Page 63 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“You must excuse my soldiers,” he says, as the clanking of their boots echoes through the room. Every word he utters has a timeworn quality, as if it holds secrets from ages past. The table gradually fills as each person takes a seat. Sloan at my side, then Eadan, Bryn, and Sheridan.

His eyes shift, acknowledging the guards stationed along the walls behind us, motioning for them to leave.

“Why is it that you’re here, Odhran of the Samhradh Court?” he asks. With a single snap of his fingers, the table is adorned with bottled blood, each labelled with a name and year of birth in delicate handwriting. The glasses are already overflowing with the rich red liquid.

“I’m in search of an alliance,” I announce, my voice echoing through the room.

He laughs. “The Samhradh Court seeks alliance with Fómhar.” There’s a shift in the atmosphere as he levels me with a look, his voice dropping to a barely audible whisper. “Samhradh is the largest court in the realm. The one who rules the rest. Why do they require my alliance?”

“It’s not Samhradh that brings me to your door. It’s Geimhreadh.” I collect my glass, watching my drink twirl within its confinement, begging to be enjoyed.

“Geimhreadh, you say. That court hasn’t functioned in many, many years. The lack of an heir has brought decay to its lands.” He maintains eye contact as he takes a long sip, his expression unreadable.

“It has an heir.” I look at the king of Fómhar as if he were my equal. My heart pounds in my chest, the rhythm echoing in my ears as I lock eyes with him. It’s a statement I’ve never said aloud. A statement as true as my lack of resemblance to the King of Samhradh. No one knows because I wouldn’t burden them with this secret.

There’s an intensity in his gaze, a flicker of curiosity mixed with a touch of amusement. For a moment, time stands still. He says nothing, although the energy in the room takes on a different form, with no one else saying a word either.

Brogan’s advisor leans in to whisper in his ear while I watch, awaiting his response. Refusing to let his title intimidate me, I see beyond the trappings of power, recognising the man before me as just that—a man. The King of Fómhar may hold dominion over his kingdom, but he stands no higher than me in any other room.

“I am curious. Do you remember my father?” Defiance wells up inside me, fuelling my resolve. I’ve faced many challenges in my life, overcoming obstacles that would have shattered lesser individuals. I’ve fought tooth and nail to forge my own path, to rise above the expectations placed upon me. And now, standing before this king, I refuse to be diminished. “My real father, King Carrig, ruler of the Geimhreadh Court.”

I maintain eye contact with King Brogan, and his advisor straightens, taking a step back toward the wall.

The room remains silent, the weight of our unspoken conversation hanging in the air.

“It has an heir,” he repeats my statement. With that, a challenge has been issued. It’s in the set of his mouth, in the pulse of the vein in his neck. “What are your plans, son of Carrig, king who has not yet been crowned?”

“Years of oppression and imbalance took their toll on the Unseelie Court. My plan is to reunite our fractured forces and reclaim what is rightfully ours. Geimhreadh, the embodiment of winter, and Fómhar, the embodiment of autumn, stand as symbols of the Unseelie Court’s once dominant rule. United, our courts will rule once more.” I don’t break eye contact with Brogan, the golden table cool under my heated palms. “I envision a future where our people no longer live under the shadow of Darragh’s rule. To restore balance and give the Unseelie their freedom back. The plan is simple, centred on Eamon’s forthcoming coronation, an event you undoubtedly plan to capitalise on, yourself.”

“Will the mortal be included to sweeten the deal?” Brogan looks toward Bryn, and my blood begins to boil.

“No.” My tone is even despite my whitening knuckles.

“You’re clearly not using it. I don’t see marks on your pet’s skin. An unblemished beauty.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, revealing lengthened cuspids. With the snap of his fingers, he sends his advisor to her side.

“I said NO!” I roar, my fingertips blackening. Shadows swirl across the floor like a storm begging for destruction. “She is mine. This isn’t the place or time.”

Brogan laughs, the sound cruel and sharp. With a simple nod, his advisor retreats. “Someone in this room needs a drink.” I know he’s referring to me, but I don’t give a flying fuck what he thinks. “Selma!” he calls over his shoulder, and a tall, thin brunette strolls into the room wearing a golden slip dress that leaves little to the imagination. Her eyes are dull and lifeless, being under compulsion. I don’t miss the sound of Bryn’s heartbeat racing, nor her sharp intake of breath when Selma stumbles forward to take a seat on Brogan’s lap.

I don’t look at Bryn when I say Sheridan’s name, my cue to get her out of this room and away from Brogan before he feeds on the girl.

Brogan chuckles, finding me either amusing or pathetic. Perhaps both. “A ruler unwilling to drink is a ruler unable to rule. Weak.” He looks over at Bryn, and his pupils dilate. “Tell me, pet, has your keeper gone soft?”

“No,” she says with a rough squeak. “He’s a monster. He took me from my home with no remorse for my family as he gave them to his brother. I’ve seen him throw Sloan against a wall. Sheridan is too afraid to speak in his presence, and the lesser fairy in his service cowers whenever he’s near. He’s made me kill a captured faerie so that he can relish in the anguish it causes me to take a life.” She pauses, looking at me. “Sometimes the deepest wounds are the ones unseen. I have no doubt that he will be my ruin.”

It takes everything in me not to wince. “That’s enough.” I force the words through clenched teeth. “Sheridan, remove her from the table.”

Brogan claps his hands. “This is good. So good.” He leans forward, pupils enlarged. “Feed on her and I’ll consider it. I want to witness this for myself.” I can tell he’s aroused by the idea of seeing me sink my teeth into her. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. “I won’t align myself with anyone too soft to do what’s needed for our survival.”

Bryn halts even though Sheridan urges her to move. Her eyes meet mine in a wordless plea to just do it and get it over with. There’s no other response that will garner the result we need. I can’t tell him that I’m waiting for a special moment, that will most certainly show him that I’m soft. I can’t say I don’t feed on humans because the words will refuse to form in my mouth.

“Come to me,” I tell her, ignoring the look of judgement Eadan’s shooting at me like a poisoned dart. Bryn obeys, striding towards me as Brogan claps his hands in excitement. I hate him for this. If his alliance wasn’t needed to save my friends’ lives I’d tell him to go to hell. “Sit.” I lean back so she can take her place on my lap. I look into her beautiful eyes, hoping that she knows me well enough to know that I’d never bring her harm. Hoping I know her well enough to see through her mask.

“I’m ready,” she tells me, but I can hear the rapid beating of her heart and can feel her body taught as a bow. Perhaps this is what’s needed to keep her safe. To keep her away from me.

I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her against me. With my other hand, I cradle her jaw, tilting her head back. “This doesn’t count,” I tell her. This shouldn’t be our first time, not like this. But I’m the big bad bastard, and it’s time to live up to my name. I see her vein pulse beneath her skin and lick over it, feeling it beat against my tongue, and almost lose myself. She smells like heaven. As I allow my cuspids to lengthen against her skin, I breathe her in.

Her chest heaves as I close my mouth against her. When my teeth pierce her skin, she yelps. Her fingers grip my arm banded around her, and I pull her closer, filling my mouth with her sweet, warm blood. I don’t want to stop, not as the world around me fades, and everything I am focuses on her. One drink is all I need, so one is all I’ll take.