Page 99 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“What about ships?” Bree asks. “Homes for the Fomorians until this is over? Did you come up with any kind of solution that still works if we don’t manage to subdue Fellgotha? Those mountains are full of iron. There’s no guarantee we’ll even succeed, or that the rest of the Fomorians will submit to this.”
“They will. We’ve actually done quite a good job of thinning out the heirs of Balor. Draard, Haor, and Hogart all died when we retook the city. Which leaves…”
“Us,” Prae whispers, pacing in disbelief. “We’re the last two direct heirs. Caedmon-fucking-Fomorii, I swear to the Ancestors, I—” She snaps her jaw shut and takes a deep breath through her nose, her hand rising to touch her bad eye as her tone softens to something akin to regret. “You know why I can’t do it.”
Caed’s brows furrow. “Prae…”
I can’t help but feel like I’m missing some important subtext here, and the atmosphere quickly becomes uncomfortable.
“Do you need us to give you two some space?” I ask.
Prae shakes her head. “No. You might as well know.” She folds her arms. “When I was six years old, my mother wanted to make me queen and name herself regent. She smothered Caed’s infant sister in her crib, tricked Bres into calling right of challenge against him, then murdered who knows how many more of our cousins in an attempt to have Elatha name me his successor. It was an obsession for her. She even…”
Her breath catches, and she looks away, only continuing when Florian takes her hand.
“She took a knife to my eye, trying to convince the court that I was Balor reincarnated. Unfortunately, she was too ambitious. Elatha put his foot down after Bres’s death. He executed her, then gibbeted her body for weeks.”
And branded Prae a traitor. I remember her telling me that much.
“I picked my king the day you stood up for me, even when my mother was responsible for so much of your suffering,” Prae tells Caed. “I did everything to see you on that throne, because I knew once your stupid father was out of the picture, you’d be the firstgoodking our people had ever known.”
Caed shakes his head. “You said it yourself; I have a conflict of interest. Besides, Elatha made me swear never to plot to take the throne from him after I killed Bres.” He raises his hand whenshe would’ve interrupted. “I know you don’t want it, but if your only objection is because Elatha traumatised you into thinking you can’t have it, then?—”
“If I sit on that throne, my mother gets her final wish,” Prae growls. “She’ll be laughing in her grave, because it means that this”—she points at her bad eye—“was justified, and I’ll finally realise her vision; a new Balor, one of her blood, ruling over all Fomorians.”
The room is silent as she releases Florian’s hand and finishes, “I know what you want, but… I can’t give her the satisfaction.”
Caed scoffs. “She’s dead. Who gives a fuck what she’d think? And you’re not Balor. He was a meathead, remember? You’ll probably be the first Fomorian with brains to rule Fellgotha.”
“And what about when they all start challenging me?” Prae demands. “I’m blind on one side, idiot. Both you and Gryffin have managed to use that against me. It’ll get me killed in Fellgotha. I’ll be queen for three days, tops, before someone manages to catch me unawares. And don’t you dare say my mates will protect me. Any Fomorian queen who needs fairies to defend her ass will be a laughingstock.”
The rest of us are unwilling to intervene, and I think the two of them have honestly forgotten we’re here, because when I finally clear my throat, Prae startles.
“Can I ask why you refused my offer to heal it if you hate it so much?” I ask her.
Caed stares at me, blinking. “You… did?”
“At the time, you were a prisoner.” Prae shrugs. “I figured it was just some cunning fae plot to get me to remove your shackle. You never brought it up again, afterwards…”
And her pride would never permit her to ask.
Guilt swirls, because she’s right. I didn’t offer again. “I didn’t want to pressure you. It’s your eye. You’re an amazing inventor and warrior, regardless of whether it’s healed or not.” I pause.“And, for what it’s worth, I think you’d be an amazing queen, too.”
“Of course I would,” she retorts, then looks away. “Not that I’m agreeing to anything.”
“My aunt is still a formidable ruler, even after what I did to her legs,” Gryffin broaches. “No one would ever dare call her less of a queen.”
Cressida is stubborn and blunt, much like Prae. I suspect both of them would simply kill whoever inferred anything of the sort.
The difference is that the withering is famously resistant to healing. I probably couldn’t help Cressida, not that she would ever ask me to.
Kitarni nods slowly, finally weighing in on the discussion. “Both issues are very personal, Praedra. You ought to think about it. Besides, adjusting to the change in your vision would probably take some time?—”
Prae snorts. “You think I need to ponder whether I want to look in the mirror every morning and see a glaring reminder of my mother’s frantic attempts to seize power? Of her pinning me down and torturing me?”
Kitarni remains as unflappable as ever as she replies, “No, but I think you’re hoping that healing your eye will erase your past and take away all the reservations you have about accepting a court of your own. It won’t.”
“How noble of someone with two working eyes to tell me how I’m fucking feeling,” Prae lashes out. “I don’t need to erase my past. I own that shit.”
