It was eight on the dot when Val trotted up to the gleaming copper gates. They were among the most beautiful Copper Dwarven work she’d ever seen, inlaid with sparkling selenite crystals. Six griffins wearing armor emblazoned with the crest of the Eternity Throne guarded them. The part-lion, part-eagle soldiers were bigger than horses, and their amber eyes regarded her from leonine faces as she walked between them.

The hallway beyond was resplendent, with many-colored silk banners hanging on the walls. Val scanned them until her gaze found the banner of the Iron Dwarves: a hammer and tongs crossed over an anvil on the outline of a rampant bear. Val touched her amulet, which was cool on her chest in the absence of danger.

She paused in front of the banner despite her hurry. “What’s the story with the bear?” she asked no one in particular in a whisper.

Raised voices echoed down the hall. Val tensed and moved toward the throne room. The doors were slightly open, and the yelling came from within.

“That was your vow, Julie! You said that every species would be free to express their culture!”

“I also said that every para has the right to a fair trial!”

“Why does the Eternity Throne alone have the right to decide what is fair and what isn’t?”

“Because we aren’t known to eat our young!”

“Only the weak and deformed!”

“Like that’s better?”

Val edged to the doors and peered into the majestic room. Its sandstone pillars and the gorgeous sunlight falling through the stained glass spoke of peace and majesty, but neither was evident.

Queen Julia stood in front of her throne. Silver flames engulfed her hands and licked up to her elbows, and her fists were clenched by her sides. In front of her, the faerie king dripped corrosive faerie dust. It sizzled on the marble floor.

“I thought you accepted our ways, Julie,” the faerie king hissed. “Perhaps the throne has gone to your head.”

“I accept you.” Queen Julia’s chain mail dress clinked as she stepped forward. “That doesn’t mean I approve of everything you do.”

“We do not seek your approval,” the king spat.

“Well, you should since I am your queen!” she thundered.

The faerie king raised his chin. “You are the first Eternity Queen to rule the faeries, but we can change that. Do you forget that my wife and daughters died to secure your throne?”

The flames on the queen’s hands vanished, replaced by wisps of black smoke.

“You know I’ll never forget that.” The queen’s wings drooped. “Neither of us will, and they’d expect us to be better than this.”

The flow of faerie dust trickling from the soles of the king’s feet slowed. “They would.”

“I respect faerie customs, but I cannot support the taking of lives,” the queen added. “Don’t you understand that every faerie who dies means to their loved ones what your wife and daughters meant to you?”

The faerie king looked away.

“Let’s find a better way forward,” the queen suggested. “Make an example of the fourth in line. Show your people how to solve their problems without resorting to violence until absolutely necessary.”

“You don’t understand,” the king growled. “How could you? Your daughter is still in your arms.”

The queen stiffened.

“If she’d been torn away, what would you do to make sure that never happened again?” the king demanded. “I almost lost Sinatria. I will not lose another daughter.”

“Then don’t,” the queen murmured. “Let us go through with the magical binding, and your daughters will live. I know you’re angry. I’m angry, too. I almost lost one of my best people that night, not to mention the hundreds of human lives that were endangered. However, Sinatria is alive, and so is her sister. You can keep her that way.”

The king’s shoulders sagged.

“You have an opportunity to break the cycle,” Julie insisted. “You can change things for your family and all the other faerie families. Allow Eternity Law to punish the princess. Allow us to try the magical binding.”

“Fine,” the king snapped. “But she will be bound for life.”

Val’s knees wobbled. Life? She’d expected a year or two!

What in Merlin’s name am I getting myself into? she wondered.

The queen laughed. “You and I both know that is impractical, faerie dad. Where will I find a liege as long-lived as the average faerie?”

“A hundred years, then,” the king stubbornly insisted.

“Come on. We want to rehabilitate your princess, not to return to the faerie kingdom but to live a productive life in another society. A hundred years isn’t rehabilitation. It’s slavery,” the queen argued. “What about five?”

Yes, Val pleaded silently. Make it five.

“Twenty,” the king challenged.

The queen spread her hands. “Twelve.”

The king growled. “Thirteen since that number is cursed in faerie lore. May she fail to live long enough to fulfill her sentence!”

“Very well. Her sentence is thirteen years’ vassalship.” The queen paused. “How do you believe your people will receive the news?”

The faerie king ran a hand over his spiky hair. “A few will be angry, but many will be pleased. Admittedly, you and the faerie you call Sinatria are both right. My people do want change.”

“How do you want to handle the press release?” the queen asked.

“Let me speak to my people first. Give us a few days before you release the news. This is faerie business,” the king muttered.

Julie nodded, folding her now-cool hands over her dress. “I agree. Thank you.” Her shoulders loosened. “I’m not interested in fighting with you.”

The faerie king shrugged. “I’ll fight with you, but preferably alongside you, not against you.”

The queen cracked a grin. “As you have done faithfully and often.”

“I suppose I owe it to you that Sinatria is still alive,” the king grumbled. “Your protector saved her.”

“She’s good at that kind of thing.” The queen grinned.

Val didn’t register the compliment. The thought of being magically bound to a murderous faerie for thirteen years yawned at her feet like an abyss. She only had a vague plan for those years, like make shit in the smithy, protect the realm, and maybe meet a nice guy. It did not include murderous faeries.

It wasn’t too late to back out. The queen had almost unlimited resources. She could find someone else. Someone who⁠—