Page 147 of The Fallen Fae King

A smile tugs at my lips at the memory of Aurelius awkwardly stripping his own royal bed of every single piece of bedding and stuffing them into my arms to take with me, when Maximinus’ personal guard arrived to escort Freya and me to Consort House.

“To remember me by,” Aurelius said, stiffly.

We couldn’t talk openly, but I understood.

He was telling Freya and me that he remained loyal.

He was asking me to trust him.

It has been a week now, however, and there are only seven days left until the Primo Festival and the coronation.

The dragon is asking a lot because the way that Freya clung to me in these blankets on the first night and whispered doesn’t this feel like a rejection…?

It shattered my heart.

“More like house arrest,” I replied. “Since there is a guard stationed outside. It looks like being a consort in Draca Kingdom is no different to being a bloody prisoner. Shall I try and walk out the door and see what happens?”

Freya only clung to me tighter. “Don’t you fucking dare. I have already lost two of my Alphas. I’m not losing you.”

Except, sending us here was the right decision.

Maximinus needs to believe that he has the upper hand, right up until the moment that he doesn’t.

Aurelius acted sweetly guilty about moving us here.

It is equally sweet that he doesn’t understand giving me this space has given me the advantage.

He still doesn’t believe that I have always been in control.

Aurelius’ face is going to be bloody priceless when he figures it out.

Freya relaxes at the simple oak table, drumming her fingers on it. “I just figured that a king like you would have an army cook or something. Your meals are delicious, however, even though we’ve only been given a couple of simple ingredients.”

“Well, I am brilliant.” I wink.

Freya rolls her eyes. “Why didn’t you order someone else to cook for you?”

“We were a child army, remember? We barely survived in the first years, foraging off the land and stealing. Aurelius is right that I am a criminal. We starved and ate anything that we could. I was one of the oldest kids, so of course I learned to cook, or we’d have subsisted off handfuls of berries and roots. You get creative when you’re hungry. Also, when you have people who rely on you to live from day to day, aye? To Lanlin and Aurelius, kingship is this theoretical thing, but to me, it’s been agonizingly real. I’ve witnessed it in the faces of my people both living and dead.”

I break off. I’ve said too much.

My chest is tight.

Freya’s gaze is searching like she is trying to understand me.

I shift my wings on my back, uncomfortable.

Freya pushes her hair out of her eyes. “In Orm, the nobles didn’t go anywhere near the kitchens. They simply stuffed their faces with the food that they were served. I can’t imagine Prince Bard knowing one end of a pot from the other. He never had his nose out of a magic book, unless he was training with his heathen wolves.”

I glance at Freya, warily. “My magic book.”

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten we need to talk about the fact that in Blood Kingdom you told me Bard was secretly working on taking over from King Ulf because he worshiped you, his feathered god.”

“Oh, look at that, dinner is ready.” I give a sharp smile.

Then I spoon the steaming stew into two earthenware bowls.

I frown, when I spill some of the lentils onto the mosaic floor. My eyesight has become patchy again, but I expected that.