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“Only a wraith fae descended from the dragon line can take the throne. There was one king three millennia ago who tried to take the throne when there was no heir to the recently killed king in battle.”
“Ukahaan.”
“Yes! That was his name.” She smiled openly, bewitching me further. “You must eat, too, Goll.”
I liked when she used my name and didn’t call me sire, which would keep distance between us. I shouldn’t like it. I shouldn’t crave the intimacy, but I did.
I sat forward and continued eating.
“Anyway,” she added, “Ukahaan had failed to create an heir before he died in battle. They were at war with the shadow fae at the time, though I couldn’t reason out why.”
“There’s always been tension between the wraith fae and shadow fae.”
“Interesting. Well, you seem to know this story.”
“Still, I’d like to hear you tell it,” I admitted.
Pink colored her cheeks as she went on. “Another wraith fae, Tykel the Two-Horned, gained the throne for about five days before another wraith of the dragon line took it from him. And his head. Or so the story goes.”
“What else did you discover?” I asked.
“A boy was found with perfect dragon eyes. Blue with a golden core.” Her fork froze midway to her mouth as she stared at me across the small table, looking into very similar eyes as the boy king. “He was put on the throne.”
“That was my great, great grandfather. It wasn’t him who took Tykel the Two-Horned’s head,” I corrected. “The royal council took care of that with some of Ukahaan’s former Culled.”
She sipped her wine, then her gaze dropped to the table as she worried her bottom lip with those perfect, blunt teeth. I was distracted by her mouth before I realized she seemed to be holding something back.
“What is it you wish to ask?” I went back to my plate, nearly finished.
“There are many things not written down about the dark fae.” She hesitated then added, “Some scholars claim to have knowledge, though I’m unsure.”
“Ask me.” I lifted my goblet and settled back into my chair.
“Some say that your ancestors lay with a dragon. That is how you got those eyes.” Finally, she lifted her gaze to mine again, staring boldly. It stirred heat low in my belly. Lower still.
“You have seen Drakmir. Do you think it possible?”
“Well, no. Not with one like Drakmir. But not all dragons are so big.”
I rolled my eyes. “You moon fae and your stories.”
She laughed, the sound freezing me to the spot. It was the first time I’d seen or heard her laugh, and I didn’t simply hear it. I felt it tremble through me, warming my blood further. Bewitching and beguiling.
I should beware of her. I should keep her at a distance. But the reality of my tortured state, completely dumbstruck by something so simple as her laugh, warned me that this was dangerous. Especially for a wraith king. One who must show strength and maintain a solitary, fierce front in order to hold the throne.
“Then what is the true story?” she finally asked, still smiling wide.
Resting my goblet on my knee, I leaned back into my chair and told her. “The god Vix was once imprisoned in a desert by the sun god Solzkin. Chained to a rock and forced to wither under the penetrating heat of the sun for his crime against Solzkin.”
“What crime?” She set her napkin on her plate—a good portion of it gone, which eased my mind. She pulled my cloak tighter around her shoulders.
“Vix had walked past one of Solzkin’s temples without paying homage or tribute. Vix rarely left his mountain home because the rest of the gods hated him so. They were always looking for a reason to punish him.”
A tiny line formed between Una’s brows. “I’ve never read this about Vix.”
“What do you know of Vix?” I asked, curious.
