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There were four male and three female, all with four horns except one female, who had two. I’d never discovered why some dark fae had four and some had two, but I was determined to discover the difference and what it meant, if anything.
Goll dismounted quickly then gripped me around the waist and set me on my feet before turning quickly to his council. Then he held out his arm. Stretching my wings tall, I set my hand onhis proffered arm and allowed him to guide me to the waiting robed ones.
“Welcome back, myking,” he declared, seeming to recognize his crowned horns. The four-horned male with pale yellow eyes at the head of the line. He was striking with a full head of gray hair that hung long past his shoulders. He bowed as did all the others, pressing a fist to their chests to salute him.
“Thank you, Bozlyn.” Goll held himself tall at my side, but he dipped a bow to him in greeting and then to the rest. “And thank you, everyone, for welcoming my return. May I present to you, Tiarrialuna Elzabethanine Hartstone. My mizrah.”
They stared in curiosity.
“Hello,” was all I managed to say, proud that I could keep my voice steady and strong.
They all dipped their heads in greeting, not in a deep bow as they had with their king, except one male who did not. He had streaks of gray hair at his temples and fierce red eyes, his top fangs longer than most of his kind. “Not officially your mizrah yet, my king.”
Goll’s arm stiffened beneath my fingers but outwardly he seemed calm when I glanced up at him. I heard the Culled dismounting and lining up behind us. Meck and Ferryn took a forward position to my right.
Wraith fae magick buzzed in our small circle. It was distinctly different than light fae magick which felt ethereal like a brush of gentle, summer wind. Wraith fae magick bore an undercurrent of aggression and dominance, almost like the warning lash of a whip in the air.
I held perfectly still, taking deep breaths as the tension mounted.
Goll dropped his arm, and my hand fell away as he took eerily slow steps down the line to stand directly in front of the one who’d spoken out. Goll was taller, broader, more muscular, andobviously of higher rank, but the demon fae stared back with menacing challenge as his king spoke cool words to him.
“The rites will take place in three days’ time, Kellock. Officially. Until that time and thereafter, she will be treated with the respect of any mizrah.”
Suddenly, I recognized him. He was one of those in the throne room when Goll killed his father.
Kellock’s eyes narrowed, his face tightening as he scoffed, “An Issosian royal?”
“If the council would like to present their opposition to my decision in securing our kingdom’s rightful reign over Lumeria, then bring it up at Council, Kellock.” Goll stepped even closer to him, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. “But it won’t fucking matter. I am your new king. And the treaty has been signed.”
Kellock’s gaze flicked to me, a sinister flash, but he said nothing.
The magick in the air wound tighter, sending my pulse racing. The silence only exacerbated the mounting rage emanating from Goll.
“I suggest,” said Goll with chilling calm, “that you get used to the idea, as it is as good as done.”
“And if I don’t?” he brazenly argued.
“Then you will step down from my council.”
Kellock huffed a disgusted breath, baring his teeth. “I will refuse. You cannot force me.”
“But I can put your head on a pike at the front gate,” snapped Goll.
A dreadful quiet swept over everyone. No one moved. Not even the horses, it seemed. The one who’d stood at the head of the line, Bozlyn, said softly, “Kellock will fall in line, sire.”
Goll was locked on Kellock, who finally let his gaze drop to the stone floor. Only then did Goll take a step back. “See that hedoes,” he growled for all to hear. “See that my wishes are obeyed, or there will be dire consequences.”
Then he turned to me and held out his arm again as if he hadn’t just threatened to behead his councilman.
I realized quickly that Goll ruled with an iron fist and a bloody blade. The fact made me cringe inwardly. I’d thought his men respected him, but perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps only fear made them bow so deeply and obey his every command. How many heads had he put on pikes to accomplish such a feat while I’d been imprisoned in my palace bedchamber? How many more would I have to witness in my life here in Silvantis?
While my pulse raced, I kept my features calm as he guided me up the gray marble steps and into a well-lit hall. My gaze drew up in awe at the stained-glass windows which began at the first landing of the staircase and soared upward two stories high.
The stained glass depicted the esher tree groves with sprites flying amongst its branches. Beneath the canopy of trees, a wraith king walked a solitary path. The artwork was stunningly beautiful, evoking an emotion of both wonder and sadness. The wraith king in the scene looked so similar to Goll, but it couldn’t be him. This palace was built thousands of years ago. The artisan who created this piece was long gone.
“Mizrah.” Goll’s voice snapped me from my trance. He nodded to the fifty or so servants standing in parallel lines on opposite sides of the staircase. A few of them had leathery wings, marking them as having shadow fae blood. Goll raised his voice when he addressed them, “Everyone, this is Mizrah Una. You will see to her needs without question. Hava, bring her back to her bedchamber. She will dine with me tonight. Alone.”
Then he stormed away inside the palace, his guards following him. Hava ushered me toward the wide staircase, a familiar sight as I knew I was being sent back to my prison cell, luxurious though it was.
