Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

“As long as we forgo the pleasantries, as well,” I say. “Oh, wait, we’ve already done that.”

Our eyes meet, and I wonder how my brother lost himself so completely. His supposed Seelie lover was simply the tipping point. He’d been breaking apart long before. It would be a lie to say I hadn’t been relieved when he fell. The slow destruction of our bond only left me grateful when he ran from our Court. At least there was no longer the fleeting hope that he would someday return and remove his burdens from me, thank me for my sacrifice. In some ways, the absence of hope becomes its own comfort.

“Speak your message,” Mother commands.

Sláine bows deeply, slipping into a mocking genuflection at her feet. “My mistress’s message is short. We deny you.” His eyes remind me of obsidian, black and sharp, cutting too cleanly. “Consider this a formal declaration. The power will only leave our Court when you claw it from us.”

“You can’t do that,” I say.

His lip curls when he looks at me. “We can and will.”

I take a half step forward, torn between wanting to shake and wanting to stab my brother. “Think beyond your hatred of us. This will destroy what little balance is left. This is an act of war.”

“The balance was already gone, brother. And you make war preparations even now.” His low voice hums with despair. “There was no hope of saving this Court.”

“You are the High Prince. You could fulfill your obligations instead of running from them—”

It cracks his façade, and I finally hear my brother’s voice, not the polished words of the Seelie Court. “And rule a Court where my every move is questioned? Where I’m stacked against you at every turn and always found wanting?”

“I would never take your crown.”

He doesn’t trust my sincerity. “The moment it touched my head, I would be seen as the imposter.” His snarl eases, slips back to the barely tethered calm he’s always hidden behind when his pain and rage grow too strong. “I do not want your kingdom.”

We’re children again, facing off in a centuries-old argument. I have no desire to be High Prince and my brother will never believe me. The pain of his distrust is as sharp as ever.

“What do you want, Sláine?” Another step brings me close enough to see the new lines and shadows on his face, proof that something malevolent still eats at him. “Do you want power? Is that why you abandoned us?”

“No.”

“Then why? For her?” My voice rises. “For love?”

“Yes, despite my regrets.”

So soft, so gutted, I nearly miss it. But I don’t.

Sláine watches me with an unnerving sideways tilt of his head. “Yes,” he repeats, clearer this time, “I want love. I intend to find love, no matter the cost.” His gaze turns to our mother. “Don’t you want that, Roark? To experience it once, of your own volition, without the plotting and the permission?”

Tonight’s disaster with Edward breathes hot and foul against my neck. Further back, the memory of Mother negotiating my housing at Mathers. Allowing me to live in the apartments like a normal student instead of a private residence, if I spied on a human for her. That first year of tracking Smith, falling deeper in love with him every second and denying it until the gory sight of his tortured body shocked me to my senses.

Don’t ask me this. Don’t tempt me to follow your path.

He holds my gaze. “To finally burn after living in this wasteland?”

To burn.

My eyelids flicker, trying to block the blazing figure I can’t forget or avoid or give up.

Finn.

Sláine’s eyes widen at my exhalation. But if I said it aloud, he makes no sign of it. He simply tilts his head and says quietly, “She will poison you, too, my brother. She will take all you love and leave you an empty husk and convince you both it’s a kindness—”

I will be the Knight of the Winter Court. Goddess, could he already know my intentions?

Our mother stands abruptly, stretching to her fullest height, watching Sláine down the pale curve of her nose. “You never deserved your title.”

Her cool, passionless words cut him more effectively than any knife.

“You were sent here as an insult,” she continues, as if she doesn’t notice the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “You were sent as proof of my weakness.” Her lips twist into something too terrifying to be a smile. “But tell your masters I am coming. I will shatter their frozen corpses as I pluck the crowns from their severed heads, save they grant me that which is mine by natural law and hard-fought succession. We are not as weak as they believed and we will make their hallowed woods shake for it.”