The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

“Yes. I received word this morning from messengers they sent ahead.” Breoca yawns and flicks a hand toward the piles of papers in front of me. “Should be in there somewhere. Our troublemakers are feigning ignorance of their crimes.”

“Too bad their allies here have been making asses of themselves. Their discontent is obvious,” Aage says.

“At least we know who to watch,” Breoca mutters, fishing his boots out from under the bed and pulling them on. “It’s always better to know where the blade is coming from. Can’t wait to put an end to all of this though. The sooner you’re safely back in Eyjar, the happier I’ll be.”

“The happier we’ll both be,” Aage murmurs and the smiles they exchange are so full of unspoken promises, my cheeks burn and I have to look away. I sit down in one of the chairs and clasp my hands in my lap, mind racing. If I were a strategist, I’d be trying to figure out how I missed the signs of Aage and Breoca’s relationship over the years we’ve known each other. If I were a devout subject of Queen Mab, I’d be gathering what details I could to provide her with leverage should Lugh’s diplomacy with Aage fail. Instead, all I can think about is how those silent exchanges I’ve observed for so long—eyes meeting across a space, bodies leaning in toward each other during hushed conversations—are all too familiar. The urge to see Lugh itches against my ribs and I hope this meeting will end quickly so I can go find him.

Aage joins me at the table after Breoca leaves. A single glance at me gives away my tension. He gives up shuffling the papers before him to settle back in his chair instead. “You didn’t know,” he says with utter calm.

“No. But it makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“You’ve always been close,” I mumble. “I guess I never thought anything of it because...” Because I could never tell where one ended and the other began, and because I never connected that to anything physical. Their devotion didn’t need a label. I simply thought their relationship offered glimpses of the future Lugh and I may someday have.

“Because of my wife?” Aage taps a finger against the chair’s arm, as if he’s searching for the right words. “Breoca and I were together before I met Liv,” he says. His words are low and careful, but I’m not sure of his purpose for sharing this. “He’s the one who encouraged me to woo her. I never dreamed she’d accept my proposal. She took Breoca’s place in my bed and he took his place as my right hand. For a while, I was perfectly content. I couldn’t see how he was hurting, or how he tried to hide it from me.” His lips curve in the ghost of a smile, one brushed with fondness and bitterness in equal measure. “Liv suspected, but she loved him too and didn’t want to come between us.”

“Did it change after her passing?” I whisper, afraid he’ll close himself off. We were such close friends long ago. Only now, faced with a secret I never knew he hid, do I realize how our paths have led our hearts and minds to such different destinations.

Instead, he laughs. “Gods, no. Long before that. We were in a battle and Breoca threw himself in front of me. Bastard nearly died from his injury on the field. We returned to Eyjar and Liv commanded I stay at his side until he regained consciousness. The moment he opened his eyes, I knew I couldn’t keep him at arm’s length anymore. And when I turned to call for Liv, to confess to her and await her judgment, I found her sitting on the other side of his bed, watching us both and smiling. From that moment on, we three shared everything. Our kingdom, our bed, our lives.” He shrugs. “I would try to explain how powerful, how grounding that is, but you already know.”

Deny it. Deny it all. Only choked noises escape me and Aage waves his hand.

“Keiran, I may not have ridden with you for years, but I’m not so old I can’t remember those days. The two of you have always been inseparable, and only a fool would be unable to read what’s between you.”

“There’s nothing,” I begin, but Aage’s frown silences me. Under his watchful gaze, the lie is too rancid to utter, especially after last night’s upheaval. “I can’t.”

He leans forward. “In the name of the gods, what could possibly make you keep this from him?”

Thank the gods, an easy answer. “The queen.”

Aage straightens and his eyes narrow. “Has she hurt you again? Either of you?”

Of course he would know. Aage was like our brother, a gentle, supportive man who filled the void left by Prince Sláine’s cool dedication to his role as High Prince and utter indifference toward his youngest brother. Lugh thrived under Aage’s attention, and when their friendship grew too close for Lugh to continue lying, he held to his courage and admitted his true lineage. He even offered to give up his title. Aage refused, claiming Lugh’s visions were a blessing to the Sluagh. His continued support only increased Lugh’s loyalty to him.

Hearing Queen Mab mentioned may make Aage angry, but his ill temper is on our behalf, and that makes it easier to admit, “No. She hasn’t hurt either of us for a long time. But she...”

Why is it so hard to say this aloud? Why can I speak stories of Lugh’s power and glory in front of complete strangers for hours, but here, in front of a man who, with age and experience, has become more my uncle than anyone else, the words to describe my own story dry up in my throat?

“Has she threatened you?”

I shake my head and try to focus. Queen Mab is woven so tightly into her sons’ lives it’s impossible for me to look at my relationship with Lugh and not see the telltale marks of her interference or influence. “I remain in Faerie for no other purpose than to protect Lugh and to keep his connection to the Court strong. If I fail in either of those duties, she will sever our bond and cast me out.” Admitting it aloud feels like I’m ripping my heart free from my body, but I press on. “She tolerates me for Lugh’s sake, but I am human and of no value in her eyes.”

“You are one of the worthiest men I have known. Do not believe her poison.”

“Oh.” It’s the most diplomatic response I can manage. Aage doesn’t speak, giving me the time I need to collect my thoughts. His silence is attentive though and I know he’s waiting for me to finish explaining. “I would not risk her wrath,” I finally say. “Not when her retribution could hurt him.”

“And you think your self-sacrifice, your efforts to protect him, don’t?”

Denials come to my lips, but never fall free. I’d never considered that before. Lugh’s never given any indication that he’s unhappy with our life as it is. Still, Aage said Breoca never gave him any sign either...

Aage notices my sudden doubt. “When I asked Lugh to continue to serve me as the Horned King, he hesitated.”

“He did?” I whisper. That night he decided to take it on, Lugh had told me about their meeting and his feelings about keeping the title, but he never mentioned this.

“Before he accepted, he asked if I thought the gods would be offended if he pretended it was a useless role when he was in his mother’s lands. I told him the gods see a true heart. He agreed then. He promised me he would honor his duty, no matter what I heard from Court rumors. I’m beginning to understand why he said that, if this is how Mab attempts to control him.

“Lugh doesn’t need protection,” he declares, staring me down as if he suspects I’m going to argue with him. “He hasn’t for a long time. Your fear of Mab clouds your judgment. Stop treating him like the boy you knew and recognize him for the man he has become.”