Destined for the Fae King (Courts of Faery #3)

Chapter 11

T he next day we are led as a group to the council chamber around mid-morning. I’m dressed elegantly, if practically, in an outfit I’ve nicknamed my fae business suit. My crimson dress is fitted through the bodice and upper thighs but flares out where it ends around my knees. The golden blazer over the top is a perfect match for a few golden threads woven through the crimson, and Fia even found me a pair of shimmering gold-colored heels. If this doesn’t scream “dressed for a council meeting,” I don’t know what will. It’s a more mature, sophisticated look than the dresses worn by some of the other women today, but that’s exactly what I’m going for.

“Mira, you’re finally back,” Gabriella remarks as she falls into step next to me.

“She was at yoga this morning,” Zoe says to her. “Which you’d know if you came. Offer is still open.”

Gabriella all but rolls her eyes at Zoe, who stalks ahead with her long-legged stride.

I smile. I’m sure it looks like it’s for Gabriella, but the grin is totally for me. After my lunch date, I was able to slip back into my room without being seen and decided I’d just stay that way. I asked the guard who shifted me to keep it quiet also, and it seems he listened. Why let the others know the date ended right after lunch? There was nothing else on our schedule for the day, so my presence wouldn’t be missed by anyone, but my absence would certainly be noticed by the competition. Hopefully, they were all stewing over wondering where I was and assuming it was with Vasilius.

A few asked at yoga this morning, but I carefully dodged direct questions, just remarking on the beautiful date and the flowing conversation. They didn’t need to know that it was mostly one-sided either. I may have also thrown in a few extra yawns…just to give them something else to chew over.

“How was the date? Was it just you and Vasilius? Did he kiss you?” Gabriella fires one question after another as if she can’t get them out fast enough.

The corners of my lips stretch higher as I let a beat of silence pass, then two, while I take in the wide-eyed and expectant look in her brown eyes. “Yes and yes.”

“What!” Gabriella screeches, causing a few of the women and even one of the guards to jump. “You kissed him too?”

“More like he kissed me.” On the hand. But totally still counts.

Ahead of us, Cora whips her head around to glare daggers at me, never breaking her stride.

“I can’t believe it.” Gabriella gives the most dramatic sigh I’ve ever seen. “I’m so behind already.”

That gets Grace’s attention. “It’s not a race.”

She shrugs, her long hair sliding off her shoulder, as we round a corner and stop in a circular antechamber with a high-domed roof made of colorful glass that paints the otherwise white marble space in a kaleidoscope of colors. I’m not the only one whose head tips back, drawn by the artful display of light to its source above us. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if a little disorienting, and instantly I have the desire to dance there under the colorful barrage. Yesterday was the first time I’d really danced in months, and it seems to have reawakened something in my spirit that I’d let fall asleep. All morning I’ve been flexing my toes and hearing a hum of music that’s only in my head. If nothing else comes out of this contest, it’s nice to have recaptured that spark of joy in my heart.

“You’re not worried?” Gabriella implores, dragging my attention back to her.

“Nope.” Grace lifts her chin in a show of confidence. “No offense, Mira.”

I shift my notebook to one hand and lift the other in front of me. “None taken.”

Her comment didn’t feel like a jab toward me at all. Rather, she has that inner confidence going, and I admire that. Grace might be her name, and she has plenty of that, but poise and confidence are hers in spades.

Someone ahead shushes us, and we all quiet down as the double doors leading into the chamber are pulled wide. The inside of the room is the opposite of the antechamber and most of the palace for that matter. The walls, floor, and ceiling are all stark white marble, and there is not a window or piece of artwork to be seen. Arced tables form a wide, empty circle with chairs spaced around them on one side facing toward the center. And they’re already occupied. The advisors rise from their seats, as does another figure I’m momentarily surprised to see, though I shouldn’t be. Lysandir’s gaze flits across the crowd of us before landing on me and stopping. My breath catches, and my chest grows tight. Why would he… But then he’s moved on, looking at someone else, so maybe I imagined it.

“Come in, ladies,” Dowager Queen Elaine says. I hadn’t seen the dowager queen beyond the press of other women in front of me, but her voice is unmistakable. “Please have a seat, any open one you like.”

The center table is mostly full, but behind it sits another circle of chairs, these without a table. It’s the spectator section, and apparently, that’s what we are today. Too bad we don’t have a seat at the main ring, though Elaine’s presence is an indication that one day one of us will.

Several women rush forward, trying to snag a spot as close to the king’s seat as possible. But I do the opposite and aim for one straight across from him. Why be behind him out of sight when I can be right in his line of vision the entire time? Zoe has the same idea, and we end up side by side.

“Have a seat,” Vasilius orders, forcing the last few women silently fighting over chairs to pick one and sit.

Everyone takes a seat but him and Elaine. And though he’s the king, it’s clear his seat at the table—literally and figuratively—is the same as everyone else’s. There’s no special place at this round table, and it makes me think a little bit about King Arthur and his knights of the round table. So many legends in our world are influenced by fae traditions. Not that most people know that of course. But as the story goes, those without the gift heard tales from those with it and had to make sense of them somehow, so what better way than tales of human accomplishment?

I’ve heard about the Court of Fire’s tradition of the round table and including many advisors and royal family members in the dealings of the court. It’s as close to a democracy as the fae get and one of the reasons I so admired Vasilius from afar. Anyone who can be born to power and yet share it can’t be too terrible. The jury is still out on whether this tradition actually did inspire the Arthur story, though, or if it happened the other way around. Maybe they fed and fueled each other. We may never know.

“Thank you for joining us today. Mother?” He sits, leaving her standing alone and leaning on her cane.

“Welcome, ladies. As you can see by my presence here, being queen is more than a title. It carries responsibility beyond being the king’s companion.” She takes her time looking around the room, meeting our eyes one by one. “You will be looked to as a voice of authority within the court, a source of knowledge and guidance for the king and others. Today, listen. Learn. And in the next meeting, you will all get to participate and share your voices.”

Once the queen takes her seat, the advisors are introduced. It’s a formality—we should know them if we’ve done our research—but I appreciate the refresher all the same. Stony-faced Avara, Captain of the Guard with her sharp features and straight pale hair that falls past her shoulders. Advisor Danai with her flawless ebony skin and youthful features. In human years, I wouldn’t put her past twenty-five, but fae appearances rarely tell a true story of age since the strength of their magic prolongs their life well past human years. She must be quite powerful indeed. There’s Efthymi, pleasantly plump and sharing the same coloring as the king. If I remember correctly, they’re related. A cousin maybe? Memnon is one of the few advisors who smiles at us and seems genuinely excited we are there. In fact, his piercing blue gaze is almost a little disconcerting as it hops from one of us to the next with a level of intensity that make me squirm in my seat.

Finally, there is Lysandir, brother of the king.

“And seer, don’t forget that,” Vasilius remarks when Lysandir gives little more than his name, title, and relation to the king. “His insights have proven valuable on many occasions. Too bad he can’t just tell me who should be queen, eh? ”

A few hesitant laughs filter out into the quiet, but they are awkward things at best.

“And deny you the opportunity to find your bride yourself?” Lysandir responds, the comment caught somewhere between humor and seriousness.

Vasilius shrugs. “It would make things simpler.”

Lysandir frowns but doesn’t push the matter and takes a seat.

“Well, on to business then,” Vasilius orders.

Business, it turns out, is much more boring than I expected. No wonder half the advisors looked grumpy when we arrived, and frankly, still do. I’ve written little in my notebook, and I’m starting to think that maybe some of the others who didn’t bring one won’t be at as much of a disadvantage as I previously thought. Still a bad move on their part not to be prepared though. So far, most of the things they’ve discussed have been disputes between various citizens and families, which could primarily be resolved by being fair and equal.

“As our next topic,” Memnon begins, “we really must discuss the Unseelie.”

Now that gets my attention. I lift my pen from the cluster of flowers I’ve been slowly doodling and sit a little straighter in my seat.

Vasilius gives a nod for him to continue, and Memnon wastes no time. “As we discussed previously, activity near the Forest and Air Courts has slowed significantly since their conflict some weeks ago. We know now that they were trying to incite a war between the two courts with the aim of weakening them and making them easier targets, but those efforts came to naught. Since, our scouts have spotted more and more bands of Unseelie moving near our own borders. There was even that incident a week past where they attempted a breach. ”

Someone gasps. I feel my own breath hitch. We knew there was trouble, but an attempted breach on the Court of Fire? That’s certainly news, at least to us, though no one around the center table is surprised. They clearly already know. They’ve discussed this before.

“That doesn’t leave this room, ladies,” Elaine says, her aged voice ringing with strength.

She doesn’t wait for our acknowledgement. It’s expected.

“It’s only a matter of time before things escalate further,” Memnon continues.

“But to what end?” This from Avara. “We’re not weakened like the Court of the Forest or off our guard like the Court of Air. They cannot hope to attack us through force alone. Our forces would destroy them. It would be foolish to toy with us.”

“There must be a reason,” Danai says.

“Curiosity? They may not know our strength,” says Elaine.

“They’ll learn of it quickly enough if they try our borders again,” Avara replies.

Through it all, I watch Vasilius take in one party then the next as they speak, his head propped on fist with his elbow holding up his arm like a post. The casual posture belies the intensity in his gaze.

“They’re likely testing us, checking for weakness and seeing how we react.” Efthymi nods along while they speak, as if their conclusion is the only right one, though I have to admit it makes sense.

“And so we should react with force!” Memnon’s voice rises with fervor. “Let them know we are not to be trifled with. They are the worst of our kind, and we cannot allow them to gain further strength. ”

“That’s probably what they want.” Lysandir’s voice is the opposite of Memnon’s. Calm, assured, and pitched so that everyone has to be quiet in order to hear him speak. “The Unseelie have been divided for an age. The Court of the Forest already made the error of giving them reason to unite, and we’ve seen what happened as a result. If we give them more cause, we’re inviting a war we do not want or need. From what I’ve gathered from my contacts in the Court of Air, the Unseelie King is not as brash as many of his kin and will know he cannot win through force. There’s a deeper game at play here, and we risk losing if we move too quickly.”

Memnon slams his palms on the table and rises. “So you’d rather we sit around and become prey? They have the sword! They could use it against our wards.”

That gets Vasilius’s attention, and he shoves to his feet, leaning on the table with both of his palms pressed against it.

“That’s enough for now.” His deep voice is edged with just enough command that no one dares move, much less speak. “Let us think on it for now and continue to gather information. The coming days may bring us more insight.”

Memnon grumbles and wrinkles his pointed nose but says nothing further. The next few topics are much less exciting, and more than once I catch Lysandir looking my way.

Everyone seems to like him. Hell, I always liked and admired what I’d heard about him. So, if he’s against me, it’s going to be trouble. I have to figure out a way to get on his good side.

But why does he dislike me so?

Is it possible he had a vision that included me?

The new possibility has me squirming in my seat. What if he did see something about me? Though, I’m not sure what I could do that would inspire such distaste that he’d try to kick me out of Faery the moment I arrived. It’s not like I’m here to be a spy, take them down from within, or some other nonsense. Maybe I should ask, but I’m almost afraid to know the answer.

I muse on that throughout the rest of the meeting, impatiently waiting for the chance to improve my odds.