Page 87 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
“It’s a long story,” I say.
Percy’s wings twitch. “I need more. Tell me everything you know about him. In detail.”
I hit the bars with my opened palms. “It’s hard to think about. I was young, I—” I exhale hard through my nose. “It’s not pretty.”
“As mistakes so often are,” Percy cracks.
A wince wrinkles my face. “It might alter your opinion of me.”
“As secrets so often do.” He waves off my concerns. “Don’t hold back, pretty boy. The more I know about the vendetta linking you two bums, the better I can advise my mistress.”
I walk away from the bars, threading deeper into the cell. “After I graduated from the Royal Academy, I was desperate to be accepted by my father. It was a fool’s quest, but I didn’t know it yet. I came to Deiltine under an assumed name and worked as a technician, until my uncle figured it out. He wanted to send me straight back to the Secret Springs, but I begged him to let me stay, to earn my place here. No nepotism—I worked. Day and night, fixing the wind turbines on the western cliffs. The ones that get the worst of the wind.”
I rub my hands over my face. “I’m not proud of all the choices I made back then, but I’m happy with the work I did. The effort I put in. It was potatoes and leeks nearly every day, and a cot thatbarely counted as such. Alaric was a few years younger than I was—he’d just failed the Royal Academy trials, so he was just as desperate to prove himself. And a little unhinged.”
My eyes dart down.Unhingedis not enough of a word to describe Alaric, and my throat burns. I couldn’t see it sooner, young as I was and so desperate to belong. So happy to get a real Storm Fae on my side… I didn’t want to admit, even to myself, how cruel he really was.
I swallow back a sigh. I dug my own grave where Alaric was concerned, and I should be enough of a man to own up to my mistakes. It’s cathartic to confide in Percy, toconfess. I just hope he won’t hate me for it.
“Alaric hated me, at first, but we were the only high-borns. I was a bastard, sure, but I had the education, the accent, the posture. To the common folks, I was still a High Fae. We got bullied for it. Hazed. Relentlessly. In between black eyes and ritual humiliation, we became friends. At the end of our year-long posting, he invited me to spend Scebaan with his family. We were to attend the royal ball in Zepharion, where my father would finally see me as a man.”
Scebaan. The wild end of the Fae year.
I pause, the memory worming its way through my heart. “I’ve learned since then that less is more, and that no amount of hard work can make up for being an unwanted and unloved child.”
“Go on,” Percy says.
“If Beltane is meant for fucking your spouse and St. John’s Eve gives you an excuse for fucking anyone but, then Scebaan is a break from traditions. A respite from social norms. One long night when Fae are allowed to get lost in the storm, before we start the year anew.”
Percy raises a brow. “Yes, as Spring Queen, Devi used to attend the Storm King’s ball on Scebaan. Partied a little too hard, did you?”
“As the firstborn son and heir to the warden, Alaric was engaged to Katia Brimvale, the eldest daughter of Lord Brimvale, my father’s right-hand man.” My fists clench at my sides. “I was angry that night. My father wanted nothing to do with me—even after I’d wasted a whole year trying to prove I was tough enough, clever enough, and dark enough to be his son.
“I left the ballroom and found Katia trying to sneak into the catacombs. She kissed me, and I was wasted, so I took her where the young, single Fae from the different courts had gathered. Maddox had arranged for a night of debauchery, and Katia, Alaric, and I ended up celebrating Scebaan in a very…deliberate fashion.”
“Is that all? You had a threesome?”
He’s missing the point. “This isn’t the Secret Springs. Storm Fae are weary of these sort of things, especially when an unmarried woman is involved. Maidens aren’t allowed to take part in the celebrations. Alaric expected Katia to save herself for him, and in the morning, he accused me of using my powers on her. Publicly. He said that my magic was to blame for her weakness, and that without me there, she would have had the sense to say no. He demanded reparation from my father.”
“He could have married her, still.”
I bite the inside of my cheeks, debating whether to elaborate. “He thought she’d been… spoiled.”
Percy grits his teeth. “What happened to her?”
He clearly resents me for relaying Alaric’s views, even though I don’t share them.
“I have no idea,” I admit. “My father relinquished a hundred acres of land in the Brimvale to the Raynes and sent me back to Spring. I was forbidden from setting foot in Storm’s End for decades after that, until the Storm Queen passed away.”
“And your pal, Alaric? He’s still angry about something that happened almost half a century ago?”
“He’s not a forgiving person, but I’m valuable to him. My brothers would most likely be inclined to confirm Alaric’s command of Deiltine if I was returned to Zepharion in one piece. But Devi’s another matter.”
A metallic groan echoes down the corridor, followed by the heavy clink of boots. My pulse swirls.
“You have to go.”
Percy curses under his breath and scrambles up to the ceiling to wedge himself back into the crack in the wall, wings tucked tight.
