Corvel had never felt so lost in any place. Dal’coler was dark, overwhelming, and monumental – traits he wasn’t accustomed to. Devlonmere was different. Glowing, white walls, and sun-licked pale curtains. His family was bound with the white, for as long as he could remember. White – like snow. Like winter. Even if his father seemed to hold autumn in his heart, also for as long as he remembered. Corvel never knew King Marnsul, a companion to his father, a good one. Yet Marnsul gave life, when the forest chose his son.
Corvel Devlon – his name meant that he had lord’s status, yet he never grasped the subtleties of commanding, acting like the world belonged to him. Self-confidence. He grew up in a secluded place, where he was loved. Adored, without needing to give orders. He was aware this kind of upbringing was not common among Unseelie Fae. Most fey didn’t bond with their children that much. He knew his family was unique.
But Corvel wanted to taste life in the palace. Far from safety. Far from the warmth of his manor. Something dark bloomed in his heart for some time. His father would say that he had grown up, that his claws had become sharper. He thought that he needed the change to see how others lived. Compare, drown in night, and return. Maybe bolder.
Father was always telling him that love could command just as well as fear. Even the illusion of love. Even a lie. But among Unseelie Fae, fear-inducing was more respected. That, Corvel wanted to see as well.
Darkness was… tempting. Somehow… less polished to shine, but beaming with timeless power. Father said once that it was the matter of time that blossomed in him. Corvel wanted it as much as he feared it.
But the want was stronger.
When he at last traversed the dark and shadowed passages of Dal’coler, he felt the ages in them. Whispering ghosts of the blood that had been spilled here through the ages. It spoke of power -relentless, hungry, and unstoppable. Every young fae would be moved.
And Corvel was very moved.
Each of the stones here had its own history. He would love to know each one of them.
The lesser fairy with black wings and antlers growing from her thick copper hair led him through a richly ornamented corridor. The scenes carved on the walls depicted things Corvel didn’t see well and couldn’t decipher the meaning of. As the fey stated at the beginning – they were heading to the private quarters of the lords. Far from the throne room, but placed in a circle around the royal chambers. Corvel stopped to admire the art and spatial build of the capital, even expressing his curiosity a few times. The fairy’s voice was melodic and silent, as she explained to him in a low tone that she was ordered to show him his rooms and only that. By the king. And his order had to be fulfilled in every detail.
“Why is my father not with us?” he tried to sound as commanding as he was able.
“Your father was invited for a supper with King Lorian, my lord,” the fairy smiled meekly. But Corvel could swear he saw a wild gleam in her burgundy eyes.
“Will he visit me here… or?”
“Please forgive me for my impertinence, my lord. But I do not know. I am only a messenger.”
This sounded reasonable.
“I was accepted to the court. How will my day look from now on?” He was really curious.
“As you wish, my lord. You still don’t have duties in the palace, so your day will be filled with pleasures. You can do whatever you want. Whatever your heart desires.”
The possibilities… that sounded a bit… frightening. He didn’t know anyone here, yet he was given a free hand in everything. Possibly, he could get to know other lords, with time. But they were winter fae, and he was raised as an autumn child. How would they react to him?
How would the lords and ladies react to his lack of sophistication?
Maybe they had books here. Surely they did. But then, he doubted many Unseelie here liked to read.
“Can you send someone to my room?”
“A woman?” Her eyes gleamed.
“Someone who can show me around here, that is.”
“Of course. But allow me graciously to give you advice, my lord. Do not ask servants if they can do something for you. Other lords…” She shook her head, her copper hair falling over her forehead in a wild way. “Command. You have the right to do so.”
That sounded like the advice his father would give him. Something that would allow him not to sound like an autumnal child in the winter court. Alnam knew how to command. He led armies to battle. He had done it many times against his own beliefs, because he had to. But he knew how to lead faeries, who were always more selfish than loyal. He could be ruthless when needed.
Corvel still didn’t have that in him. But he hoped that it would bloom inside him, just as he imagined in Devlonmere. He wanted power. He wanted darkness. Even against his own nature. He wanted to be like Alnam, yes.
He wanted to be like Lorian Ain’Dal.
He had heard about the king’s power. Rare shadow magic – so strong. Stronger than in any other winter king. When he met him, he felt it, pushing under his skin.
When he met him…
and…
HER.
Face hidden behind the raven mask, almost blending with her skin. A nonchalant smile on her lips, like everything around her was boring to her. Her aura was so similar to his own – light, but strong. He felt that she had more power in her little finger than he had in his whole body.
Perfect temptation. Perfect trap.
And he fell into it, willingly.
Lady Nymre, the king’s consort.
Oh, he had heard about her too. But nothing prepared him for seeing her.
She was allure incarnate.
And she belonged to the king of Ain’asel.
His chances were nonexistent. Trying anything would doom him.
*
Alnam watched as Lorian lifted the cup of wine and sipped from it slowly, his dark eyes fixed on him above the rim. Nymre sat between them, like a dam between their mutual dislike. Alnam had always thought Nymre was clever, but vain. Intelligent, but very selfish. A fae woman in every aspect. Someone he always had to take into consideration when traveling to Dal’coler.
Lorian was aware of that. Nymre was not his weakness, though. She was his weapon, just as she was his lover.
Corvel had made a bad first impression, yes. Nymre seemed lazily amused by his attention. He hoped Lorian thought the same. It would be unfortunate if Corvel became a sliver that Lorian would want to remove. Given that he thought of Alnam as a bother, it would be a good excuse to send Corvel back to Devlonmere without giving him a chance.
“So…” The cup was placed on the table and Lorian smiled. A slight mock behind it, yet not enough to call it an offense. “The young boy wants to taste the flavors of Dal’coler.”
“He is here exactly for that, Your Majesty. He has grown up too long far from the heart of all things. My son is not used to court life, though. He is very young.”
Lorian’s smile cracked into something darker.
“Many young fae are not ready. But the circumstances make them willingly open before possibilities.”
Alnam’s brow drifted higher.
“Corvel is very excited, my lord. I do not ask for special favors for him, though.”
“Oh, but he will get them.” Lorian’s gaze slid over Alnam slowly. “A son of my father’s most trusted companion must receive… my most special attention.”
“I hope this won’t bother Your Majesty.” Alnam’s serious expression hid his thoughts inside his head, where no one could gaze into.
“On the contrary! I will adore offering him the right treatment.”
Nymre’s piercing eyes fell on Alnam. He could swear she tried to dig into his mind and pull the thoughts out.
“Your son is very fine,” she mused. “And he has a taste for beautiful things.”
Lorian sipped the wine again.
“He will see many beautiful things here. But he must be aware that some of them hide claws and sharp teeth. Predatory plants in disguise,” his eyes gleamed with stars. “As you know well.”
Nymre took a small piece of meat on the fork. A droplet of blood fell from the morsel, just onto the plate.
“I can promise you that I will keep a watchful eye on your son,” Lorian tapped the surface of the table with his fingers, “and not allow him to fall prey to the dangers of Dal’coler. That is the least I can do for my loyal general.”
Alnam was sure it was true.
Lorian might not like him, but he wouldn’t harm Corvel just to prove a point. He was not petty. Cruel, yes, but not petty. At least that he knew well.
Why did he feel that it had all gone wrong?
“Is life in Devlonmere treating you well?” Lorian seemed to offer him real attention on the subject. “Narlia… it has been too long since I had the delight to see her.”
“Narlia perceives the pleasures of solitude very personally. They soothe her soul… just as they do mine.”
“We all sometimes long for loneliness… even when surrounded by miracles and beautiful nightmares.”
Nymre chuckled silently, kindly… but enjoying those words, like she knew some dangerous secrets. Lorian and Nymre… shadows over Ain’asel… never stepping too far, never crossing boundaries. Deadly. And unpredictable.
His own skills would be very useful here. Lorian looked amused by Corvel’s purity.
And maybe, he was involuntarily helping him grow a stronger spine.