A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2 Page 42

  She spun on her heel to head straight for the throne room.

  “You’re not even armed,” Nik said incredulously as he matched her pace.

  “You’re wrong.” Her greatest weapon was within herself.

  “You’re weakened, Faythe. You can’t stand against a hall full of armed fae guards and my father!” he protested, though he made no move to stop her as she stormed the halls.

  Guards. It was the first time Faythe realized she had yet to encounter any of them. Not a single one littered the eerily quiet hallways. It should have been a relief, but it made her quicken her pace in a surge of panic over where they might all be gathered.

  For the show Orlon planned to make of her friends.

  Nik’s words made sense, and she should have been rational and listened. But she was unhearing in her need to get to her friends and use every ounce of strength and ability she had left.

  Even if it killed her.

  Before they reached the end of the next hallway, Nik pulled her to a stop. She was about to bark at his move to delay her until he pushed her against the wall, pressing a finger to his lips in a gesture to be silent. Faythe obeyed, heart racing in anticipation of what the prince’s fae senses had picked up on around the bend. Nik strained to listen. He took a deep inhale, and when he released it, his shoulders relaxed. He pushed off the wall just as a familiar brown-skinned beauty came into view.

  The ward gasped in startled shock folded with relief that it was friends she’d run into. Nik and Tauria immediately embraced each other tightly, and it pained her to think of what they too had endured these past weeks. Separation with an uncertain fate.

  Tauria let out a cry as she hurled herself at Faythe next. “I knew you couldn’t be… I just knew it,” she mumbled in their embrace.

  Faythe only held her tighter in response, overwhelmingly glad for her safety too.

  “There weren’t any guards at your door either?” Nik questioned after their short moment of joy.

  Tauria shook her head, but it wasn’t in the naïve hope the king had granted them freedom once more.

  Nik’s eyes were desperate and pleading when they fell back to Faythe. “You can’t go to them. It’s a trap.”

  She would have been flattered that the king had rallied all his forces in anticipation of her arrival, but she wasn’t arrogant enough to think it was to protect himself from her ability. Rather, he planned to offer her up as a spectacle. She hated her faltering courage, but she wouldn’t leave her friends at the cold mercy of their ruthless king.

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  Nik’s look softened in understanding, and she knew he wouldn’t stop her—nor would he let her go alone. She didn’t try to convince him otherwise either. The prince was armed with his sword, and Tauria had the will of the wind around her.

  Nik was right: Faythe was exhausted, but she pushed it aside and called upon the remnants of her ability for one final task.

  In front of the great doors to the throne room, Faythe paused. She counted her breaths to slow her racing pulse and settled her thoughts to ease her nerves. It was not the first time she had braced herself to face off against the King of High Farrow in this room. But she intended to make it the last.

  “Together,” Nik said through her worries.

  It soothed her to hear the word, and she cast him a grateful smile before looking to Tauria who offered a nod in agreement.

  “Together,” Faythe echoed.

  Nik unsheathed the sword at his hip before taking a step forward to push open the two doors.

  Inside, straight ahead, she could already make out the evil smirk and wicked gleam in the king’s eye where he sat upon the mighty throne. But it wasn’t he who grabbed her focus as she stormed inside. It wasn’t that the hall was filled with armed guards down each side either, both blue and purple uniforms alerting her to the fact Olmstone had arrived. And it certainly wasn’t King Varlas who rattled her confidence.

  It was the sight of her two friends on their knees before them, a sickeningly accurate portrayal of the vision she was made to relive over and over from the captain’s influence in her mind.

  Her heart raced, body becoming hot and clammy. First, at the thought she could still be strapped to that cold stone in the torture room and this was all a new version of the same horrific nightmare. She consciously breathed with every step toward the dais that flashed between pristine white and the bloodstained version of the nightmare.

  She blinked hard.

  No—this was real.

  Second, the notion that perhaps the captain had unwittingly shown her the future threatened her composure completely. Marlowe and Jakon could still come to meet the brutal beheading he depicted in the illusion, even if not by the captain’s hand.

  She didn’t let it waver her physical façade of bravery. They were still alive, and that was all the hope she needed to make sure they stayed that way.

  No one in the room armed themselves, and as she glanced around to take in her surroundings and gauge the many threats, she noted one crucial thing. This wasn’t intended to be a fight. It was a gathering for a group execution. And Faythe didn’t think the prince and the ward were exempt from it this time.

  She stopped before the dais, in between Marlowe and Jakon. She didn’t look down at them for risk of losing her nerve. Instead, she glared with powerful hatred and opposition at the king who mocked her with a goading smile from where he sat lazily on his throne.

  Orlon straightened and leaned forward to speak the first words in the room. “Now that the main entertainment has arrived, let us begin.”

  Chapter 54

  Faythe

  The hall was still. No one moved, no one spoke, as the spymaster and the king stared off in a deadly battle of defiance.

  Faythe made the first move, though not to the knowledge of anyone else in the room as she tested Orlon’s mind for entry. His barrier was solid, as she expected. Firm, but not indestructible. The more she became a master of minds, the clearer it was that no one’s thoughts were unbreakable. It was simply a matter of being strong enough to shatter the wall or skilled enough to find the faint cracks—neither of which she was confident she was in her current state. Not after weeks of torture by Varis. Maybe never even before that. Nevertheless, she would only get one chance to try, and she had to ensure her friends’ safety first.

  The king chuckled darkly, feeling the probe on his mind. “Nice try, spymaster,” he sneered. “I do hope you have something else to offer to those gathered. I promised them a grand spectacle given your reputation.”

  Faythe didn’t take the bait. He wanted to goad her into recklessness.

  The king stood slowly, assertively, and she tried not to balk at the tall form that cast a sinister shadow from his heightened position on the dais. His eyes flashed. “My own son stands against me.” He shook his head in disappointment, his voice tuning lethal. “And the traitorous Fenstead princess repays the king who saved her with treason.”

  “Your time of reign is over, Father,” Nik said confidently, calmly.

  The king shook his head with a wide grin. “And I suppose you think you deserve the crown?” His eyes scanned the onlookers, voice rising in an effort to disparage Nik in front of his guard and allies. “A prince who would stand against his own kind, against his own blood, for a mere human. You do not deserve to succeed me.”

  Faythe was about to jump to his defense, but she felt Nik brush past her, taking the step up to be level with the King of High Farrow. He faced off with his father with unfaltering confidence.

  “It is not I who have failed this kingdom and its subjects. It is you and your will to stop at nothing to gain more power. Even risking the lives of innocents, those you swore to protect. High Farrow soldiers didn’t put their heart into training to be led into a battle that will break an alliance built to protect us all against the real enemy. I will not allow them to bleed for tyranny, nor die for greed.” Nik’s words resonated throughout the great
hall, striking the hearts of every fae as he spoke like a leader. Like a king.

  Faythe watched the prince before her in awe. The true king the people deserved. It would be impossible for anyone not to see the passion that burned in Prince Nikalias Silvergriff. His love for his kingdom and the heart to do anything it took to keep his people safe.

  Yet Orlon still looked at him as if he were less than a servant. She knew it was breaking the prince’s heart. This wasn’t his father—not anymore. And she prayed he could see that and not let it shatter his spirit.

  “Poetic words, Nikalias,” Orlon drawled mockingly. “But it was not words that saw us through the Great Battles. It was not words that kept this kingdom thriving in the face of darkness. You know nothing of what it takes to be king, and you never will.”

  Anger flared in the prince’s eyes, and she saw his hand tighten around the hilt of his sword. Her heart pounded. If Nik struck now…

  He didn’t get the chance.

  Faythe heard the shuffling behind her mere seconds before she caught the glint of the small blade that hurled toward the King of High Farrow. It made its mark. Orlon grunted as the dagger lodged into his side, and he stared down at it in bewildered fury. When his dark eyes snapped up to the culprit, Faythe swore she caught the flicker of shadows swirling over the whites of his eyes. Her mouth dropped in horror as she followed his line of sight. The king’s glare, death marked and promised, landed on Jakon, who stood holding a second dagger, positioned to strike again.

  The fear that gripped Faythe in that moment was an icy embrace that froze her movement. She could only stare in wide-eyed shock at the reckless, fatal error of her best friend.

  Jakon didn’t balk. Not even in knowing his first throw had done nothing but attract the strike of the viper far sooner than Faythe anticipated. His face was livid, staring off against the great fae king as though they were equal in combat. His courage was admirable but wholly misplaced, and Faythe could do nothing but give in to the high-pitched ringing in her ears in anticipation of the next move. Marlowe, still on her knees, was pale as bone—Faythe’s confirmation she had no foresight into Jakon’s act of treason.

  Faythe opened her mouth to get him to halt his next attempt with the blade he held, but the words choked in her throat. She was already too late. Jakon clenched his teeth and threw the second blade.

  The king caught it effortlessly.

  His hand curled around the steel blade that cut open his palm in a terrifying rage, his eyes never leaving Jakon’s. Orlon loosened off his fingers as he turned to Faythe’s friend fully, his blood and the blade dropping to the floor. She was frantic in her thoughts, but stunned into place. Unarmed, she could do nothing when Orlon advanced a step down from the dais.

  On his second step, Faythe snapped back into herself. She moved to stand between them, trembling in the face of the fae king who held a flare of dark emotion that was neither fae nor human.

  Black eyes targeted her then, and her spine locked where she stood. Steel sang, and Orlon stopped advancing. His jaw ground as he straightened. Nik stood behind him, the point of his blade to his father’s back. But it wasn’t the unsheathing of a single blade that blared in a dramatic melody around the room. Faythe spared a quick glance to survey the odds…that didn’t exist. Four guards in black equally threatened the prince. A small whimper cast her eyes down to find another poised with a blade over Marlowe’s throat. One more held Tauria. Faythe didn’t dare look behind to count how many were armed to strike down Jakon.

  Her heart pounded at the silence while everyone calculated their opposition. They were damningly outnumbered.

  “You dare to harm a king…” Orlon seethed, his voice like ice.

  “You are no king,” Jakon spat.

  Faythe had to blink hard. If she were facing her friend, she might have halted his speech despite the twisted feeling that churned in her stomach at the thought of using her ability on him. While she couldn’t fault Jakon for his anger, nor his desire to strike back at the male he despised, his words did nothing but spike Orlon’s wrath.

  The tension in the room became tangible.

  Faythe soothed the edges of her panic to finally speak. “Kill us now, and you’ll never get to the temple ruin.”

  Orlon’s eyes flexed—an indication she’d hit her mark.

  The king’s loathing didn’t leave his face, and Faythe’s heart beat erratically while he deliberated her words before speaking his next command. With great reluctance, and to Faythe’s temporary relief, Orlon yielded. For now. Her rigid posture didn’t ease as he slowly turned from them.

  “Detain them all. Except Faythe,” he ordered.

  She flinched, eyes darting wildly between all her friends who were swiftly brought to their knees in front of the dais in the same manner as Marlowe while the king positioned himself before it. She couldn’t help the glance she spared behind her. Nik was wild against the three guards who detained him, reduced to nothing in front of his court and neighboring kingdom. He stilled in defeat when a blade rested along the front of his neck, an exact copy of those poised to take all four of her friends’ lives in one quick command.

  The sight struck her with a terror so deep it strained against the seams of her composure. This was her worst fear made very real. Faythe snapped her head to the scene of onlookers, glancing over them in anger that none would step in and come to their prince’s defense. Nik had been more than just their prince; he was a loyal friend. Many of them shifted uncomfortably, looking between each other, at a loss for what to do. Going against their king to stand by their prince would be treason, but Nik was right, and they knew it. Faythe wished she could forgive them for wanting to save themselves, but in her fury, she only saw them as cowards.

  She blazed her eyes toward the King of Olmstone who had so far stood in silence like a submissive pet to Orlon. “Rhyenelle is your ally. They helped you when you stood to lose everything in the Great Battles. To turn on them now for personal vengeance is despicable.” She seethed.

  It should have been her head in an instant to speak to a royal in such a manner. Yet in his eye, for a split second, Faythe swore she saw a hint of regret. Then it was gone, and he flashed livid at her burst of disrespect.

  “I want her dead.”

  Faythe didn’t flinch at his lethal tone. She turned her attention to the bigger threat in the room who smiled in sly amusement.

  “Soon, Varlas. But first…” The King of High Farrow turned expectantly to the side of the hall. A short moment later, a terrified servant woman was escorted through the side entrance. Faythe would have felt sorry for the poor messenger, except what she carried held her full attention as she stared at it in trembling horror. “I’m going to need you to open this for me, Faythe.”

  The Blood Box that held the temple ruin.

  He chuckled in dark amusement at her reaction. “Do you think I’m a fool?” His head tilted with a predatory gleam. “Your companions were so generous to have brought it right to me in a foolish bid to save your pathetic life. Now, I will not only have the power I seek, but I will take great joy in ridding the world of all of you. Consider it a mercy I shall allow you all to die together once this is over.”

  A black-cloaked guard approached Faythe, and she didn’t fight or resist when he took hold of her, extending her arm and poising a dagger over it. She made no sound but flinched at the lick of fire up her forearm where the blade sliced through her shirt. Her blood ran in hot trails down her hand to drip off her fingertips and stain the marble floor. Then another guard brought the box over, placing it on the ground to catch those droplets.

  One drop. Two drops. Three.

  Everyone waited in silence.

  Faythe held the king’s stare for those seconds of thickening anticipation. When she couldn’t fight it any longer, a dark smile of victory curled her lips.

  Orlon’s eyes flashed in fury at the mockery. “Who have you used!” he bellowed in outrage. He would have already tested the blood of her
friends.

  Faythe raised her chin after the guards released her. “You might want to start testing the pigs in the town farm…Your Majesty.”

  The king roared, the vibration making every hair on her body stand. All tethers to contain his anger shredded at her insolence. Instead of summoning his guards, Orlon went for his own blade. Faythe watched the white Griffin carved into the pommel of the Farrow Sword cry loudly in flight as it was pulled free from its scabbard.

  His dark guards grabbed each of her arms and forced her to her knees. Faythe didn’t fight it. The king loomed over her like the harbinger of death. He calmed his face once more as he stepped down from the dais and stalked the few paces over to her.

  “Here we are, yet again.” His eyes flashed to her line of friends behind. “How fitting that you all kneel before me now. I should have ended you so many months ago. Though it has been entertaining to watch you, Faythe, consorting with my son and my ward.” He chuckled without humor. “I even commend you for getting the mighty Rhyenelle general under your influence. It is a shame he managed to elude my guard before I could execute him too.”

  Faythe released a long breath in momentary reprieve. Despite everything, Reylan had remained out of his reach.

  “You can die knowing you brought about the death of your friends. Once I torture them for the knowledge of whose blood seals that box.” The king raised the Farrow Sword with both palms.

  Faythe faintly registered Jakon’s struggle, heard Marlowe’s cry, and felt the air around her stir from Tauria’s influence—and Nik who tried with all his might to break free and save her. None of them could. She raised her chin to lock eyes with her royal executioner, about to throw her whole mental being at the black barrier of his mind—one final attempt to save herself and her friends…

  Then the twin doors behind them blast open.

  Sharp cries of steel cut through the explosion as every guard in the room became armed ready to fight. Faythe curled into herself to shield against the force of the wind and splinters of wood that flew past. Yet it was not Tauria who caused the commotion as the ward used her ability to deflect the wooden daggers from hitting any of them. Her quick tornado ceased, and Faythe used the distraction to rise to her feet and turn to face the loud intrusion. When she did, she audibly gasped at the sight.