Page 4 of Tall Dark and Evil

In other words, she is assuring Reiks we aren’t behind the assassination. To my knowledge, that's the truth. Going for secondary players isn't the Frejr style. If we wanted to destabilize the Reiks rule, we would have murdered Reiks himself, or better yet, his father. Maybe both.

The future king nods back, looking through Mar with utter indifference, not even seeing her, though my cousin is one of the prettiest Frejr.

The magik imbued in Frejr blood ensures my cousins look well, healthy and glowing. Mar’s deep golden curls are lush, her plump lips a dark pink, and her deep black eyes, mesmerizing. She favors our great-grandmother, the legendary Valina Frejr herself. Men’s gazes usually linger. If he can ignore her, the man must have been in love.

Though I am the only dull Frejr, Reiks’s eyes pause when they reached me.

Me.

The Frejr are an eclectic lot, coming in all shapes, forms and shades. Our clan is well traveled, as our skills are needed in all corners of Xhera, so we married throughout the lands.

I look nothing like any Frejr. Nothing like Mar, whose blood includes southern roots from Dorath. My skin is paler, and my hair barely has any wave, betraying northern roots. I’ve had decades to come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be a Mar, with her wicked curves and sinful mouth.

So why is Natheran Reiks’s gaze locked onme?

I must have something on my face. By the gods, I hope it isn’t drool. I might have dozed off on the ride to Five. My cousins wouldn’t have let me get out of the craft with slobber on my cheeks. Right?

Who knows? They were tired, preoccupied, and might not have paid any attention to my face. I itch to run to the closest bathroom to check a mirror.

Finally, the crown prince’s attention leaves me. My shoulders sag in relief as I sigh. I suppose he might have looked through me rather than at me. Or stared, wondering how someone like me could belong with the four other Frejr present. Stunning Mar,sensual Maelys, glorious Callan,and adorable Laetta are exceptional. I'm exceptionally tall and straight.

“Your assistance, while appreciated, is unnecessary." Reiks’s voice is deep and cold, just like his stormy eyes. I don't hear a trace of the anger I sense around him. He's skilled at hiding, as befits any royal. "We’ve caught the one responsible for Blythe’s death.”

“Oh?” Mar’s polite and indifferent.

I’m honestly curious, though. Who killed lovely Blythe, and why? I can imagine an assortment of reasons, chief among them, jealousy. There's a gaggle of girls coveting the hand of the future king.

“A rebel.” That’s all he says, just two words, but I feel so much hatred radiating from him, I practically shiver.

The rebels haven’t always been a problem on Xhera. They only took over terrorizing nobles once the Pillar stopped doing it for them.

There’s a vast number of different races inhabiting the five kingdoms. The common mortals without trace of immortal blood are, well, the most common. They represent over eighty percent of the overall population. Anyone unable to access magiks is qualified as common—that includes the man standing in front of me.

The rest of the population used to be called halfbloods—the direct descendants of immortals. Except there are no longer any true halfbloods in Xhera, because the gods have been locked away for too long to fuck around with commons. In recent years, they’ve started calling us demis. The term includes a broad array of races—witches and wizards, morphs and fae, shifters, summoners, and others with the innate ability to manipulate specific materials—many I don't even know.

The problem is, while we’re the minority of the population, we demis hoard the bulk of the wealth of Xhera. Most noble houses, most monarchs, have magic, or at least traces of it. Even the Anderkanian royalty can directly trace their ancestry to a line of earth giants—hence why they were long-lived, and stronger than any average mortal.

The rebels don’t believe the reins of the world should be held by a privileged minority who have no clue what it’s like to be entirely mortal. To live and struggle and die in a mere hundred years, while the rest of us linger. I don’t disagree, though there’s a reason why our kind is at the top of the world. We live much longer, which gives us time to amass both riches and, more importantly, knowledge.

In the latest years, the rebels have grown bolder. Throughout Xhera, hundreds of high-born assassinations are attributed to them. Last winter, they destabilized the stock exchange with trading manipulation. There are rumors of an organized worldwide uprising—rumors the Frejr elders are carefully monitoring.

I’m mostly indifferent to politics as a rule, but I still keep myself informed—if only because my last name means that the rebels would love nothing more than to get their paws on me.

The Frejr aren’t technically royals. We are the leaders of the Darklands, but the deep forest northeast of Vanemir isn’t considered a kingdom. Vast, perilous, and independent, the Darklands is home to many old creatures too wild for the other lands. Its inhabitants chose to crown no monarch, though they bend to the will of the Frejr. That suits us. Our matriarch doesn't micromanage, hardly ever getting involved unless asked to weigh in on an issue.

Our family has swornloyalty to none of the mortal kingdoms, despite our close ties with Vanemir. We choose to get involved when we wish it,howwe wish it. And given the powers of the Frejr, all five kingdoms have no choice but to obey us. Our elders’ judgement can—and have—decide the outcome of wars. We are the single most influential clan in Xhera.

And I am the only Frejr the rebels could hope to capture. The weakling.

“I applaud your efficiency. Farewell, and may the gods welcome Blythe in their eternal kingdoms.” Mar fakes her best smile and inclines her head again before turning on her high heels.

I’m glad to follow her out of the chapel.

No one should be subjected to political bullshit before coffee.

CHAPTERTHREE

THE RETURN

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