“Eiravel Stonehold?”

A brownie appeared at Val’s feet. Gel gleamed on the tight helmet of his golden hair, and he wore a tailored three-piece suit. A gold pocket square protruded from his chest pocket.

“Yeah?” Val croaked.

“I am Dylan, Steward of the Eternal Palace, and you are late.” The brownie grabbed her by the pants leg. “Get in there!”

He propelled her into the throne room before she could protest.

CHAPTER THREE

Val stumbled into the throne room, hobnails ringing on marble. The sound made the faerie king turn around. Val halted a few feet from him, her heart galloping, and realized she was looking at one of the oldest, most mysterious, and most powerful rulers in Avalon.

She bowed awkwardly. Should she have curtsied? She had no idea.

“So, you’re Eiravel Stonehold.” The faerie king eyed her. “Tall for a dwarf. I like your hair.”

Val resisted the urge to touch the wig she wore today: hip-length braids. “Yes, Your Majesty.” She swallowed. “Sir, thank you for your action in the Third Pendragon War and for your sacrifice. Many of the paras I love wouldn’t be alive and free today if it wasn’t for you.”

The faerie king chuckled. “A flatterer, are you?”

“Not usually.” The queen grinned, bright eyes lighting up beneath her dark pixie-cut hair. “She’s being earnest.”

“Good.” The king’s sharp, pointed face softened. He held out a hand that glittered with faerie dust and cast it lightly over Val’s head. She stiffened, holding her breath against what she expected to be acid. The sparkling dust hung over her, smelling faintly of strawberries.

“You have been scent-marked by faerie royalty.” The king raised his chin.

Scent-marked? Like, he peed on my leg? Val wondered but was wise enough not to say. Judging by the queen’s wide eyes, this was a big deal.

“All faeries will now know that you are a friend of their king,” the faerie king added. “None will harm you, and everyone who is loyal to me will be loyal to you. We owe you a debt for our princess’s life. We don’t take it lightly.”

“Just doing my job, sir,” Val mumbled.

The queen glared daggers at her.

“Uh, thanks. That is an honor,” Val added lamely.

“Yes, well, you’ve received it now, so piss off,” the king added.

“Not so fast.” Julie held out a hand. “Last night, I told you that Sinatria had found a suitable liege. I wanted to see how you reacted to Val before I told you who that liege would be.”

The faerie king’s slender eyebrows shot up. “It’s Eiravel?”

The queen met Val’s eyes. “You heard the length of the sentence when you were eavesdropping by the door.”

Val’s cheeks blazed.

“Are you still in?”

Val cleared her throat. “Yes, Your Majesty.” The words came before she could stop them. What choice did she have? She’d heard and seen the king and queen arguing. War didn’t seem as abstract as it had when Sinatria spoke of the plan at her kitchen table.

“Good. The liege has agreed.” The queen turned to the faerie king. “Do I still have your agreement?”

The faerie king raised his hands. “I’ve withdrawn my word for the last time, Julie. Having Eiravel be the liege satisfies me.”

“All we need, then, is permission from the vassal.” The queen turned to a towering griffin standing near the throne. “Commander, bring out the prisoner.”

The griffin inclined his head and leaped out of the room, his giant paws soundless.

“How’s Gennie?” the queen asked.

“You gave her Gennie?” the faerie king demanded, disgusted.

The queen waved a dismissive hand. “She needed her. Besides, I didn’t give her away. You don’t give or sell Genevieve. She does what she wants.”

“Oh, so Gennie didn’t want to come to the faerie kingdom?” The faerie king folded his arms.

“Not after what you did to her backseat,” the queen retorted.

“Gennie’s fine,” Val squeaked.

“Of course she is. The finest vehicle in any dimension.” Julie beamed.

The double doors on Val’s left opened, and six griffins paced into the room, their wings folded but their claws extended. Many had drawn their lips back from their teeth in warning, and their feathered hackles had risen on their tawny backs. In the middle of the group, a portly werebeaver with a bristling mustache strode beside a tiny obsidian cage on wheels. He dragged the cage by its handle, holding a pistol in his free hand.

“Careful, Your Majesty.” The werebeaver wheeled the cage nearer to the queen as the griffin guard fanned out around her. “She’s a feisty one.”

“I’ve fought feistier,” the queen calmly announced.

The faerie in the cage sat sullenly on a perch, swinging her thin legs. She kept her arms folded and glared at the floor.

“Good morning, Princess.” The queen paused. “Last night, you were informed of the decision to sentence you to vassalship.”

The faerie raised her head. Her spiky black hair looked like she’d cut it herself, and her eyes were also black.

“May your bones rot in the prison realm, bitch,” she spat.

The faerie king gave a strangled cry of rage and flung himself at the cage. The queen clenched her fist, and the marble at their feet cracked. Val leaped back with a yelp as a wall of rock jutted from the floor and blocked the faerie king from reaching the cage. “Merlin’s belly button! I’d forgotten that Lunar Fae have earth magic.”

“I have more than that,” Julie snapped. “I know you’re hurt, but you must give us space to carry out this sentence.”

The faerie king hovered by the wall, faerie dust oozing from his body. “How can you allow her defiance?”

“I’m not allowing it. I sentenced her to vassalship, in case you hadn’t noticed,” the queen snapped.

The faerie king hissed and perched on top of the wall, glaring at the faerie in the cage. Fourth returned his look with an even more fiery one.

“Do you understand why you were sentenced?” the queen asked.