Page 8 of Atop the Faerie Throne
He raises his hand, palm out, towards Hawkith’s body, and Ashton echoes the move.
“On three?” his father suggests, staring down Cedwyn’s corpse like he’s daring it to move.
My mate huffs. “Just get it over with.”
Ashton doesn’t even wait for him to finish speaking before a blast of frost explodes from the centre of his hand. Flames follow a half-second later. The intense heat he’s throwing off doubles until I’m sweating beneath my cloak. In seconds, all that’s left of his mother is ashes.
On the other altar, Ashton’s ice magic consumes his brother until heshatters, bursting into snow. The flakes drift into thesky alongside Hawkith’s remains, propelled by the force of the power that’s consumed them.
It’s an unexpectedly beautiful end, and perhaps one of the purest displays of magic I’ve ever seen.
A shame, then, that it’s wasted on the two of them.
“One of the servants will seal what’s left of them in the crypts,” Ashton says, turning his back and heading for the door by the trunk of the crystal tree. “Come. We need to talk.”
Drystan doesn’t follow. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
“You’re avoiding the subject of your inheritance and your name.”
“I’m a member of my Nicnevin’s Guard. She is all.” His hand clenches on my waist. “There’s no point rebuilding Mirrwyl, as I’ll never live there, and I have no use for a fancy name.”
“Your children might thank you for it.”
“My children?” Drystan stares out over the starlit sky, momentarily lost for words. “You really think they’ll care? They’ll be princes of the realm.”
“By all means, tell them that you didn’t think they’d be interested in inheriting a great house and an honourable legacy. Pretend like the people of this court won’t treat them like Iceblyds, with all that comes with it.”
“It’s a long way in the future,” Drystan says, turning me and practically dragging me down the steps until I have to dig my heels in.
“Hey,” I whisper, stopping him with a hand against his heart. “I know this is all very raw right now, but your father—” I cut off at his grimace. “Ashtonmeans well.”
I ache for him. Drystan didn’t want to come here in the first place, and now with all that’s happened, his world is changing so fast. It’s not my place to get involved, but my guides haven’t caught anything suspicious from Ashton. I think he genuinelydoes care about his son, and Drystan could use more fae like that in his life.
“I don’t give three flying fucks if I die on the battlefield,” the king continues. “Being in the Guard might make you a poor choice, but you can bet your ass that there will be fae trying to put you on that throne the second I’m gone.”
“There are more than enough Froshtyn cousins to fight over it.”
“Aye, but are you willing to risk your mate’s safety when they decide to eliminate the competition?”
Ashton’s point hits hard.
Drystan’s breath hisses out from between clenched teeth. “What do you want from me,your highness?”
“I want you to let me draft up a contract that makes your son my heir if I die without another child of my own. You never have to touch the throne, but the Nicnevin can appoint a regent, and your son will have the choice he deserves.” Ashton’s tone softens. “My brother did everything he could to stop me from having any kind of relationship with you. Now I have the chance to make things right. Let me.”
“You can’t. The damage is done, and I’m too old for a father.”
“I want to try,” Ashton presses. “If for no other reason than it will piss him off in the afterlife.”
The corner of my mate’s lip twitches. “Fine.”
Seriously?That’swhat convinces him? I’m not sure why I’m even surprised.
“Well, this is hardly putting the fun in funeral,” Lore drawls. “We could at least do with some music. Shall I fetch the púca? ”
Drystan’s good humour evaporates as he notices the male making angels in the snow a few feet away. “Redcap, I told you to leave me alone.”
“Aww, don’t be like that, Daddy D. Besides, Caed’s awake.” Lore’s hat turns into an executioner’s hood. “And hating being alive.”
