Whiplash (Through Time 2)

He had nearly as much age as Queen Aaibhe herself but had taken the waters of the Cauldron to stave off the madness that came to Fae who did not, and he had been re-taught all he needed to know in good order. He was a faithful Fae, ready to fight for his peers and keep Tir ever safe.

He had never liked Queen Aaibhe—perhaps because she had never invited him to her inner circle.

No, that was reserved for her damn Royals—and, of course, her ‘special’ Druids!

When Gaiscioch had broken away and decided to take her on, Banzar had secretly sympathized with him.

Unlike Gais, however, Banzar did not wish to go to war with his beloved Fae in order to take over the Isles of Tir and rule Faery. He preferred a peaceful ‘takeover’.

Gais had been a traitor and was now dead. Banzar was no such thing, not a traitor, and he knew the limitations of his power. He could not beat the queen’s warriors in a fair fight.

However, it was time for her to step down, and now he had the means to force the issue.

He had no desire to rule the human world. They were disgusting creatures better left to their puny lives. No doubt they would end by destroying one another in a final World War.

He wanted only one thing: to rule the Fae as their king.

Perhaps now was the time the Council would see matters had gone too far with Aaibhe?

First, she allowed—no, welcomed—the union of Seelie Princess Royce with Chancemont LeBlanc, a Milesian. Somehow the Council had agreed with the queen that the union would bring two strong worlds together to be ever vigilant against the Unseelie monsters.

But, he fancied, they would not want their queen to take as consort over them a Milesian king. Impossible! And that was what Morgan LeBlanc was. Calling him their leader was tantamount to calling him their king.

This latest behavior of hers, linking herself romantically to the Milesian leader and, he believed, involving herself intimately with the Milesian? Unacceptable!

Her choice of mate would not bode well for her, but it would for his cause.

She must have realized this, for she was very secretive about her visits to Dravo. She was very secretive about Morgan LeBlanc’s visits at the palace, calling them matters of security. Ha—he knew better!

Indeed, she had finally fallen in love, and the thought made him sneer. Even all the fuss over her fallen Druid lover, Conall, would not garner her sympathy if she tried to take a Milesian as her consort.

It was, in his opinion, deplorable behavior, and he rather thought he could sway public opinion to agree with him. After all, his many Fae friends could still remember that final battle with the Milesians just before the Treaty.

It was time the Fae gave over their belief that theirs should be a society ruled by a matriarch.

It was time for her to step down and allow a king to be appointed—and he knew he was the one that could, that should, fill the job. Why only a Royal? Why not one of the common Fae? It was an argument he had practiced many times.

The Royal Princes would take her part, and they were popular on Tir. The Fae, in fact, adored the warrior princes, for they had been ever ready to defend Tir and always won their final battles.

Yes, they would be a problem.

They were loyal, all of them, loyal to her leadership. Even Breslyn, who so often balked at her edicts and broke her many rules, would stand faithfully at her side and fight to the death to protect her.

Therefore, this could not be a bloody battle but a peaceful takeover, won with a show of votes rather than with a battle of swords. Soon, very soon, he would start working behind the scenes.

Banzar of Lugh, not born a prince but with Royal blood flowing through his veins, smiled to himself, visualized himself a proud and ethical defender, working to do everything Tir needed to be done. He was not a warrior, and the truth was he had not fought i

n the war with the humans and the Milesians—though who would remember that now?

He knew that he presented an impressive picture of a masculine Fae, with his fiery red locks and the glittering black eyes he was so proud of, which so few Fae sported. Theirs was mostly a race of sparkling, light-colored eyes.

He had always thought of himself as unique.

Even in the regal white and gold robe of the Council, he imagined that other Fae regarded him as kingly. Indeed, he already had two of the twelve Council members ready to hear what he had to say, but he had to be careful and not appear to criticize the popular queen too overtly. He was the ultimate politician. It was that trait that had brought him to his present position as a leading and respected Council member.

He knew, too, who would vote against him when it came to a show of hands, and who would do more than that. Breslyn and Danté would not only vote against him, they would take offense; he would make himself powerful enemies. He would have to watch them, perhaps keep them busy with a distraction?

Perhaps he could arrange to have their mates out of the way when he called for a final vote. Perhaps he could arrange for an ‘emergency vote’ and override the need for all twelve members to be present? He would have to work behind the scenes to accomplish this. Obviously, the queen as the thirteenth member would not be present. Ah, a very good solution if he could get a majority.