The Exiled Queen

Chapter 6

(Art by @loweana.art used with permission)

I am not sure whether it was the swig of the pine liquor from Locke's flask I used to rinse my mouth with or my nerves or my anger that has my head abuzz but I do not feel like making formal pleasantries right now. I do not feel like playing at Taryn--sweet, submissive, backstabbing Taryn.

I want to feel the heavy weight of Nightfell in my hands. I want to run Cardan through and paint the blade of my sword red with his blood.

My jaw is locked, my hands fisted at my sides, nails pressing into my palms and my breath comes quick and shallow as we arrive at the Palace of Elfhame. I glance at Locke as the carriage stops, he hasn't spoken since we left his estate and did and said nothing during, or after my spell, but pass me his flask from his pocket--he is irritated with me, that I know. But I can't help but worry (although I currently hate my twin) that Locke is unkind, cold and distant toward Taryn and his behavior tonight is not unusual for him.

Locke exits the carriage gracefully like the gentry he is and holds out his hand to help me step down. I link my arm in his and take a deep steadying breath as we enter the palace. My pulse quickens the closer we get to court, my blood surging through me fueling me with my rage. I feel jittery and lightheaded while we pass through the crowds of revelers already well into their cups and entertainments: Faerie lords and ladies and pale blue or green tinged pixies, goblins and imps. Some dance elegantly and others sloppily; their lips stained gold, their eyes unfocused. It is apparent we have missed the banquet.

"Won't you dance with me, mortal?" A brown bespeckled girl with long furred ears like a deer reaches out to me as we pass. She grabs my wrist and swings me out of Locke's arm and we spin and spin around until Locke forcefully yanks me to his side. The girl grins maliciously and then laughs at Locke's admonishing glare. The folk beneath Locke's status know it is nearly a crime against the crown to put his mortal wife into the way of harm. But I can see that he lets the incident go judging by the depth of the girl's intoxication.

The crowd parts suddenly, we've inadvertently created a scene and it wasn't just the few folk surrounding us that took notice. I turn abruptly, disheveled; arm hanging limply in Locke's tight grasp, a loose tendril of hair settles across my face.

Cardan is staring at me.

Our eyes lock for an intense moment. My mind flashes through a fury of images, memories, echoes. Emotions. I force the pain of betrayal, to instead, harden into hatred. I am strong. I am a general's daughter. I will not be weak. Play along.

Cardan is lounging on a deep red chaise of plush velvet, his tunic--white and trimmed in ruffles--is untied at his throat, gaping enough to reveal more than should be appropriate in this public situation. His eyes are blackened with kohl; and cold and calculating. Dark locks of hair mussed over his crown and a silver goblet dangles loosely from his hand.

My eyes slide over then to Nicasia with disgust. Her blue-green hair is fanned out across Cardan's lap, her long legs sway carelessly over the edge of the lounge. Cardan's bejeweled fingers are laced with Nicasia's and realization strikes me so violently I stumble back against Locke. Cardan intends to marry Nicasia? I try to compose myself but jealousy and hatred are strong, fierce emotions and nearly impossible to obscure.

Cardan sees something change in my eyes. He sits up suddenly. And looks at me. Really looks at me. His eyes narrow but Nicasia notices the loss of his attention and sits up to fawn at him. Her hands slip under his shirt, sharp nails drag across his chest as she whispers something to him. His downturned mouth curls in amusement. It sickens me. I turn away. I don't want to see this. I don't trust I can keep my composure. I could kill him right now. Right here in front of the court, the revelers, nearly everyone.

I tug at Locke, trying to steer him away but he doesn't budge. He ignores my attempts at urging him out of the great hall. I know my attempt is useless, we cannot dishonor the High King. We approach Cardan.

Not yet Not now, I chant to myself, heart pounding against my chest. Be smart Play along.

Locke bends a knee to Cardan and I quickly duck my head and do the same. His eyes skip over me now, as if I'm nothing; merely Locke's plaything. I'm not surprised Cardan allows Taryn at court after she and Madoc worked together to deceive him. Even if he lost half his guard because of her. I'm certain that Locke used his sway with him to encourage Taryn's pardon.

A goblin with thick, cracked skin like the bark of a tree quickly supplies Locke with a silver goblet much like Cardan's, filled nearly to the top with faerie wine. Locke, ever raised a gentry lord, sips at the drink almost delicately as he falls into conversation with Cardan and Colm, another gentry son, who I recognized from our days at school. I assume he has taken Valerian's place in Cardan's inner circle.

I stand awkwardly off to the side. Feigning interest in a loose thread at my wrist. While in complete silent agony of maintaining my emotions and my composure. On the inside I am simmering with anger and frustration. And the blinding desire for vengeance.

Suddenly without even a glance in my direction Cardan, Locke and Colm slip behind a heavy tapestry on the wall behind the chaise and disappear into one of the palace's hidden chambers. Leaving Nicasia and three other faeries behind, two pixie girls and one boy with willowy hair like down and delicate white wings. But they don't seem to care, instead they take it as their queue to find their entertainment elsewhere. Except Nicasia, who sets her chin defiantly and follows after Cardan.

Having lived here before as seneschal, I mostly know what goes on in the private rooms at parties and revels and such--which means I won't be seeing Locke for quite some time and by then he'll be heavily intoxicated and not care where I am or where I've been. Or that I was even gone at all.

I seize the opportunity to slip away into the throng of the folk deep into their celebration. I can't help but smile at my luck. How easy it was for me to gain entrance at court and mill about as if I were simply one of the mortals residing in Faerie. Under the protection of the High King by a well matched marriage. And not Jude: humiliated and exiled.

I am starting to enjoy being my sister's imposter