A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2 Read online

Faythe’s heart increased in tempo, and she had to draw back her covers, feeling her body flush in fear. What Nik implied didn’t make any sense; she saw the general conjure bright blue flame right in front of her eyes.

  “There are other abilities of the mind?” she dreaded to ask, hating that her voice dropped.

  He nodded. “Nightwalkers are the most common. Reylan’s ability is more like yours in a conscious sense.” Nik stopped his pacing in front of her bed, and she gripped the sheets beneath her a little tighter. “Truthfully, I don’t know the specifics of how it works, but he’s able to sense others’ abilities around him…and take some of them for himself. Temporarily, I believe.”

  Faythe blanched, but the prince didn’t seem to notice.

  “When I saw him arrive, I was worried he would find you out immediately. But I’ve been watching him closely, and so far, he hasn’t appeared at all suspicious—thankfully. I can only guess that by some mercy of the Spirits, he can’t sense it in a human,” Nik finished with a breath of relief.

  Faythe, on the other hand, was overcome with apprehension and had to force down the nausea that stung her throat. Her mind reeled and her gut twisted as she recalled what happened at the feast. The momentary loss of her ability, and if what Nik said was true…

  She put effort into keeping her face placid. She wouldn’t tell the prince she was almost certain Reylan already did know about her, deciding she had to confront him for herself first to find out the extent of what he knew—or assumed. The killer question, the one that speared her chest with more dread than relief: Why had he kept quiet and not turned her in already? Outing her ability would gain him favor with Olmstone and grant him great merit with his own king for the rare discovery of a human spy. She trembled with fear to think he might be holding onto the knowledge for some greater unveiling.

  “Well, I’m sure I’d be hanging by the gallows by now if he did, so I think I’m safe,” she lied. She was anything but and had long forgotten what safety truly felt like, walking a thin tightrope over the Netherworld since she first set foot inside the castle.

  Nik didn’t seem convinced either, but before they could say another word, a knock sounded at her door. The prince made the few strides over to invite Elise and Ingrid into the rooms and kept the door open to take his leave.

  “Just remember, Faythe, you are a lady of the court. Please try to act like one.”

  She darted for another cushion, lifting it in a feeble threat. Nik’s rumbling laugher was the last thing she heard before he swiftly maneuvered out of range then out of sight completely as the door clicked shut behind him.

  Elise and Ingrid stood together wearing Cheshire cat grins. Faythe flushed hotter as their giddy looks of excitement spoke of romanticized thoughts. They went about the room as usual, falling into idle chatter.

  “Did you see the general from Rhyenelle?” Elise asked with a squeal of delight.

  “Of course she’s seen him—she was sat across from him!” Ingrid turned to her with an envious, dreamy stare. “What was he like?”

  Faythe rolled her eyes, rising from the bed and heading into the closet. She was desperate for them to drop the subject that filled her gut with anxious knots. “Irritating,” she mumbled. “Arrogant.” Faythe filtered through the racks of garments with building frustration. “Infuriating.”

  “Beautiful, mesmerizing, charming,” Elise gushed from behind.

  Faythe scoffed. “Certainly not charming.”

  “Tell us everything!” Ingrid squeaked.

  When she turned from her sifting, she beckoned both handmaidens into the confines of the closet, beaming bright with girlish excitement. “I brought you both chocolate cake,” she diverted quickly, needing a moment to calm her flushed body from their playful jesting. “From the feast last night. It’s in the dining room.”

  Both their eyes lit up, and Faythe shooed them away to change despite their protests to help and listen to her gossip.

  In solitude, she tried to extinguish the flames on her face at the thought of Reylan. She wanted to hate him, or better, not pay him any mind at all, but all that clouded her mind was their encounter and how she’d naïvely allowed him to get so close when he posed more than one threat. Banishing him from her thoughts was near impossible if she was still to find out what he knew of her ability. That thought erased any foolish desire to make way for fear and dread.

  Faythe strolled down the hall escorted by a guard. She had no complaints about who she was paired with, as Tres was one of the friendlier toward her, but she felt ridiculous for being assigned a guard at all. It was part of keeping up appearances that she was high enough in the king’s court to warrant one, and thus, the royals might be more inclined to engage with her.

  She found herself a reluctant key player in the courtiers’ game. She had tried and failed to brace herself for the long week ahead of maintaining the guise she belonged here and wasn’t just a peasant girl in fancy clothing. Layers of blue and white floated behind her as she walked, consciously trying to keep her posture straight and poised as Tauria had taught her during her months in the castle. Apparently, it was the most blatantly obvious thing that gave away her human nature—aside from the rounded ears. If she was to convince everyone she was a lady of standing, Faythe’s gait was the first thing the ward claimed would require work. It still didn’t stop the glares and disapproving looks from other high fae ladies of the court.

  Rounding the next corner, Faythe breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Tauria heading toward her. The ward smiled warmly and stopped right in front of Faythe.

  “I’m heading out to meet King Varlas and his court for a walk in the gardens. Care to join us?”

  Faythe was immensely grateful for the invitation as she had no idea where else she would be headed otherwise. Looping her arm through Tauria’s, she turned back the way she came and let the ward lead the way while their guards flanked them.

  It wasn’t exactly the court she was hoping to run into this morning, but she didn’t want to rouse questions by seeking out the Rhyenelle general specifically. Her heartbeat seemed to be on a constant sprint in anticipation of his next move.

  At the doors to the gardens, two human servants waited with cloaks in hand. Faythe took her white fur garment gratefully and fastened it around herself. Winter had chased away the blossoms, and she would have declined the offer to trail the dreary, frozen pathways if she had a better excuse to occupy her time.

  Out in the courtyard, the deep purple colors of Olmstone were vibrant against the faded winter grass and dull browns coated in light frost. Varlas and his family were admiring one of the great sculptures of an ancient High Farrow ruler when they approached.

  “I trust you found your first night with us comfortable?” Tauria spoke with perfect eloquence as they approached the entourage.

  The royals all turned to them. The king beamed widely at the ward, taking her hand in his and planting a tender kiss on it by way of greeting.

  “Indeed we did. High Farrow never fails to disappoint. Though there is one presence that is always greatly missed when these events take place,” Varlas said with a hint of sadness.

  Tauria squeezed his hand that still held hers. “My father would be proud of the alliance we have all worked hard to maintain. Peace was always his greatest desire.”

  Varlas gave a knowing nod. “And he will be proud when we take back Fenstead and crown you as its queen, Lady Tauria,” he answered with a father’s warmth.

  Faythe didn’t know much about the history of the kingdoms and their relationships, but it was clear Olmstone and Fenstead must have been close allies even before the Great Battles as the grief and loss were evident on both their faces.

  Then the king’s eyes flicked to Faythe for the first time, sending her heart leaping up her throat. “I am glad you could join us, Lady Faythe. I’m intrigued to hear more about you.”

  Faythe mustered a sweet smile through her inner turmoil. “Of course, Your Majesty. I could not p
ass up the opportunity to learn more about the land of wolves and Stone Men.”

  Varlas grinned, and it loosened off her nerves slightly. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of stories to exchange.”

  Faythe smiled kindly, reining back the seed of disgust that grew at knowing her mundane and impossible stories were completely warped with falsehoods. A past with no merit, no excitement, and worst of all, no truth was all she could relay to him.

  Tauria fell back to walk with Tarly, and Faythe internally cursed the ward for handing the role of engaging the king in pleasant discussion to her. She kept silent as she’d been warned. Speak only when spoken to. Faythe didn’t get to enjoy the pause for long.

  “How do you find living in the castle? In such prestige, away from your kind in the town, that is,” Varlas asked.

  Faythe supposed he was too imperious and entitled to see insult in the question. Her gloved hands clasped tighter in front of her. “I have never known any different,” she lied through her teeth, feeling slick with oily hatred for it. Toward Orlon, toward herself—she couldn’t be sure who she resented more.

  Varlas hummed. “Unfortunate about the passing of your parents. You are lucky to have such a merciful king.”

  It took great will not to retort, and she was even impressed with herself that she refrained from damning her guise and letting loose what she really thought of her far from merciful king.

  “Lucky indeed,” she muttered.

  They came to the fountains, and everyone stopped to admire the glistening waters, which leaped and flowed in their own magickal dance. Faythe looked around the ensemble. Everyone was conversing among themselves, occupied, and her heart picked up tempo. It was the perfect opportunity to pry into their ally court’s minds while they were preoccupied.

  Tauria spared her a quick glance, and Faythe almost missed the subtle nod of her head while she engaged the royals in a story. She hadn’t the faintest idea what the ward spoke of as her own thoughts were in a frenzy at what she was about to do. Tauria knew it and was helping by keeping them distracted. A small relief, but it wouldn’t save her if any of the court happened to feel her probe into their minds.

  She moved inconspicuously, to be in a better position to catch the eye of her targets, and tried the guards first, in turn catching a glimpse into their thoughts, which were solely laced with disinterest at all things political. They offered no insight, and she was confident none of them were high enough to be confided in about any sensitive affairs.

  Faythe tried the queen next. Her pulse was erratic as she made quick work of maneuvering through her surface thoughts. She found nothing. In fact, it was possible Keira was involved even less than the guards in the politics of their kingdom. While she thought it strange, Faythe didn’t waste any time dwelling on it.

  In Tarly’s mind, her cheeks flushed at having to sift through enraptured thoughts of the Fenstead Princess he kept his gaze locked upon. While his adoration for Tauria was sweet, Faythe felt horribly guilty for trespassing on those private feelings. She dove in deeper, searching for any information on his kingdom, and found various council meetings and suchlike, similar to the ones she was forced to attend in High Farrow, but nothing to indicate any ill will or out-of-the-ordinary defense strategies she thought would be alarming to Orlon. She retreated from his mind with a small frown.

  Her face quickly fell when she went to catch the eye of her final and most daunting subject, only to find Varlas already looking at her. Faythe went rigid to her core to stifle her trembling. She didn’t have a choice: she had to do this. When he looked away, she stepped into his mind, remaining there while his eyes left her. She had to focus and stay calm, or she risked her own emotions giving away her mental presence.

  In the void of Varlas’s mind, Faythe felt…strange. Unlike everyone else, his thoughts were organized, easy for her to find what she was looking for. There were no loose feelings, no passing notions. She had never come across a mind so collected and tranquil, but she was not eager to spend a moment longer than necessary pondering it.

  She filed through any memories that featured battle plans, fortification defense, ally relations, and everything else so painstakingly dull. Nothing revealed itself as malevolent or false. Varlas was good, honest, and had the best intentions for his kingdom and allies.

  Faythe pulled herself from his mind with a drop of guilt that she had been made to riffle through the thoughts of such an innocent and kind-hearted court. Then she felt angry it was her own king’s paranoia and thirst for dominance that demanded she stoop to such levels.

  Laughter broke her from her slump, and she mustered a weak smile to act as if she was involved. The attention dissolved away from Tauria as everyone started to walk off and head indoors. Faythe fell behind everyone, watching the coats of vibrant purple with shameful moral regret.

  The more she used her ability for the king’s bidding, the more she grew to resent herself.

  For the next hour, Faythe, Tauria, and the royals of Olmstone completed the tour of the gardens and trailed around a few halls and guest areas even she had never seen before. She had to put effort into maintaining her gawking and admiration of the art and architecture to avoid giving herself away.

  Varlas devoured every lie she fed him. She had spent the whole time conversing with him while Tauria engaged the handsome Tarly. The once brooding and sulking fae prince had completely fallen for the charms of the ward and now seemed elated with his company.

  Faythe almost felt bad for her deceit as Varlas turned out to be a very passionate and kind man. In getting to know their neighboring kingdom, she couldn’t understand why Orlon would have any reason to doubt their loyalty in defense against Valgard.

  Now, they were all gathered in the great dining hall for a small luncheon—a lot more humble than last night’s grand feast. Faythe followed the flow of her companions and noticed everyone being seated in the same positions as the night before. She followed suit, smiling her gratitude as her chair was pulled out and her cloak taken by a petite servant girl. Faythe would never become accustomed to the human service no matter how routine it became.

  Upon noting the empty chair opposite and the lack of crimson altogether, Faythe couldn’t be sure if it was relief or panic that pulsed through her. Nik was also missing, and she dreaded for one second the general had approached the Prince of High Farrow or the king himself with the knowledge of her ability.

  Perhaps they were dealing with it this very moment.

  Faythe was never one for paranoia, so she hated that Reylan brought the ugly side out in her. The thought of him exposing her was enough to make her tremble where she sat, and she found no appetite for the selection of cold meats and cheese on the table.

  Tauria must have noted her nerves because she turned to her. “Everything okay?”

  Faythe forced a smile. “I’m fine,” she said a little too quickly. Then she added casually, “Will Nik and the others be joining us?”

  The ward’s eyes briefly flashed to the door as if she would see them there. “They should be. Must be running late doing whatever males like to get up to in their spare time.” She rolled her eyes.

  Faythe huffed a small laugh as Tauria went back to engaging with the royals of Olmstone. But she couldn’t find the attention to tune in, let alone offer any input in their conversation. She picked at her food while nervously casting her gaze between her current company and the main door where the others might walk through at any moment.

  She didn’t need fae hearing to pick up on the clamor of voices before they reached the inside of the hall, however. Faythe straightened as the Prince of High Farrow strolled through the door, laughing and conversing with the Rhyenelle general, the other coats of crimson in tow. For a moment, she was struck by the sight of the two immersed in effortless conversation as if they were lifelong friends. Perhaps they were, though Nik had failed to express his relationship with Reylan when he spoke of him briefly in her chambers that morning.

  The gen
eral’s eyes flashed to her directly, and her cheeks flamed as he caught her already staring. Nik left him to come around the opposite side of the table and take his usual seat. King Orlon had still not made an appearance, and she wondered if he had any plans to. She certainly had no complaints if he didn’t.

  When Reylan’s seat was offered to him, he took it gracefully, keeping his eyes fixed on her like a lion stalking its prey. She swallowed hard, hating that he had the influence to rouse such trepidation in her. She had a feeling he’d be keeping her on edge all week if he didn’t take the opportunity to fold the hand that would seal her fate. Perhaps he found some sick satisfaction in watching her squirm at his mercy.

  “You missed out on an entertaining hunt. General Reylan showed us all up with his impressive long shot with a bow.” Nik’s voice sounded over her thoughts as he spoke to Varlas.

  The king cast the general a look of approval. “Is that so? I hope we get another chance to come along before week’s end.”

  Reylan’s only response was a nod of promise and a pleasant—if forced—smile. She wondered if any of the others recognized his lack of want to be here. In fact, she found him to be even worse at subduing his true feelings than she was. Only, his life didn’t depend on mastering the façade, she supposed.

  Faythe had no idea how she would get the general alone to confront him as he seemed to be in quite high demand.

  “I am sad to have missed it also,” Faythe blurted before she had the time to think it over. “Or is it not something us ladies can find sport in?”

  All eyes landed on her, and she had to resist the urge to shrink back in her seat.

  The King of Olmstone curved a curious eyebrow. “Not traditionally, no.”

  “Hmm,” Faythe said, reaching for her cup as a casual gesture to hide her stage fright. “Traditions need to change, or we shall always be stuck in the past.” She dared to lock eyes with Reylan while she drank. He watched her intently, a hint of wicked amusement fighting to disturb his stern poker face. Inviting herself to the hunt wasn’t exactly alone time—quite the opposite—but it was another opportunity to keep a close eye on him.