungeon, but set perfectly. When I walk in, accompanied by the same guard, they pull out my chair for me.
“Thank you,” I tell them politely.
They walk backward and wait by the wall, still watching me as they used to in the dungeons. I don’t know whether they’rethere as a formality or whether the king genuinely thinks I’m going to use this as a time to escape, but I don’t protest.
After all, the fact that I’m here in the dining room to begin with shows he understands what the situation is.
