The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

He waves off my question. At least his excuse for the immediate dismissal is a little kinder and more diplomatic. “We don’t control them.”

How to get him to bite? “I’m getting close,” I lie.

“You almost control the people of the Wylds?” His expression is too close to a sneer, too cutting, too much like Mother’s. “Since when, brother mine?”

I flush, hating the sarcasm dripping from my childhood moniker. I don’t care what kind of foul mood he’s in, he shouldn’t take happy moments from our childhood and twist them this way.

“Since almost a year ago,” I blurt out. It’s another lie, one I regret as soon as I utter it. If Roark wanted to check, he’d quickly learn I haven’t done anything of note in the past year. I’m relying on his distraction and his absence from the sídhe while attending Mather’s to keep him from questioning me.

It’s a risk that pays off. “Impressive,” he says. “How unfortunate that you haven’t succeeded yet or come home to update us so we can help with the task.”

Help with the task? I glance from him to Mother and my blood runs cold. She sits in her chair, sipping her tea, watching us argue with mild interest.

“Lugh, darling, the Sluagh know better than to get involved in our affairs,” she says. “They will have no reason to follow a local monster slayer into a war. Earning a place in one of your adventure tales wouldn’t be worth their lives, would it?”

Her question is a trap I can’t risk setting. I love Mother, but to rule her kingdom, she views her world and all in it with the same attachment as the bone pieces of the chessboards in our family’s private study. If the destruction of the Sluagh and the Wylds secured balance in Faerie, she would make that sacrifice without hesitation. If she learned of the respect I command as the Horned King and how valuable my counsel is, if she learned how Sluagh warriors have fought at my side before to earn a place of glory in Keiran’s legends, she would use my influence to secure Sluagh support. The manipulation of such a holy office makes me sick. I can’t risk her reaching out to them and discovering my secret. I can’t risk Roark doing so either, not when he and Mother seem to move and think as one when it comes to these war preparations.

She takes my silence as acceptance of her reasoning and offers me a gentle smile. “I doubt you could rally the Sluagh to our cause. It’s far better to focus on the Hunt and prepare them for the battles to come instead.” Roark grunts his agreement and Mother continues, “Your Hunt will be counted in our ranks.”

“But—”

She lifts a hand and adds, “If, somehow, you convince some Sluagh to join us, you may inform Roark of that change so he can plan accordingly for our army.”

I turn to my brother, worried by Mother’s easy solution. “Roark, you’re going to lead the army? All of it?”

He doesn’t respo

nd. His eyes are trained on the papers before him and my gut sinks. They must have already decided this. No wonder he won’t look at me. Stealing control of the Hunt is the worst betrayal he could make against me.

Scared he’s sided with Mother yet again, I raise my voice and remind him, “I run the Hunt. And if the Sluagh belong to anyone, it’s me, brother mine.”

I rarely stake my claim on Court matters. I rarely care enough to ask for responsibilities. But this is a line I cannot allow them to cross. Even Keiran would agree with me on this.

Roark wheels on my desperate defense with a bitterness I never expected. “I am not the High Prince. Save your bile for the brother you intend to usurp.” The baseless accusation of disloyalty hurts, but the sight of his hand at his waist, reaching for his conjured rapier is too much.

Fuck. That. I bolt up from the chair, scattering my teacup in the process, and pull on my glamour for any kind of defense. Roark’s lethal with his weapon. He split Sláine’s face open in a breath, he’s killed too many enemies for me to count, and I’m not fast enough to block him if he truly wishes me harm.

Something’s there on the edge of my magick, something heavy and protective. I drag it forward, grateful for any kind of shield. Except, the world flash freezes before I can get it in position ahead of me and the air in my lungs seizes. Roark’s stuck mid-motion as well, blinking ice from his lashes.

“Enough,” Mother murmurs. “This is what the Summer Court wants. Have you forgotten the importance of the Triumvirate so easily?”

Our mutual shame at the reminder of our royal duty lingers after Mother ends the hex, after the ice melts, and after we look away from each other. The doors stand close by. Maybe I should leave. There’s no reason for me to be here, and if Roark and I nearly came to blows already, how much worse will it become if I have to force my opinions into his planning to keep the worst of the battles from Sluagh settlements?

“I’m sorry.”

Roark’s apology surprises me enough to pull my attention from my potential escape. He stands by the table, resting his hip against the edge and watching me with tired eyes. “I was being cruel and petty and you didn’t deserve that. If you are making inroads with the Sluagh, you should be commended.”

I drop the arm I raised against his attack and the magick I pulled together wavers on the edge of my vision. The shape’s far too familiar, too fae, and I release my glamour like it’s burning me. My heart thuds and my legs quiver as adrenaline spikes. Whatever I dragged forward blinks out of existence and I fight the urge to turn and look to see if it’s still there. It wasn’t a shade. It couldn’t be one. I’ve kept them from crawling into my head for days now. I wouldn’t reach out and touch one. To do so would risk inviting it in, when usually it’s all I can do to keep them out. I can’t think about that right now.

“You mean that?” I ask, hating how my voice wavers.

He tilts his head as he inspects me. “I do. It’s early yet, but if you were to bring the Sluagh and their magick to the Winter Court, we might stand a chance. We should discuss that.” He gestures to the table. He gestures to my maps. This is my opportunity to claim some control over the planning. This is my opportunity to limit damage to the Sluagh and their homelands.

“Can you explain the current situation?” I ask him quietly. Mother’s stare burns my back as I join Roark at the table, though she doesn’t speak or rise from her chair. “I know you and Mother have discussed it, but if you can help me visualize it, that would...it would be easier to understand.”

Roark says nothing, simply gathers a selection of blank pages and begins scratching out a series of boxes on them. I’m back in the schoolroom, listening to our tutors rattle on and on, my heart full to bursting with gratitude as Roark glances from their written notes and transforms them into charts and pictures for me to follow along with. If he’s doing this for me now, our relationship hasn’t been damaged beyond repair. He wouldn’t waste his time on me if he thought we could never see eye to eye again. Perhaps I can convince him to see the value of the Sluagh, even if Mother is incapable of such a change. I have to cling to that hope. He hasn’t given up on me, so I won’t give up on him and the chance that we may have a better future than what these papers offer us. And once we survive this war, maybe he’ll let me help him with whatever else is wrong.

“This is our estimate of the Seelie forces,” he explains, pointing to the crosshatched boxes. He taps next on the blank boxes. “And these are our forces. Sláine’s absence makes it more difficult for you and me to help Mother balance the magick our soldiers will draw on. We need Sláine back, but if we can’t manage that, we need troops who can fight without draining us.”