Caged: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 4) Page 9

  “I’m listening.”

  “He has a new commander. His name is Bosco. He leads a group of full-powered lords—one of them rides, of all things, a fucking puca. They should all be extinct.” Her lip curled. “And the puca’s not the worst of it.”

  She swallowed and he settled back on his haunches. Ah, finally. Here was the real truth of the matter. The reason she’d sent for him in a panic.

  “Bosco is the brother of the girl I gave you to eat. I saw him too. Somehow he’s become more powerful and he’s coming to destroy me.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “He’ll take it all down. Me. The palace. Everything I’ve built here.” For the first time since he’d met her, he saw real fear in the flat ice of her eyes. “If you don’t kill him, the palace will be destroyed.”

  The fire in his belly grew hot and for the first time in hundreds of years, Doyle forgot to control his face. He hissed, ignoring the gasps and shrinking of the court as they ran from the sight of his mouth dropping open exposing needle sharp fangs and a double row of teeth.

  He had other things to worry about. Siobhan’s brother was on his way with an army to the Winter Palace to get revenge. And he, Doyle Atavantador, Dragon Lord of the North, who Siobhan was just beginning to trust, was the one the queen had designated her executioner.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Doyle closed his mouth. He’d been thrown by the queen’s announcement he go kill Siobhan’s brother, but now he’d recovered his composure and thoughts of how he could turn this situation to his advantage churned inside his mind.

  “Well?” Maeve leaned forward on her throne, nearly hanging off of the edge in expectation. “Aren’t you going to fly to Caer Bol and eliminate him?”

  “You’re asking me to fly into Prince Kian’s territory and kill an army that hasn’t attacked you yet?” He shook his head.

  “A preemptive strike. Get them before they get me.”

  Tempting. He didn’t give a rat’s ass if Maeve got killed. In fact that would make his life easier. However, and it was a very large however—Maeve was now thoroughly entrenched in the Winter Palace and the stones he’d left here. If Bosco and his army actually made it across the ice and snow and mountains that stood in the way, and then they killed Maeve—the entire Winter Palace would crumble without her. His little dragon queen would be crushed beneath the rubble.

  And he couldn’t have that.

  But, taking the other side—if he flew to take on what sounded like a formidable force, complete with full power Tuathan Lords and even a puca, he might die. And then the little queen would hatch, buried alive.

  “No.”

  “No?” Her visage turned red, rising through the light sheen of blue on her skin to become an odd purple color. “Year after year I’ve given you gold and jewels and loads of treasure, and now you refuse?”

  “If Kian’s force really arrives, I’ll come defend the palace. Until then, you’re on your own.”

  Maeve stood up. She shook as she clenched her fists at her side. “You swore an oath!”

  “Maybe next time you won’t cheat me of my tithe.” And with that he turned, his tail narrowly missing the clump of guards to the right of the throne, and left the courtroom. He smiled to himself as he launched himself into the air, listening to the queen’s screams of rage.

  He used the two-hour flight back home to run through scenario after scenario.

  Kill Maeve, palace collapses, and the little queen dies.

  Let Bosco kill Maeve, or even give it a good go—odds were the palace wouldn’t withstand the buffeting of their magics. Maeve would pull so much of her stored power from the place that it would collapse. The little queen still died.

  Even if he did fly in and fight for Maeve, what happened to the baby queen if he was defeated?

  She died.

  No matter how he went over it—and he did, go over and over it again—he could come up with only one solution. Let Bosco attack, and while he and Maeve were fighting it out, Doyle would sneak in and steal the queen egg right out from under the battle. Then he could fly her home to Cairngloss and she could hatch in safety.

  That assumed the queen egg waited to hatch until all of this occurred. But there were no guarantees.

  It wasn’t until he was at the entrance to Cairngloss that he finally acknowledged his other problem. He was sworn to protect the Winter Palace from attack and the person who would be doing the attacking was Siobhan’s much loved baby brother, Bosco. If he had to kill Bosco to save the little queen, he would. But Siobhan would never understand. And curiously, that mattered to him. He’d started off taking her in more as an amusement, than anything else. But now?

  Now he realized he’d miss her. Miss the trust she’d put in him. Miss the little smiles and reactions and yes, even the small teasing gestures she’d just started to show him. A half-smile spread on his face and he realized he wanted to see her again and see that light that jumped into her eyes whenever he came into the room.

  He entered his cave and made sure she wasn’t around before shifting back to his humanoid form. He’d done many things over his lifetime. He’d kept secrets. He’d lied. He and his brothers had stolen their queen eggs right out from under their mothers in this desperate attempt to keep their species alive. He was one of the last of his kind, a dragon lord from a dying world. What were the feelings of one Tuathan girl to him? She shouldn’t matter. And yet, he was starting to suspect, she did.

  There was a light emanating from the door to the library. He tiptoed softly and peeked into the room. In an easy chair, with the soft light of the candles turning the white of her hair to a luminescent glow, sat Siobhan. She had her bare feet tucked up under her tight little bottom, and she was focusing with great intent on a huge, leather-bound book, her lower lip firmly anchored between her teeth.

  He must have made some kind of a sound because she put the book down and leapt up from her nest. “Doyle, you’re back.” Her face lit up with pleasure. “I’ve got so much to tell you.”

  She was lovely. And she was his.

  Suddenly he cared what she thought of him. He cared very deeply that those big black eyes continued looking at him that way. Gazing on Siobhan’s shining face he knew one thing for sure: no matter what happened—he was thoroughly screwed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It had taken time for the queen’s rage to cool. The court had seemed frozen while she had created and thrown fragile balls of hollow ice at anyone who moved. Ardan had learned young to hide when Maeve was in a temper, as had many of the guards who’d served her, and he’d been able to avoid being a target. But one of her ladies-in-waiting—stupid enough to speak and now regretting it big time—huddled in a wet, bruised heap on the floor in front of the throne.

  “How dare he waddle in here like a lazy polar bear with wings—lashing his tail and gnashing his teeth and refusing to do his job?”

  No one answered. It had been an hour since the dragon had left and the queen’s questioning had reached the merely rhetorical stage. Ardan figured she was almost done. She’d burned out her anger on her victims and was now looking for a way to wind down her rage and make her exit.

  “He might not value the treasure I’ve given him over the years, but he should value his oath. If he were one of us, his magic would be draining away, but he’s a dragon.” She curled her lip. “A shifty, no-good, useless drain on my resources. Give him his tithe. Hah!”

  She rose, and the entire court tensed, waiting for her next move. The soggy lady-in-waiting struggled to her feet, none of her compatriots running to assist her.

  “Come, Captain Ardan.”

  He snapped to attention.

  “I need your council in the viewing room.” Maeve descended from her throne, the faded form of her consort dragging along behind her like a wet shadow.

  The see-through figure of the Winter King gave Ardan the willies. He skirted the boy and caught up to the queen, following her into the oldest part of the palace. The rooms were small
er here, the ceilings not as high and the decor not as grand, but this was where Maeve kept her rooms, leaving the rest of the populace of the complex to the newer areas.

  He followed her through her private quarters to a door in the very heart of the old palace, the Winter King close at their heels. Where the keyhole and latch should be was merely a solid brass plate. She leaned and breathed a word. Ardan made sure to be just close enough that he was clearly in attendance, but not so close that she thought he was eavesdropping. If she even suspected he threatened what was in that room, she’d kill him without a second thought.

  She’d told him so herself.

  One night, when he was just a boy, he’d been lying in her bed. After she’d satisfied her needs by covering him in bruises and teaching him the ins and outs of exotic sex, she’d curled around him, pulling him in to spoon.

  She’d whispered in his ear, “I like you, Ardan. You make me happy. But if I ever think you’ve betrayed me in any way I’ll kill you, without hesitation.” She’d petted his hair then, smoothing it out over his neck and shoulder, sending shivers along his skin. “And, Ardan, be aware, unlike tonight, it will be very, very unpleasant.”

  She’d held him tight and he’d snuggled in close, loving and hating her at the same time. But this time the warmth of her body hadn’t reached the chill she’d left in his soul.

  He’d never forgotten the lessons she’d taught him as a boy. Any of them.

  The solid metal shimmered and reformed into a plate with a keyhole. The queen pulled out her ring of keys, selected the darkest and heaviest, and inserted it in the lock and turned. The door opened and she gave Ardan a nod and led the way in.

  It had taken years for her to trust him to come into this room and yet the ghostly Winter King followed her in without her even noticing, hovering close behind her as if he were afraid to leave her side. The interior of the room was the roughest one in the entire complex, looking more like it belonged in the dungeons below than in the heart of the queen’s chambers. The floor was made up of naturally flat stones picked at random and fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. Four standing stones about twelve feet tall stood in the four corners. A chair sat against a wall, half turned as if someone had kicked it and sent it askew, and another lay in a broken heap next to it. In the center of the room was a small pool, its watery surface smooth and still.

  On another night when he’d pleasured her for hours and she’d had too much to drink, Maeve had told him that the contents of this room were the only thing here when she’d found it as a young maid.

  “Four stones anchoring the mist and a completely round pool in the center. It’s built at one of the power nexuses, a virtual inexhaustible supply of magic, just sitting there, waiting. No one used it. No one cared. I watched it for months, waiting for someone powerful to show up, but they never did. So I took it for my own, just like I did you.” She’d tweaked his nipple hard, and laughed at his flinch. “And I used that power to become queen.”

  That had been long before he’d even been born.

  Maeve leaned over the pool and passed her hand over the surface. It froze at the touch of her magic, into a shiny mirror of ice. “Goddess, let me see mine enemies.”

  In the pool, a familiar face appeared. His baby fat had disappeared and he’d grown to be a man, but it was Bosco, Siobhan’s brother. Ardan swallowed his gasp.

  Dressed in furs and boots and chain mail, Bosco strode across the snow, looking ready for battle, as did his companions—a red-headed elvatian lass and two human women, one blonde and one with long black hair. All four leaned over a map of the north. Bosco frowned, and pointed at the picture of a white castle high on the side of the page above a series of mountains.

  “Do you see, Ardan? That’s the Winter Palace. That’s here!” She jerked her hand and the frozen surface of the ice cracked, the picture shattering into jagged pieces before melting away. “Damn Atavantador, why will he not listen to me!”

  Ardan held his position by the door, ready to exit if she told him to.

  Maeve turned fast, heading for the far wall, walking straight through the see-through body of the Winter King. “Ugh! Get away!” She rubbed her arms and legs as if trying to get something sticky off of her skin. “Haven’t I told you not to stand next to me? Go over there.” She pointed at the chairs and he drifted silently over, sinking into the only whole one, the cushion barely denting at his weight.

  She turned to Ardan. “Wretched boy. Would that he were half the bed-mate you were when you were his age.”

  A few years ago, even months ago, Ardan would have glowed at her praise, but now it was bitter in his ear. She’d never take him back. He was too old. But the idea that she still had feelings for him had him speaking, despite his resolve to stay out of trouble. “Pardon, my queen, but why don’t you send him away?”

  Send him away and bring me back to your bed. She’d loved him, or at least she’d pretended enough that he’d loved her back. Why couldn’t her love grow up with him? Why did it have to fade with his manhood?

  “Where would I send him? I can’t send him home; they’d see him and ask questions. I’d never get another Winter King again. And if I killed him, can you imagine? I had enough trouble when Bosco and his sister disappeared. Suspicion runs deep in a rural area. These peasants just don’t understand my needs.” She stared at the boy, a frown marring her lovely features. “No, much as I’d like to get rid of him and get someone else, he stays. But as soon as I decently can, I’m trading him in for a new model.”

  The pain always surprised him. She could still raise his hopes and dash them, just as she had when they’d been lovers and she’d done it with his body.

  A new model. Did that make him the old one?

  She’d taught him the pleasure of pain, and the cutting edge of loving a woman with no heart. But unlike the current king, he’d survived the lack of her love. This boy had just faded away from his pain, a lonely ghost who couldn’t move on and wouldn’t die.

  Ardan, on the other hand, had grown into a man. Now he had her respect and her trust, but nothing else. Even though he told himself it didn’t matter, it still burned.

  “Perhaps, once we’ve defeated Bosco and his army, I’ll be able to do just that.” She tapped her chin in deep thought, staring across the room at the boy-king on the chair. “I can say he died in the battle and we can stash him in a tower to fade the rest of the way into oblivion.” A wide smile turned her face back into a thing of beauty, sparkling with new-made plans. “Once the people see me save them from Bosco and his army, boys will be throwing themselves at my feet, looking for glory at my side. Things will be as they once were. I’ll have my pick of the cream of the crop again. ” She shot the boy in the corner a dirty look. “Unlike him.”

  “I’m sure boys will be running to your sleigh.” Ardan hoped he’d kept the acid out of his voice.

  “In fact, maybe Bosco coming here isn’t all bad.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “The dragon did say he’d come if the palace were threatened. It might be just what my reputation needs, a big victory.” She frowned. “But I can’t trust Atavantador. He’s proven that. In fact, he almost seemed threatening today.”

  Ardan nodded. The dragon had threatened the queen and with such confidence that no one present had any doubt that should he decide to kill her, she’d be dead.

  “He’s made it more than clear he’s interested only in the palace. I’m sure he’s aware of the power stored here.” She waved at the pool and a pattern of crystals formed on the water. “He could easily decide I’m not needed and try to take my place. I need a way to control him.” A grin lifted her lips and her eyes glinted with a cruel sparkle. “And I know exactly what we need to do just that. Ardan, summon my artisans.” And she gave him the icy brilliant smile that had melted his heart as a boy, but now he knew—the frozen selfish heart that lay behind it was cold. Oh, so cold.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Siobhan looked down at her breakfast of reindeer jer
ky and dried berries. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but is this what’s left in the cupboard?”

  “I’m sorry.” The shamefaced expression looked ludicrous on Doyle’s normally over-confident features. Almost as ludicrous as listening to the man with the body of a warrior apologize for the state of his larder. “I meant to go shopping.”

  An image of Doyle—muscles bulging out of his rolled-up sleeves, with a basket over his arm, pinching loaves of bread to see if they were fresh—was too much to take.

  She tried to contain it, but first a giggle, and then a total belly laugh escaped. “You...you...”

  “I don’t understand what’s so funny.” His voice stiffened. “I’m apologizing, I seriously meant to go to the market, maybe get some fresh fish.”

  She could just see him sniffing racks of fish and frowning. Maybe haggling with the fish woman over the price. She laughed so hard tears came to her eyes. It took a while for the laughter to finally taper off, but the damage was done.

  “Are you finished?” His entire body was rigid.

  “Mm-hm.”

  “Good, then we should discuss the list.”

  Her laughter spurted back out. “The...list...” she gasped.

  “Perhaps I should leave and come back when you’re more composed.” He rose from his seat at the table.

  “No, no. I’ve got it under control.” She wheezed out the last laugh and wiped her tears away. “By all means, let’s talk about the list.”

  “Hmph.” He pressed his lips sternly together. “As you can see, we need to go shopping. There’s a small village west of here where I picked up a few things last time.” She swallowed hard. “It’s winter, but they import.” He brightened. “And they have a brilliant selection of pickles.”

  That did it. She went off again, howling out the word, “pickles”. Doyle’s expression turned thunderous and he got up and headed for the door.