Page 2 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

“You need to take the throne.”

“And who will sit beside me? You?”

Iagan bares his teeth, truly angry. “I will not. Take your soulbond with you. You came for him.”

“He is human.”

“He is a witch.”

“Human enough that I do not believe he would survive, and that would be if we were bonded, which we are not, and if I thought I could uproot him to another realm once bonding with him.”

“You have been here for years—”

“I gave up almost all of my magic so I would not have to return!”

Iagan’s face falls. He has to have known the truth of that. I went to the witch, gave her my true name, and gave her all but the final drop of my magic. I can ward this café, I can maintain my human glamour, but aside from the residual magic that exists in my blood as a result of what I fundamentally am, I am no more powerful than the average human.

“You never intended to take the throne?”

“That role was always supposed to be Ronan’s. You know that. He was raised for it.”

And then he discovered his own soulbond. In the end, meddling in the human realm got him killed.

“What are we to do?”

“You have your soulbond.”

Iagan laughs. There is no humour in the bitter sound. “No. No. He is human and has already said he will never accept our bond.”

I sigh and push my hair over one shoulder. “Three sons and no heir to show for it.”

The look Iagan gives me in response is downright venomous. He gets to his feet and all at once he is the epitome of the spoilt, selfish little brother I grew up with, and my heart aches for the damage my choices have caused, but I cannot help but be selfish myself.

I cannot rule with another. Not knowing that Dante is here, that I would never be able to return to him.

I cannot force that life upon him either. The crown would drain him, waste him away before my very eyes, and that is nothing compared to what being taken from his pack would do to him. Even if we had centuries behind us, it is not what I would ask of him.

“You know what will happen should no one take the crown,” Iagan says. No, the Huntsman. As he stands by the door now, he is wearing that face again, the one he uses to hide every part of himself. “The Otherworld will fade. Fae will die for your whims, Lark. Humans, too.”

“The choices they make are their own. As are mine. I will not be shamed for them.”

I will not shame him for his either. When I left the Otherworld, I left for good. I had no intention of returning.

I will not return. Not ever.

The Huntsman gives me one final look before he storms out into the night. I lock the door behind him and press my hand to the wall, the wards twisting at the touch of what little magic I have left.

I feed it into them—all of it—because he may not have said it, but we both know the truth.

It is not only Iagan who will be seeking out a lost prince. He is right. Many fae will believe they can take the throne, but very few have the power to endure the true weight of the crown. The Otherworld will soon begin to fade, just like its queen did.

And then other fae will come for me, too.

Chapter One

Lark

Hallowed Grounds is quiet tonight. It has been quiet every night since Iagan came to deliver the news of our late mother, and I am feeling unusually restless. I wipe down the espresso maker again, then count the meagre amount of coins in the till. Hardly anyone uses cash now. There might be iron in it, but I miss the heavy weight of metal against my skin all the same.