Page 95 of A Bride for the Winter King
“Hey, boss…” I greet him. “What happens when a Fae king dies?”
The Shadow King places his weapon on the nearest table and walks over to kiss his wife. “When a King or Queen passes on, their crown—the magic that allowed them to rule—returns to the Hawthorn. I’m speaking only of a true ruler of Faerie, not their spouses. Spouses merely share in the magic; it doesn’t belong to them.” He glances at Nell for a moment. “A consort loses their powers once the true king or queen dies.”
I nod, already aware of that asterisk. “And what would have happened, specifically, if Elio had died so close to the solstice?”
“A successor would have been marked by the gods as their preferred candidate to take his place. Each god is different, but Morpheus and Thanatos are actually more similar than not in this respect. They mostly care about raw power and strength of character when choosing their next heirs, so they’re not easily swayed by bloodlines or politics.”
Nell wrinkles her nose. “So the gods get to choose the next king or queen?”
“I’m not done. After the chosen of the gods is marked upon a monarch’s death, he must drink from the Eternal Chalice to be anointed. If the other royals refuse him access to the Chalice and question his legitimacy, challengers have ten days to vie for the crown—typically engaging in a fight to the death or some other ridiculously violent task—and the winner of that challenge is crowned king.”
“Or queen,” Nell corrects him, and Damian nods in assent.
“Is that what happened with you? Did you challenge the chosen heir?” I ask.
Damian skims the tattoos snaking behind his ear. “Actually, I was the one who got challenged.”
Nell caresses his upper arm in a soothing motion. “So it’s not as easy as killing a king to steal his crown?”
“Most royals pretend that they want to uphold the will of the gods, but kingdoms can be stolen. A monarch deemed too weak to ensure his kingdom’s safety or too dangerous to remain in power can be dethroned by the others. If a pretender is strong enough to kill a kingafterhe’s anointed, he’s often perceived as worthy to succeed him. If Elio had died so close to the solstice, they would either have had to rush the challenge period or accept his heir apparent without questions, so replacing him would have been messy, to say the least.”
I give them a quick recount of my encounter with the Gray Man and explain how he might have used Elio’s magic to fool the public and taken his place upon the Winter throne.
“If the Gray Man wanted to take Elio’s place, he never intended to become king. He merely wanted the souls to amplify his magic, and the aborted winter solstice ritual would have plunged the continent into chaos. But if he is as formidable as you say, he’s not going to give up—” Damian’s eyes darken. “We have a visitor.” He slips out of the library’s front door and returns a minute later with Seth in tow.
My mouth dries up. “Seth…”
After the terrible way the broadcast ended, I couldn’t bear to face him.
“Looking good, Nell,” Seth greets the Shadow Queen before his gaze finds me. “Lori… I managed for your brother’s sentence to be reduced to life imprisonment. It’s the best I could do for now.” His lips curl down, his disappointment palpable. “There’s a chance for you to speak to him, but it has to be now. He’s being transferred to Murkwood Prison in a few hours.”
The shadows draped over Damian’s shoulders swell, and my spine stiffens. Murkwood Prison, as in the Summer stronghold from which no one has ever escaped, ruled over by dark forces that rival the worst nightmares in the Shadowlands.
Chapter 38
Broken Arrow
ELIO
Devi Eros enters my study through the mirror just as Beth is about to pin my wedding boutonniere. “Elio. Dashing tux, but you look a bit drunk, my friend.” She removes her ruby-incrusted mask and tucks it inside her cleavage.
A dark crimson hooded scarf covers the roots of her flaming red twists, and the long sleeves of her shirt have thumb cuffs that run up to her knuckles. Criss-crossed leather straps wrap over her chest and hold her long bow and quiver, the otherwise monochromatic ensemble hugging her curves.
“Hey, Devi,” Beth says on a cringe, the two women not exactly on speaking terms.
Devi crosses her arms at the sight of my unexpected visitor. “Elizabeth Snow… I thought the seven hells would freeze over before you came home again.” Her red-painted lips purse in a sarcastic grimace, the constellation of dark freckles on her youthful face bunching together. “Was being adored by the masses too hard on you?”
“Devi!” I stumble over to the fallen Queen of Hearts and peck her cheek before wrapping her up in a hug. “Thank you for coming.”
“Alright. No more Nether cider for you,” she scolds me with a smile, patting me on the back a few times. “I see you’re in need of some pest control.”
“It’s a shame that beauty doesn’t come with a manual on how to be kind or show basic human decency,” Beth quips behind me. “I imagine your exile must be quite lonely.”
“It takes one to know one, moth. You let him get shit-faced an hour before his wedding?”
Beth’s arms fly to the sky. “I found him like this!”
Their petty, teenage selves flare up every damn time they cross each other’s paths, the two women on a life-long quest to piss each other off. The familiarity of it all takes me back to a past long gone. I can almost taste the ocean on my tongue and smell the seaweed littering the sand. The memory of those long, lazy mornings by the sea is almost unbearable given the circumstances.
