How to Keep a Fae (Coveted Fae #1)

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

August

W hen I enter the practice chamber, my father is talking to Cecil. Aurelius cuts an imposing figure with his long ebony hair tied at his nape and his burgundy silk suit with silver embroidery trim. We are of height, although his build is a little leaner.

His presence here sends me reeling.

I’ve been reeling since I got back from my last patrol, and they allocated me to another feeder because Adaline was in heat.

The thought of her suffering through her heat, even with herbs, makes my gut churn. I’d taken from the feeder offered to me via her wrist. A transaction, nothing more. The spark I used to feel with a feeder, any feeder, was simply no longer there. She’d been accepting and did not appear to be traumatized by my rejection that I could see.

It made sense. Sometimes, warriors needed to take from others even if they were mated and vice versa. It didn’t always have to be about intimacy.

The warning bells should have been ringing at the time. That only happened later when Jayga, wild-eyed, slammed me into the wall and demanded to know if I had betrayed our queen. He wasn’t looking to get one over on me. Nor hoping I had fucked up to better facilitate his own claim. No, he was protecting the emotional well-being of the woman he loved.

It pissed me off that he would doubt me even if I did understand the underlying emotions driving his actions.

“What the fuck is an imperial doing down here?” Jayga mutters, sidling up next to me. He’s not looking for an answer. It’s more an expression of mistrust. He is not the only warrior in the room eyeballing Aurelius with wary interest.

Imperial.

The word leaves a bad taste in my mouth. My father is so much more than a mere imperial. To the warriors here, the term is close enough. Beneath his regal attire lurks a warrior whose skills have been perfected over many centuries—at least I have long suspected as much. But it is his imperial blood that elevates him to something far beyond that humble rank. He plays the role of diplomat now, but he has played many roles over his long life.

He lived through the great battle of Sendar. He is extraordinary in every way.

“He looks a bit like you,” Jayga muses.

My father turns, and his steady gaze locks on me.

“Very similar,” Jayga continues, oblivious to the warning bells still clanging in my head. “Uncanny, actually.”

“That is understandable,” I say slowly. The unease amplifies the longer Aurelius continues to hold my gaze. “He is my father, after all.”

Jayga chuckles. It dies off when he realizes I’m not making a poor joke.

My father nods to Cecil and then strides away. I hear his footsteps ring out as he walks for the door, but my eyes are now locked upon Cecil.

Imperials only come down here when seeking a warrior for a quest. My father did not take anyone, yet the relief I should be feeling at his departure does not manifest.

Cecil calls the order to prepare for drills. The normality ought to settle the churning in my gut.

It does not.

Jayga scratches his jaw and side-eyes me. “When you said you had pure blood, I didn’t think you were descended from a god.”

I make a scoffing noise, and some of my tension eases. “Imperials bleed like we all do. They are assuredly not gods.”

Jayga’s brows remain puckered together. “If you say so. What do you think that was about then? The only time imperials come down here is when they want a warrior for a quest. That look he gave you… You have family get-togethers often?”

“No.”

“Well, alright then. I guess we’re not discussing the elephant in the room… Imperial in the room?” He chuckles. “Yeah, that works too.”

I need him to stop talking. When has Jayga ever done that? I walk under automation to the long bench. Jayga follows me, still yaking on about me being a demi-god… and no wonder I have such hard fists?

I stow my kit bag on the hook.

A shadow forms behind me. Jayga stops talking and turns.

I do not.

“The master will speak to you, August. ”

I nod to the guard, feeling Jayga’s eyes following me—along with every warrior in the room, as I am escorted to Cecil.

The command to begin drills is given.

Cecil motions me to follow him into his small office.

The guard closes the door, leaving us alone.

“You are to accompany Aurelius on a mission,” he says.

I was braced for this, but the words still hit me like a blow.

“When,” I bite out.

“Now. Gather your usual armor, weapons, and horse, and meet him in the portal chamber.”

I can feel a tic thumping in my jaw. My father has requested me. Not me and Jayga… leaving Jayga here. “Only me?”

“That I am aware of,” Cecil says with an incline of his head. “Your father does not disclose his purposes to me. I am old and merely the warrior master.”

“He is not my father.” I regret the harsh words the moment they leave my lips. It is an indication of my chaotic thoughts that I lash out in this way.

There is a long pause. Cecil does not dismiss me. I don’t dare look away.

“He visits me regularly,” Cecil says, voice clipped. “Asking about you. Your progress. He reads every operational report you are involved in. He does not apply this exacting interest to any other warrior under my care. Nor did he deign to visit me even once before you joined my hall.”

I blink like that might clear the fog from my mind.

“I believe he has a purpose for you. One you will come to understand over time.”

“I am no damn pawn,” I snarl.

A smile ghosts Cecil’s lips, and it quenches my temper like a douse of cold water splashed over a fire. “Spoken like an imperial. ”

I snap my mouth shut, realizing too late that I have been bold beyond my rank.

“Aurelius was at Sendar. How many can say as much? His experiences stretch over many lifetimes.”

He tells me nothing I do not already know. But this time, I wait rather than venturing to offer a comment.

“Accept that you will find enlightenment as to your father’s decisions when you need to, and this will be easier to bear.”

His affirmation of the paternal relationship after I denied it, is not lost on me.

I bow my head.

“May the Goddess guide you on your travels, Augustine, first and only born son of Aurelius. You may leave to prepare.”

I blink away the sudden watery weight from the back of my eyes and, with a stiff bow, quit the room.

No one besides my father calls me Augustine although it is the name gifted me when I was born and is written in the register of births.

I feel every eye follow me as I collect my kit bag and walk the stone path that cuts through the center of the practice room toward the doors, my boots ringing loudly.

It is Jayga’s stare that pierces me most deeply.

As I push through the double doors and enter the passage beyond, I gulp air into my lungs.

Confusion about what my father seeks with this move offers a brief respite from the fear and the jealousy I thought I’d put to bed.

My father’s missions are rarely short. A year ago, I’d have jumped at the opportunity to prove myself on something as important as this undoubtedly is. Now, my mind will not stretch past the implications of leaving Jayga alone for weeks, possibly months, with the woman I love.