They left the castle just as the sun kissed the horizon the next day. Oona and her faeries worked until their fingertips bled. The clothing they made was stunning, golden threads running throughout the black cloth that looked like starlight.

Eamonn grunted when he saw them, but Sorcha saw the appreciation in his gaze. Oona did as well. The pixie's cheeks flushed bright red in pleasure.

They decided that only a limited amount of their people would travel with them to Cathair Solais. They had no way of determining what Fionn was up to, and in the end, it wasn’t worth risking the lives of their people.

The army would remain behind. Only Oona, Cian, and a few select dwarves travelled with Sorcha and Eamonn.

Eamonn wanted to leave her behind, saying that the castle required a queen. She argued that he required a queen far more than the dwarves, who had never had a queen before.

She won.

Eamonn set a grueling pace that quickly made everyone regret going. He lashed the faeries to their horses so they could sleep while they travelled. Rather than tie her down, Eamonn held Sorcha on his own horse and allowed her to sleep against his chest.

They did not rest until the castle was in their sights.

She blinked her eyes at the golden light that nearly blinded her. “Are we here?”

“We’ll get a good night’s sleep first. We’ll all need our wits about us when we enter the palace.”

She wouldn’t argue with that. Sorcha waited for him to slide off his horse before following him on rubbery legs. He caught her against his chest, giving her time to find her footing before stepping away to untie the faeries. Sorcha started on Oona’s ties first.

“We’re stopping?” Oona slurred her words, exhaustion tying her tongue. “Why aren’t we continuing? We’re so close.”

“Eamonn wants us all to have a clear mind when we arrive at the castle.”

“Oh,” Oona slid down and braced her hands on Sorcha’s shoulders. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“Can you get yourself settled?”

“I’ll help the others.”

“No. Get your bedroll and lay down. We’ll get the others.”

It only took a few minutes to free the rest of the faeries who piled on top of each other and fell asleep in a giant heap. They were so tired that they were silent and still.

Eamonn spread a blanket out on the hard ground and sighed. “It’s not the luxury we’re used to.”

“We’re used to luxury? And here I was thinking we were living in a haunted, crumbling castle.” She placed a hand on his arm, gentle and kind. “It will suffice.”

They lay down together, his arm curved over her waist, her hands tucked against his chest. He was warm enough that she didn’t ask for a fire.

She breathed in his woody scent and sighed. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“No.”

“We can turn around now. There is no need to take back your family’s throne now that you have your own.”

“Nuada’s old throne is not real,” he replied. “There is no substance to the claim, and the faeries will eventually remember that. If I am to save our people and change the old ways, then I must take back the Seelie throne.”

Sorcha understood his desire to take it back. She had seen in the Unseelie mirror all that Fionn was capable of. The Lesser Fae deserved a life equal to that of the Tuatha dé Danann. Eamonn saw that when others did not.

But she worried what they were walking into. The tense way Eamonn held her suggested he was also troubled by the possibilities. Fionn had never been a man to trust before.

What horrors awaited them?

She sighed and tucked her head underneath his chin. Of them all, she would need her wits about her. A human was little more than a plaything to these creatures. The others would watch her back, yet they all remembered what she really was. A druid was capable of far more than a simple human.

Sleep claimed her until the early morning light. Her arms were freezing and held close to her chest. He had left her some time ago without waking.

Oona crouched in front of Sorcha, holding out her hand. “It’s time to wake up, dearie.”

“Thank you.” She rolled onto her side, shaking out the long mane of her hair and yawning. “How much longer do we have?”

“Not long. I’m to get you ready and then we will ride into court.”

“We? Are you coming with us?”

“We’re to be your court.”

“Do we have a name?” Sorcha stood up and stretched her spine, loud cracks easing her tension. “The Seelie, the Unseelie, who are we?”

Oona did not respond.

Sorcha glanced at her and caught the haunted expression in the pixie’s eyes. “Oona?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

“It’s the first time I’ve been back.”

“Oh.” Sorcha didn’t know how to help the kind woman. Pixie deserved the world laid at her feet for her giving nature and her sweet disposition. These people had not cared that she existed at all, and then Eamonn had dragged her to an isle far away.

Sorcha cleared her throat, “Oona, I realize I have been remiss in getting to know you. I don’t even know if you have family here.”

“No, dearie. I never had the opportunity. Pixie families are rather small, and my parents left this world a long time ago.” She gestured to the bundle in her hands. “Let’s get this dress on you and I’ll see what I can do with your hair.”

“Did you want children?” Sorcha couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you have them?”

“Lesser Fae in the service of Tuatha dé Danann cannot have children unless their masters permit them.”

“Who was your master back then?”

Oona glanced over her shoulder as Eamonn strode towards them. “His father.”

“We have little time,” Eamonn called out. “Get her ready!”

“Yes, master.”

Sorcha’s heart clenched. She reached out and caught Oona’s hand that held the glimmering fabric. “You don’t have to call him master anymore.”

“I do. That is what he is.”

“He doesn’t want that to be the reality for Lesser Fae anymore.”

“I know, dearie. But I won’t stop calling him that until that becomes truth for us all.”

This was why she was here. Sorcha stepped away from the men and hid between the horses as Oona stripped her of clothing. She let the silken fabric slide over her skin, barely noticing the fine quality and cool touch.

Nerves made her stomach clench. She stared off into the distance as her mind wandered. Would they be as cruel as Fionn? Was she walking into a court where they would all attack?

Would she lose the people she loved today?

“Worrying will get you nowhere,” Oona soothed. “Clear your mind and show them you are more than just a weak human.”

“Humans are not weak.”

“They are compared to us. But you are a druid priestess, a Weaver who is capable of great things. The granddaughter of Ethniu, Fomorian and mother of the druid race. You have nothing to fear.”

“And everything to lose.”

“Arms up.”

She lifted her eyes for Oona to clasp delicate gold mesh over the top of the sleeves. The entire gown was made of yellow silk that clung to every inch of her body. Oona affixed bands around her arms, her waist, and her collar.

“This is uncomfortable,” Sorcha complained.

“Beauty is not comfortable. Can you breathe?”

“Yes.”

Oona synched the metal corset tighter. “And now?”

“No,” Sorcha wheezed.

“That’s perfect then. Let me see what I can do with your hair.”

“Leave it down.”

“It’s not in style.”

“I don’t care if it’s in style. I want them to remember that I am not Fae. Even if I’m trying to look like one.”

It felt important to remind the Seelie Court that Eamonn and his consort were not the creatures they expected. He had grown much in the years since leaving them. She was an unknown creature they would underestimate. She wanted to use that to their advantage.

Rounding the horses, she carefully picked her way across the ground, avoiding mud puddles as she went.

“I’m ready.”

Eamonn had donned his armor. Clean and oiled, it still bore the marks of war. Dents and cracks turned the metal chest plate into a dimpled mess. Crystals poked out where swords had crushed the armor against his skin and shattered the plates.

He looked every inch the warlord, and she was thoroughly pleased.

“You are beautiful,” he said. “They won’t know what to think of you.”

“Ideally nothing at all. I would prefer to stay in the shadows. I’m better at listening then I am at politics.”

“No, we have not had the time to train you.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Let me do the talking while we are there.”

She didn’t argue.

Eamonn lifted onto his own horse rather than letting her ride separately. He swung up behind her, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist and pulling her back against him.

They were all quiet on their ride to the castle. The few dwarves who had traveled with them were on high alert. They scanned the distance as if waiting for an army to appear out of thin air.

Sorcha assumed it wasn’t such a far-fetched idea. She held her breath, waiting.

They reached the main road without incident. The buildings around the castle were just as splendid. Gold poured from the roofs as if the rain were molten metal. Filigreed pieces so fine they must have been made with magic decorated the outsides of building like the finest of wallpaper.

Faeries milled through the streets, far more beautiful and impossible than Sorcha had ever seen. A woman with ebony skin walked by their horses, a red cloak covered her head and tiny dots of gold flecked over her cheekbones and forehead. She bought a strand of gemstones from a man covered in so much jewelry that Sorcha couldn’t tell where he began. Perhaps he was made entirely out of gold and gems.

No one even glanced at them as they rode by.

Sorcha leaned back and whispered, “Why aren’t they looking at us?”

“We are the banished. We do not exist.”

“They can see us, can’t they?”

“If they cared to look up, yes, they could see us. It is forbidden to acknowledge that any of the banished exist.”

“How do they know we were banished?” she asked.

“They were warned.”

So this was how Fionn would tear at Eamonn’s confidence before he even reached the castle. Not soldiers. Not bloodshed.

Sorcha had forgotten how painfully intelligent Fionn was. The king wouldn’t take the risk of making Eamonn angry. His pride could be wounded long before anyone needed to fight. A man with no surety in himself would fall without Fionn lifting a finger.

She lifted her chin. “Let them know we are not ashamed then. They may not remember our faces, but they will remember we walked through this crowd without fear.”

The dwarves lifted their chins with her and Oona’s ears tipped up. Sorcha refused to allow any of them to feel unwanted. They were dearly wanted by her, and if the Seelie Fae could not appreciate them, then she would.

“Sing the stones,” she whispered.

One of the dwarves glanced at her in surprise. “M’lady?”

“Sing the stones. Let them hear us coming, we have nothing to hide.”

Eamonn’s arm tightened around her waist, but he did not silence the dwarves. They lifted their deep voices high into the air and let the wind carry their ancient song. Faeries flinched all around them, some lifting startled eye towards the newcomers before violently turning away.

Good, Sorcha thought. Let them know the high king traveled among them.

The dwarven song echoed through the streets, bouncing off stone and statues. Fionn’s people scattered. Soon, the streets were empty of all but a brave few who refused to budge or look.

Sorcha watched them as they ducked their heads and kept their eyes trained on the ground.

“They look as though they are bowing,” she observed.

“They are not.”

“Do your kind not realize that looking a leader in the eyes is the greatest show of defiance?” A faerie nearby lifted his green-haired head. But he still did not meet her gaze. “It is a shame there is so little bravery amongst your people.”

At that, the faerie looked up and meet her gaze. She smiled, cold and sharp edged, until he looked back at the ground.

They reached the steps of the castle and Eamonn did not hesitate. He clucked his tongue, urging the horse to continue. Sorcha leaned forward, gripped Eamonn’s forearms tight, and took a deep breath.

The large doors opened.

Cathair Solais was as beautiful as she remembered. Polished floors, open ceilings that filtered the sky through emerald green leaves, tall columns made of the whitest marble with no veins to speak of.

This time, faeries filled the castle. They lined either side of the great hall which lead to a massive throne. Three stories high, billowing red fabric stretched as far as the eye could see. A great tree grew behind it, nearly as tall as the castle. And seated in the center, Fionn the Wise watched them approach.

Eamonn leaned down and said, “So it begins.”

The crowd remained silent, their eyes staring towards the throne and not the newcomers who dared parade horses through the hallowed halls of the king. Sorcha nearly gasped in shock as they grew close enough to see the throne in detail.

There were two chairs on lower levels, upon which the previous king and queen sat.

“Eamonn.” Her nails dug into his arms.

She felt the moment he saw them. His body tensed, his spine straightening and his breath sawing unevenly.

What torment he must feel! She wanted to close her eyes to banish the image of Eamonn’s parents who did not even look at him. They too, kept their eyes on the floor. Fionn was the only person in the entire room who met Eamonn’s gaze.

Stone hands gripped the reins and tugged hard. The horse chuffed, tossing its head in discomfort.

“So,” Fionn’s voice echoed through the great hall. “The banished prince returns.”

“I have come to take back what is rightfully mine.”

Eamonn’s powerful message sent a ripple of shudders through the crowd. Sorcha hadn’t expected him to declare his intent immediately, but she agreed with his decision. They needed to be strong because Fionn expected them to be weak.

“It is a shame I must disappoint you.” Fionn leaned back in his throne, crossed his legs, and gestured at the hall. “None of this is yours.”

“This is when we dismount.” He leaned down so only Sorcha would hear him. “Get down before me, mo chroí.”

She swung her leg over the horse’s side. Her skirts rode up her smooth thighs, but she didn’t cover herself. No one was looking.

Eamonn followed, standing powerfully behind her. She could feel the electric power of his anger and disappointment in his brother.

“Fionn,” he projected through the great hall. “You have ruled in my stead for long enough.”

“Have I? If there is any faerie in this court who wishes to desert and go with my brother, please, make yourself known.”

Sorcha stared at the crowd who remained silent and still. Not even a cough echoed, nor the shuffle of feet against stone.

She wanted to scream at them. Were they all cowards? Was this the faerie court she had dreamed about as a child? Nothing more than meek followers of a king who wasn’t even frightening.

A smile spread across Fionn’s face. “So you see? No one wants to go with the banished prince who returned uninvited.”

“They would not state their opinions in so public a setting.”

“Why not?”

“They are afraid of you, brother.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Eamonn patted his horse, the soft sounds startling a few of the faeries nearby. Their fearful gazes lifted to the high king. “That is what we are, whether you choose to admit it or not.”

“You have no place here.”

“You are sitting on my throne.”

Gasps echoed again. The audacity of a man to walk into a king’s court and level such a bold taunt! Sorcha could feel their horror, curiosity, and wonder growing with every second.

Fionn stood, his great height nearly as imposing as his brother. But he lacked the muscular build that suggested a hard life. Instead, Fionn was lean and tall. His body was everything Eamonn’s might have been. Smooth lines, gentle curves, graceful hands that made women beg for a single touch.

He floated from the throne like a feather on the wind. Waist-length gold hair shimmered in a perfect swath of color. Fionn walked directly to Eamonn and stared him in the eyes.

Sorcha winced at the similarities between the twins. She had seen them both individually, but together they were a sight to behold.

They were mirror reflections of each other. She knew the stubborn set of Eamonn’s chin, the curve of his jaw, the tiny marks at the edge of his eyes when he smiled. They were all on Fionn’s face, right down to the exact wrinkles caused by worry between their eyes.

Where Fionn was stunning, Eamonn was not. Crystals and geodes ruined the beauty he might have born. Handsome couldn’t begin describe the grace with which they moved, the whispered sounds of their body shifting even as they stood still, and the gentle inhalations that lifted their chests and flared their nostrils.

“You have no right to be here,” Fionn growled.

“You had no right to banish me.”

Fionn tilted his head to the side, lips curled in a snarl and eyes flashing hatred. What had caused such a rift? Sorcha refused to believe it was jealousy, for that was an emotion that dulled with time. Eamonn had nothing left. What more could Fionn find to hate him for?

The Seelie King’s face wiped of all emotion and he turned towards Sorcha with a smile that made her shiver. “Sorcha of Ui Neill, it is a pleasure to be in your presence again.”

He reached for her hand and she had no choice but to allow him to kiss her fingers. “I wish I could say the same.”

“Are you not pleased to see me? Your king?”

“You are not my king.”

Eamonn and the crowd stiffened, but Fionn laughed. “No, but no man is your king. Are they, little druid?”

“You do not know me, Fionn the Wise.” His hand clenched around hers at the mention of his name. “You sit upon a stolen throne, and as such you have no right to it.”

“And just what are you going to do?”

She leaned forward so the crowd could not overhear her words. “I argued for a peaceful treaty rather than an army at your doorstep. You should be grateful.”

“You think I’m afraid of a dwarven army?”

“Have you not yet learned that underestimating a druid is dangerous?”

“Oh, I remember that very well.” He leaned close, trying to intimidate her with his body. Sorcha did not back way even though she could feel his breath against her forehead. “But now you are in my court, and I have a thousand guards who would like nothing more than to run a sword through your chest.”

“Careful, brother,” Eamonn growled.

“And what will you do? Banished prince that you are?”

“You know what you made me.”

“Immortal?” Fionn shook his head. “No, it is possible to kill you.”

Sorcha’s eyes widened at the revelation. What did Fionn know that they did not? She looked over at Eamonn who’s troubled expression only made her more nervous.

Throughout it all, the dowager queen and king remained silent on their thrones. Fionn walked up the steps and gently touched the arms of their thrones. They did not speak, they hardly even moved but to acknowledge the son they had chosen.

Anger planted a seed in her chest that burned. Sorcha rubbed her throat and told herself to remain silent. This was not her battle.

Not yet.

Fionn sat back down and lifted a hand. “I granted you an audience, banished prince, not a scene. As you can tell, there are already many who wish to speak with me. Your antics and dramatics are not appreciated by those who already have waited for days to voice their pleas. You will remain in your quarters which I have graciously provided until the time of your audience. My guards will see you there.”

Clanking armor echoed as a veritable army of golden soldiers advanced upon them. Sorcha’s pulse jumped as the army separated her and Oona from the others.

“Eamonn!” she shouted.

He did not respond, only glared at his brother as the guards shoved his chest and pushed him out of the great hall.

“Fionn!” her voice carried through the hall so loudly that the king had to look at her. “Where are you taking me?”

“It wouldn’t be proper to allow an unwed couple to stay in the same quarters, now would it?”

She couldn’t tell him they were married, and Fionn knew he had her cornered. He was up to something, and she refused to play along with this game.

* * *

“They didn’t even look at him!” Sorcha shouted as she ripped the golden bangles from her arms. “Did you see that? They’re his parents and they didn’t even have the decency to glance at their son whom they have not seen for centuries!”

“It is the faerie way,” Oona said in a quiet voice.

“It is a stupid way!”

Sorcha threw the bangles at the wall. The crashing sound only made her feel slightly better.

“They will not look upon his visage until he is no longer banished,” Oona said.

“And who can do that?”

“Only the king.”

“Right.” Sorcha balled her hands into fists. “He will never do that.”

“No, Fionn is unlikely to choose that path. He wants Eamonn to remained banished for as long as he reigns.”

“Do we have no other recourse?” she asked. “How are we supposed to do this?”

She slumped down on the bed and put her head in her hands. Fionn already had them by the throat. Eamonn’s plan had been ironclad. He was so certain he could waltz in and his people would support him.

They hadn’t. They wanted nothing to do with the banished king, especially when his own parents wouldn’t even look at him.

How cruel were these Fae?

She couldn’t imagine forsaking her own child. No matter what they did, they would be in her heart for the rest of her life. But these people didn’t hesitate to disown a child for merely being different. Ugly. Strange.

Eamonn wasn’t any of those. He was a kind and capable man, one who saw the differences in others and accepted them for those differences. He understood that what made these people strong were their differences.

Oona knelt in front of Sorcha, her knees creaking. “My sweet girl, all is not yet lost.”

“What else is there?”

“The audience with the king may go differently than we expect.”

“How could it?”

“We cannot know the future.” Oona reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind Sorcha’s ear. “We can only hope that the future remains bright.”

“We cannot even see the men, Oona.”

“Then we shall plan on our own, we have no need of men.”

“He will banish Eamonn again, or worse.”

A rustling from the window broke through their conversation. “He’s already banished me, he cannot do it again.”

Sorcha lifted her head so quickly her vision spun. Eamonn threw one leg over her windowsill, the other dangling over the sheer drop towards certain death.

“How did you get there?” she shouted as she stood. She raced to his side and gripped his arm, terror coursing through her veins. “Get inside you foolish man! You’ll tumble to your death!”

“Mo chroí, have a little more faith than that.”

He grinned, and she lost her breath. Had she ever seen him this happy? The wild abandon of joy that danced across his features with the breathless excitement of near death. She kept finding new sides of him, new stories that his body told, new whispers of the man he used to be.

She squeezed the hard edges of his bicep. “What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t like Fionn keeping us apart.”

“Why didn’t you use the door?”

“There are guards posted outside both our rooms. He wasn’t making it easy on us, mostly just to spite me.”

Sorcha shook her head. “How would that spite you? He doesn’t think highly enough of me to consider my thoughts or plans a threat.”

“He knows I will worry about you, and not about my audience.” Eamonn swung his leg over the edge of the window and slid into her room. “Now, I can focus.”

He pulled her into his arms and cupped the back of her head. She felt a sigh lift his chest as he tucked her further into his embrace.

Oona cleared her throat. “I’ll find us some food then.”

“A bath as well, Oona.”

“Master?”

“We’ve been traveling for a very long time. I’d like to be clean when I stride into that faerie pit again.”

“As you wish, Master.”

Sorcha grinned and rested her head against his chest. “You don’t want the bath just to clean, do you?”

“It’s your first night in Cathair Solais. You should enjoy all the pleasures of faerie life.”

“Which are?”

“The bath water here is mixed with ambrosia straight from the enchanted flowers. If I know Fionn, he will have too much added to the bath water Oona requests.”

“What will that do?” Her brow wrinkled with worry as she leaned back to stare at his face. “Why don’t you seem concerned about that?”

“Ambrosia in small amounts relaxes the body. In large amounts, it acts as an aphrodisiac.”

“Ah.” Her cheeks flamed red. “You said you didn’t want to be distracted.”

“I am in my childhood home for the first time in centuries, with the woman I love more than life itself. A man would have to be insane to not wish for distractions at a time like this.”

“You may regret that come morning.”

“I shall never regret a single moment of your time.” His hands smoothed down her ribs to the dip in her waist. “If this is our last night, then I wish it to be a night our souls remember in the ancestral halls.”

Eamonn swept down and claimed her lips. He pressed his body against hers, delved into her heart with his tongue, whispered promises against her skin all night. Promises they both worried he couldn’t keep.

* * *

“Are you ready?” Eamonn asked.

Sorcha watched Oona tighten the remaining straps of his armor, checking each one to make certain she had gotten them all. He could have worn the regalia of faerie royalty. It was the chosen outfit laid out for him by Fionn’s men.

Eamonn had refused. Instead, he pulled out the armor which he wore like a second skin. Sorcha didn’t know whether she approved. On one hand, giving his people a chance to see him as something other than a warlord was potentially good. On the other, he shouldn't change simply because they were used to a king who did not fight by their side.

She would be soft for the both of them. Oona had dressed her in an ephemeral dress that floated like a cloud. Green as sea-foam, it pooled around her legs and moved on its own. The sleeves were so fine, they appeared as if made of smoke. Gems dripped from her throat and wrapped around her arms in coiled chains.

“No,” Sorcha replied. “I am not ready. My stomach is in knots, and I can’t stop thinking something horrible is going to happen.”

“We cannot plan for what might happen.”

“What did he mean when he said you weren't immortal?” Sorcha stared at him with wide eyes. “The crystals stop every blade. What does he know?”

“I cannot fathom what he might be up to. He will not kill me, Sorcha.”

Oona finished tightening the straps and Eamonn strode towards Sorcha. Confidence echoed in each step. He took her hands and pressed his lips against the backs.

“How can you be so sure?”

“He is as much a part of me as I am of him. Twins are two sides of a coin. To kill me would be to kill himself.”

“You want to kill him,” she said.

“And I am prepared to kill myself to end this war. Fionn has never been so selfless.”

As he turned, she reached out and grasped his hand. “Do not kill yourself for this. There are other ways.”

He looked back, emotions dancing in his eyes like the flipping pages of a book. “I have much to live for. I have no intentions of letting him take that from me.”

She followed him out of the room, into the safekeeping of twenty guards, and back to the great hall.

For all Fionn’s blustering when they first arrived, he had not made them wait long. A single night in the golden rooms of the Seelie castle could hardly be considered an extended stay. He had wanted to throw them off, make them uncomfortable, and then force them to return.

He showed them that his word was law by simply making them go away and then he would see them on his own terms. Their plans were foiled that easily.

It made her worried.

Every inch of this castle spread fear throughout her mind and soul. What would Fionn do? What madness could he bring to life?

Eamonn’s square shoulders did not waver as he stepped into the throne room. Sorcha locked her eyes on his form, the only rock that grounded her. He did not let fear rule him. Neither should she.

Faeries filled the hall again. Why? Fionn had made it seem as though they were waiting to speak with him, but she recognized many of their faces. These were the same faeries as before. Beauty, so powerful that it hurt her eyes, spread across his court.

She glanced at Oona. “They are faerie nobility, aren’t they?”

“They are.”

“Why are they here?”

Eamonn strode towards the throne, halting mere feet from his parents. “My petition was for a private audience.”

Fionn reclined on his throne, rings glittering on his fingers. “And it is within my right to deny that request. Your petition will be public.”

“Are you certain you wish to do this, brother?”

“You have nothing to say.”

Eamonn bowed his head. “Then I shall address both you and your court.”

“You may begin.”

The faeries looked up as one and met the gaze of the high king. The firstborn son who should have ruled them, but had fallen from grace.

Sorcha’s throat clenched. They looked at him. All it took was a few words from Fionn and suddenly Eamonn existed again. But why? Why now would he allow it?

Her beloved hesitated for a brief moment as he met individual gazes.

“My people, you have suffered long enough. The throne has always passed to the firstborn of the king and queen, never the second unless the first dies. I am not dead. Many of you have fought beside me on the battlefield, some have saved my life. Others, I have saved.

“You knew me from when I was a little boy. You watched me grow with confidence and honor, you loved me as one of your own.

“This deformity was not my choice, but neither was beauty yours. Your king caused this wound and all others you see upon my face. What you look upon is your own face, your fears, your temptations, your nightmares. I may be ugly, but I am far more worthy a king than the one who sits upon your throne.

“Faeries should not be slaves. We have a chance in this moment, to change our world. To live with tolerance of each other, to grow stronger together. I will not rest until I sit upon that throne and bring our people together once and for all.”

His words were beautiful. They brought tears to Sorcha’s eyes and were spoken like a true king. One who would take the burdens of his people and carry them upon his shoulders.

But did they see it?

She looked over the crowd of people and her heart fell. They did not care for his words. No one moved, blinked, or breathed as they stared him down.

Fionn scoffed. “And so you have had your petition, banished prince. Your people have given their answer.”

Eamonn did not respond. He kept his gaze locked upon the men and women who scorned him so easily. His expression did not change, the set of his shoulders did not move. He watched them and waited.

She sucked in a wavering breath, telling herself not to cry.

The king sighed. “Yours is not the only petition I accepted.”

Eamonn turned and stared. “What?”

“You sent a request with two names, and I accepted both.”

“Whose?”

“Mine,” Sorcha said. Her voice carried line the peal of a bell. “I signed my name on the letter.”

He twisted towards her. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

Hundreds of faerie gazes burned. They waited for the druid woman to say something that might change their minds. Something that would rock the very foundation of their world.

And she couldn’t find a single word.

Fionn gestured for her to step forward. “Come here, Sorcha.”

Her feet carried her without her knowledge. She watched the faces as she passed by and wondered what she could say that would change their minds. They already knew what decision they would make. They had condemned him years ago and didn’t want to alter their thoughts.

She stopped next to Eamonn and brushed her pinky against his. She wouldn’t disgrace him by taking his hand.

“Not there,” Fionn said. “Approach the throne.”

What games did he play now? She looked up at Eamonn who stared down at her with worry in his eyes. But she had no choice. The king had summoned her to his side.

Each step felt strange. The stairs weren’t right to walk upon. A king should be level with his people, should eat at their table, fight by their side. He shouldn’t sit above them and cast his judgment throughout a crowd.

The dowager queen made the slightest of sounds as she passed. A hum, a hymn, a whispered prayer that skittered down Sorcha’s spine.

“There you are.” Fionn licked his lips. “You’re such a pretty little thing for a human.”

“Thank you.” Her words slid between her clenched teeth.

“So polite! Since when do you curb your tongue?”

“I have been learning self-control.”

“I bet you have.” He leaned forward and stroked a finger down her arm. She felt the heat of him burn through the fabric, her body’s confused response to a man who was Eamonn but not. “Why don’t you tell us why Eamonn is more worthy of this throne than I?”

“It is not my place to suggest such a thing. Faerie politics are beyond me.”

“Even you shall not stand beside my brother? If his own lover will not claim him worthy then why should we?”

She swallowed. “I care little whether he sits upon this throne or the one he has already claimed. The name of the castle or seat means little, it is the people who decide where their allegiance lies. I have watched all those who seek shelter from your mistreatment arrive at our doorstep.

“And we have taken care of them. Each faerie who was neglected, whose family hungers for food. We cared for their wounds, filled their bellies, provided a warm place to sleep. Whether you continue on as Seelie king or not, matters little to me. We will continue to save those you have wronged. And you will continue to wrong them.”

Fionn’s brows lifted. “Banished prince, your lover speaks quite well for a gutter rat.”

“She is a queen. You would do well to show her respect.”

“A queen?” Fionn burst into laughter along with a few of the faerie court. “She is a druid. We ran them out of the Otherworld long ago, and for good reason. I should send her back to the human realm now.”

“She would only find another way to return. She already has once.”

“Then you choose him?” Fionn asked her directly. “There are many gifts I can give you. Many wonders you might behold in this court without the presence of a faerie prince that will amount to nothing.”

“He is your brother,” she said with a hitched breath. “How can you be so cruel? He is a part of you.”

A shadow passed across his face. The same sadness she had seen on his face when he looked at Elva. “I cut out that part when I stuck a dagger in his back, little midwife. There is no mending that wound.”

She didn’t think anyone but her had heard his admission of guilt. Regret rang in his voice, saturated his words with heavy oil. He hated himself for what he had done. But he was not willing to back down.

They were so much alike. Eamonn would never let his brother rule at his side, and Fionn would never apologize. They were two pillars of hatred and jealousy which had grown so solid they could never break.

“You have this moment to change the future,” she whispered. “You can take this step towards mending your life and his. It will not belittle you, nor will it make you appear weak. Two great men are stronger than one.”

“Your words are so pretty.” He reached forward and touched her cheek. “And your soul is so bright. He does not deserve your devotion.”

“He has earned it wholeheartedly. Again and again.”

“If only the world was filled with more women like you.”

“Where is Elva?” she asked quietly.

He shut down, his expression smoothing into porcelain and hands gripping the arms of his throne so tightly that they groaned. “You have made your plea, midwife. Return to your lover’s side for my judgment.”

“Judgment?” her voice rang out. “We are not here for punishment. We came to you for an audience, king to king.”

“I do not recognize another king in the Seelie Court. Nor will my people.”

“They already have!” She backed down the steps, her soul screaming for justice. “They flock to us by the hundreds, and thousands more will come.”

“You have fled from Hy-brasil in clear defiance of banishment.”

“You have no right!” Sorcha screamed even as she reached Eamonn’s side. “Your judgment means nothing!”

“I find you guilty of breaking the laws of our people and treason.”

Sorcha clenched her fists. “You are not their king! The true High King of the Seelie Court stands before you, and you are blind to see it!”

“Sorcha,” Eamonn caught hold of her shoulders. “Silence.”

“I will not be silent while these fools call him king!”

“Mo chroí,” he leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. “We have failed.”

“I will not accept that.”

Fionn’s voice boomed. “Guards, remove the midwife.”

Hands grabbed her arms and yanked her from Eamonn’s hold. He growled, palming the blades at his side and jerking forward. Two other guards held him in place.

She watched the blood drain from his face as he was forced to stare at his brother.

Fionn shook his head. “Release him.”

The gold clad hands fell from Eamonn’s shoulders. Sorcha twisted and turned, trying to break the solid hold upon her. One of the guards wrapped his arm firmly around her waist.

“You knew what the punishment for such blatant disregard for our rules was, and still you came here,” Fionn said.

“Hang me again, brother. I will swing from the cord for as long as you wish, but I will come back here when that rope breaks.”

Again, the darkened expression Sorcha recognized crossed Fionn’s features.

“No,” she breathed. Her gut clenched, her hands shook, her eyes watered. She didn’t know what Fionn was going to do, but she could see his heart breaking.

“You forced my hand, brother.” It was the first time Fionn admitted his familial ties to Eamonn. “And now you will remain here, for all to remember what happens when they defy their king.”

“I am to be a prisoner then?” Eamonn scoffed. “You truly are a fool. Eventually, they will hear what I have to say as truth. Abdicate the throne. End this.”

“You are not the only one to find the old relics.”

Time slowed as Sorcha watched the scene unfold before her. Eamonn’s eyes widened and for the first she saw fear. Raw and ragged, it shredded his quiet visage, and he gripped the sword at his side.

But Fionn was faster. He reached through the folds of his robe and pulled out a bejeweled handle. At the press of a finger, it extended into a wicked spear with an edge so sharp it was blinding.

Fionn turned so quietly her eyes could not track his movements and sank the blade through Eamonn's armor, between his ribs.

He couldn’t die, the crystals would stop it. She waited for the telltale clink and shattering sound of metal breaking against earth. It did not come.

A choked sound echoed through the hall which was suddenly silent as the grave. Eamonn coughed again and Fionn twisted the spear. He pushed until the tip split through Eamonn’s back and gleamed in the light. No blood tainted its tip.

Rattling breath mirrored her own. Fionn stepped back, wiped a hand across his mouth, and ascended the stairs to his throne.

Eamonn fell onto his knees and would have sprawled onto the floor if the spear had not caught on the stairs. It held him up, balanced on the very thing which plunged through his heart.

A wail split through her head, screaming and crying in pain. It was the scream of a bean sidhe, the thundering of a heart breaking, the shattering of a soul.

She made that sound. Screaming out her rage and fear until her throat vibrated, and she tasted blood. Sorcha wasn’t certain if she said words, or if the sound was merely the raw, violent edge of agony.

The guard loosened his hold just enough for her to break free. She ran towards Eamonn and cupped his face, tilting his head until she could look into his eyes.

Crystals spread from the wound on his chest. They climbed down his arms, solidifying his stomach until he couldn’t move.

Tears slid down her cheeks and her hands trembled.

“No,” she moaned. “No, my love. You will not leave me!”

“I—” The crystals traveled up his throat and locked his words within his body. His eyes tried to say what his lungs could not. But all she saw was the fear and sadness. Their life had been taken from them. It was always taken from them.

“Mo chroí, fight for me.”

His lips moved but crystal sprouted from his tongue. They rose out of his mouth and spilled into her hands. His eyes roved, sightless, until they too stilled.

She no longer held a man in her hands. No heart beat, no lungs drew breath, no eyes spoke of his love. He was nothing more than a man made of crystal, a symbol of all those who fought against Fionn.

Sorcha drew air into her lungs, threw her head back, and screamed. Her agony was so great it cracked the surrounding stone. Great fissures that spread like spider legs across the floor towards the hated faeries who had condemned him to this fate.

She would kill them all. They would die a thousand deaths for taking him from her.

One brave soul linked an arm through her waist but she would not let Eamonn go. She refused to leave him here where so many hated people would look upon him and laugh. They had no right to keep him.

“Sorcha!” Cian shouted in her ear. “Sorcha, we must leave!”

“I will make them regret ever drawing breath!”

“We will, love. But we must go!”

She opened her eyes and saw that the throne room was in shambles. Faeries tore at each other and the guards. Screams and shouts echoed her own though she did not recognize those who fought.

Fionn fled from the room with a small army of guards trailing behind him. They ushered the dowager queen away who stared at Sorcha with pain in her eyes.

Sorcha pointed directly at her. “You have no right to mourn him.”

The queen flinched and fled.

“Now, Sorcha! We cannot risk being caught in the dungeon! All our work will be for nothing!”

“I cannot leave him.”

“He doesn’t know anymore.” She heard the anguish in Cian’s voice. “He doesn’t know, Sorcha. We have to go.”

Trembling, she pressed a kiss against Eamonn's cold, stone lips. “I will find you again. In this life or the next.”

Heart numb, she stood and left with what remained of Eamonn’s people. Her soul screamed out a vow.

She would destroy his house and pity the fool who tried to stop her.