Page 147 of Atop the Faerie Throne
In front of me, Prae takes the head of a kneeling Fomorian general with a vicious swipe of her axe.
“I am Praedra, daughter of Tiuri, last of the line of Balor,” she announces to the Fomorians on their knees in the courtyard before her. “Rightful ruler of this shit hole, and you will accept me as such, or die.”
Fae line the walls of the castle, bows trained on the prisoners. Her skull-like war paint glints in the flickering light of the braziers, Florian and Gryffin flanking her like sentinels while Wraith licks blood from his muzzle at their feet.
I’m glad the barghest made it. Rose has experienced enough loss today.
“Fairy traitor!” someone yells, only to wither to a husk seconds later.
“Anyone else?” Prae asks casually, scanning the masses. “Because I don’t have all day.”
Silence reigns, broken only by the moans of the wounded.
“Good. From now on, the fae are our allies. We’re subjects of Nicnevin Rhoswyn, who has graciously allowed us to keep this cesspit and made me its queen, which means there are going to be some fast fucking changes. Got it?”
Murmurs of assent rise, followed by someone boldly calling, “All hail Queen Praedra.”
The proclamation goes up with surprisingly little resistance. From what Caed told me, they respect strength, and the blood-splattered new queen certainly projects that.
“She works fast,” Bree acknowledges from beside me.
“Good thing, too,” I say. “We don’t have time for a succession crisis, and Rose shouldn’t have to deal with that on top of everything.”
“First order of business,” Prae continues, pacing in front of her new subjects. “Is stripping every piece of iron from the castle. Shove it in that stupid hole Elatha made you dig, then fill it in. No more Deep Caves. No more iron.” There’s a pause, where no one moves. “Well? Get on with it!”
Her snapping tone brokers no argument, and I have to admire the way the people around her scatter. Still, my steps are heavy as we force our way through the mass of warriors who suddenly all have somewhere else to be.
Prae kicks the corpse out of her way as she spots us, striding forward with Wraith bounding ahead. I watch as she catalogues our injuries, the medallion in my hand, and then… the notable absences.
“Where’s my cousin?” she demands, her hands fisting at her sides as the barghest gives me a huge lick of greeting. “Where is Caedmon?”
My throat locks, and I can’t meet her gaze as I reach up and stroke Rose’s pet. “He killed Elatha. Drove him back into the unstable portal.”
She’s a smart female. She understands what I’m not saying. The knowledge tears across her face in a raw emotional wound that almost has me backing up.
“You let him?—”
“Never,” Bree promises. “It was a mess. Elatha used his name, and in the end, he was the only one who could protect Rose. He… died doing it.”
“No. You told me you had a plan,” Prae insists, stepping forward as her voice rises. She stops short of poking the púca in his chest with her outstretched finger, but it’s a close thing. “You promised Rose.”
My wolf whines in my head at the reminder of our mate’s suffering.
“Praedra,” Florian begins, grabbing her hand.
At his voice, her anger evaporates like a fire starved of air. She turns into his chest, uncaring of the way their armour impedes the embrace. Her eyes squeeze shut, throat working as she composes herself.
“And the Nicnevin?” her mate asks.
Shattered anew, I silently think to myself, my wolf curling protectively around the dim bond in our chest. I’d almost rather it was screaming her pain at me.
This… numbness is so much worse.
“Grieving.” I snarl, looking away.
“Lore has taken her home to heal,” Bree answers, more evenly. “She… lost half of her wings in the fight.”
The very wings I swore to defend. If Caed was alive, I’d deck him all over again for destroying my honour.
