The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

My laugh turned sob chokes me when I remember the first time I heard those same words. Long ago, I had to stand in a public audience before Mother and argue why I should be allowed to train with the Hunt and live outside the sídhe. Roark stood beside me while I floundered and tried to explain why I needed that freedom without admitting the true reason. He didn’t speak for me until I finally gave up, resigned to my failure. He defended me, defended the Hunt, cajoled the Court into believing my freedom was in our best interests. Even Mother was swayed by his arguments, and I was granted my request.

We walked out of the audience and when the doors closed behind us, I turned to him and started crying. When I told him I had to leave, that I couldn’t stay, he ruffled my hair and said, I don’t remember asking you to.

There’s more behind his words now, more than either of us is comfortable saying aloud: an echo of the brotherly love that sustained us, and forgiveness and acceptance of my choices. He offers me liberty without hesitation, just as he did so long ago, and it’s blessing and curse in one.

Roark crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin, challenging me with a single look. “Stay safe, Lugh.”

“You too, brother,” I whisper and walk away from these people to return to my family in the Wylds.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Keiran

“He’s back,” Drest announces as he pokes his head into my tent.

Jokinen’s been binding the last of my superficial injuries by the light of a small oil lamp. Seb’s magick—the Green Man’s magick—has mostly healed my injuries and kept the transformation sickness at bay. Jokinen swears when I rise, but only makes me wait for her to tie off the last bandage before letting me go.

It’s quiet outside my tent. After news of Goodfellow’s win and our heavy losses, the camp’s been lost in somber mourning. The fighters who were with me in the sídhe have taken it upon themselves to tell the story, giving me this one night of freedom from the public’s questions. The unexpected liberty has left me untethered. Even the Hunt’s quiet support hasn’t put my world right. The sight of Lugh striding through the camp, his head held high, does. Every dark, broken piece of me that’s been quietly bleeding since I walked out of the sídhe knits back together when he draws up in front of me and places his hand over my heart.

“It’s good to be home,” he says.

Armel and Cybel have joined Drest to watch us from a nearby fire. They give us space, but knowing they’re here, close enough to intercede if Lugh needs it, helps. Lugh doesn’t seem to notice their presence. He releases a weary sigh when I cup his face in my hands and wipe away the damp streaks of tears with my thumbs. “What about your family?” I ask him, keeping my voice low.

“Roark understood. He let me go.”

Gods, his lopsided smile makes my chest ache. There’s more to this story, but we’re standing in the middle of the camp. Lugh deserves more privacy than this. “We can talk inside.”

He groans and lets his head fall forward to hit my chest. It’s instinctual to wrap my arms around him, protecting him from everyone around us, even if they aren’t threats. “Can we go to bed instead?” he pleads. “I don’t want to think anymore tonight.”

I peer over Lugh’s head to Cybel, who looks lost for the first time in centuries. I doubt he expected such a schism in the royal family. For them to release Lugh from his obligations now, to break their familial ties when we’ve reached the end of Faerie itself is unnecessarily cruel. Cybel meets my eyes and gives a short, sharp nod. Drest and Armel nod as well. They’ll watch the camp for us tonight while I comfort Lugh.

“To bed then,” I murmur into Lugh’s hair. He hums and lets me lead him inside the thegn’s tent. The thick canvas blocks most of the night’s chill, and our bedrolls fill the small space. They lie side by side for one last night, as they should.

“What will we do tomorrow?” he asks. He lets me close up the flaps while he strips out of his bloody clothes.

“We’ll watch the battle. Then, if it goes as I expect, we’ll face Goodfellow and our traitors after. Hopefully we’ll take most of them with us. Facing him here, before he can recover from fighting your mother, may be the only way to stop him and keep the rest of our people safe.”

He’s silent, head bent as he works to undo the laces of his pants, and his fingers keep fumbling in his exhaustion. He offers a half-hearted complaint when I set about the task for him, but quiets and lets me work soon enough. I need to do this, to care for him as much as he’ll let me. He steps free of his pants, using a hand on my shoulder to steady himself. His linen shirt falls about his thighs, garishly stained with my blood. I scowl at it, my earlier fury rising. Lugh notices. He taps my cheek with a finger.

“Don’t,” he chides. “My laundry doesn’t deserve your anger.”

“Smart-ass,” I grumble and smack his hand away so I can rise.

I’ve been saving a small cup of water and some b

andages, knowing Lugh would want to wash as best he could after tonight, and settle onto the bedrolls with them. This won’t be perfect. Honestly, it won’t come close to the kind of experience he could have had in one of the heated soaking tubs of the sídhe. Despite that, he chose to spend the night out here with me and our people. This is poor repayment for his loyalty.

I dip one of the bandages in the water and gesture at his shirt. “Off,” I murmur.

He gives me a curious look and fiddles with the hem for a moment. “Keir—?”

“Take it off, Lugh.”

The linen skates over his skin, drawing up higher and exposing him to the lantern’s flickering light. He shudders when I lean forward and press a kiss to his hip. “You saved me,” I whisper against the jut of the bone.

“I didn’t.”

I look up at him, honest and open and desperately in love. Gods, I will vanquish any foe sent after me if it ensures this man’s place by my side. “You did,” I say. “Tonight. Throughout our journeys. And at the beginning.”