“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—
“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.”
