Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

I wake to cool water. I mutter a vague prayer of thanks that I didn’t drown myself falling asleep in the tub and don’t bother to dry off when I crawl out. Instead, I bury myself into the turned-down sheets of my bed, too tired to worry about the damp. It’s of little matter now.

I need to sleep.

Then I need to plan.

And once that’s done, I need to figure out what the hell to do about Smith.

Chapter Ten

Phineas

I should have gotten here earlier. The Delphi lecture hall is already crammed full of Unseelie. It’s amazing to witness how they continue to pack themselves tighter and tighter into the lower level of the old theater, although I wish I weren’t being swept along with the rest of the crowd.

I manage to wriggle my way through the worst of the crowd to take refuge along a back wall. Unlike the fae I saw at the Summer’s End Ball, the Unseelie here look around with somber expressions and speak in low voices, as if they’re afraid of being overheard. If it weren’t for the nervous charge in the air, I’d ask someone where I could find Roark. He’s been suspiciously absent from our apartment since our party, but Sebastian made it sound like I’d be able to catch him here with relative ease. That seems impossible with the campus’s entire Unseelie population in attendance.

I can’t see over the heads of the Unseelie ahead of me, so there’s no chance of spotting Roark from this distance. Fighting my way back into the crowd is a fool’s errand. It’d be better to look for a seat upstairs in the balcony. I head up the stairs to my left, hoping I’ll get lucky. Most of the balcony’s seats are taken, but there are a few empty spots in some of the boxes along the sides. I claim one with a sigh of relief and examine the scene below me.

The hall breathes with murmurs as the Unseelie wait. But I can’t focus on what they’re saying because I can’t tear my eyes from the figure standing near the edge of the lecture stage. The ley line thrums and I can’t tell if the heat rising in my cheeks is from its magick or my own nervousness.

He’s here.

The Prince of Air and Darkness is living up to his moniker today. Black knit cap, black shirt under a worn, black leather jacket. Tight black jeans leading to heavy black combat boots. A man of the people.

I drink him in, grateful for my anonymity in this living mass. For the opportunity to stare at features I didn’t know I’d already memorized. His phone is pressed to his ear, and he listens intently to whoever is on the other end of the line. The conversation doesn’t last long. The remaining Unseelie are still finding places to stand when he nods a few times and hangs up.

The worry that’s dogged me this weekend quiets some when he slips his phone in a pocket and stretches. He doesn’t hold himself with that partial curl people use t

o protect their injuries. It’s an indulgent movement. Chest expanding, pushing outward. Arms stretching high, lifting the edge of his shirt and flashing a crescent of skin that makes me regret not pushing my way in closer on that lower level. The movement reminds me of his lithe grace with his rapier and the strength of his body when he pressed against me, scalding me with that kiss. He must have healed already, or the cut across his back wasn’t as bad as I’d thought.

The relaxed lines of his body change the moment he turns and walks to center stage. He’s greeted with silence, and not the gradual kind. No, the entire hall waits on bated breath, watching him with an intensity that crawls up over my spine.

“I’m sorry you had to be here today.”

His words roll out over us, reaching everyone even though I know he’s not using glamour or magick to assist. His voice is too soft, too controlled. Too honest.

“Her Majesty Queen Mab and I have spoken at length this weekend. We have been in communication with the Summer Court. They deny orchestrating the attack—”

Now, a few murmurs, which fall silent when he stretches up a single hand. It’s barely a movement, one filled with exhaustion instead of bravado.

“—and despite our best efforts, no agreements to turn over the perpetrators have been reached.”

His shoulders roll forward a little, hunching the slightest bit. I recognize that stance. It’s the same one I use when I’m preparing to take a hit. When I’m trying to ready myself mentally for a blow that I know will cause pain but have to pretend I don’t feel. And I ache for him.

His spine stiffens, his shoulders pull back, and his chin rises. “You deserve the truth.”

Authority peals in every word and the flash of his pale eyes as he takes in the room leaves me lightheaded. He’s more powerful than anyone I’ve known, commanding the room without raising his voice.

“We are not safe. The attacks will continue. The assailants were willing to spill royal blood, and they will not stop until that is accomplished. They will use you as pawns in a war that is not yours to fight, and there is not a fucking thing I can do to stop that.”

Around me, fae shift in their seats. Below, the audience on the floor ripples with reactions. How much is it costing him to admit this? To share his imminent failure with them? He’s standing there, proclaiming his weaknesses to everyone, and I’m too scared to tell my parents that the ley line’s magick is going to kill me someday. The growing tightness in my throat makes it hard to focus when he continues speaking.

“Stay together. Watch out for each other. Report back to me, as you’ve been doing. We cannot retaliate and we cannot give in to fear. If we do, we lose what new support we have gained after the attack. Anyone found to be a risk to my mother’s cause, to our Court’s cause, will be dealt with by me. There will be no delay. There will be no mercy. There cannot be.”

Whispered agreements from his subjects. But those last words aren’t a threat, no matter how much they sound like one, no matter how many fae look pale and frightened. They’re an apology. Buried deep in the back of my mind, that tiny, nagging thought begins to prod me again.

“No matter what it takes, I will do all I can to protect you. There may be orders you hate, but I beg you—” his voice breaks a little and my fingers clench in response to his pain, and the ley line throbs in sympathy “—do not question in that moment. Rail against me later, once you are safe. But obey when the time comes. I will not betray your trust.”

The Unseelie rise in a fluid movement, a silent promise to their prince. I stand with them, although I feel like an interloper now. Like I’m seeing something in Roark I shouldn’t have been allowed to witness. A confirmation of what I already knew.