Darkly Fae: The Moraine Cycle

  He found none.

  Panic reared its ugly head, threatening to push him into madness. He could not succumb. He would not. He did not.

  Until he heard the footsteps.

  They echoed down the stairwell that led to his prison. He felt each footfall like a thunderclap, shaking new fear into his heart.

  His eyes strained in the direction of the sound. Through the inky black he could just make out the outline of a man as he emerged from the stairwell.

  The man was as dark as the dungeon around them. He blended with the shadows as he crossed the cavernous space.

  Looming over him, violet eyes glowing with more magic than the prisoner could ever hope to possess, the man laughed. And then the man reached for him.

  Aedan O Cuana woke to the sound of his own screaming.

  Sweat had soaked through his pajamas and dampened the bedding around him. Every inch of his skin felt clammy. He shivered with an uncontrollable chill, despite the roaring fire in his bedchamber’s hearth.

  I am in the Moraine Palace, he told himself. I am in my bed, in my room. I am in control.

  The affirmations did little to abate the sheer panic coursing through his bloodstream. His heart pounded at twice the speed of its usual pace and his hands shook so hard he didn’t think he could manage to bring a sip of water to his lips without spilling it all over himself.

  Not that additional moisture would be noticeable.

  He swung his legs out of the bed and strode to the fire. Held out his hands to the warmth. Slowly, the shivers abated.

  They would return. He knew that as certainly as he knew that if he got anywhere near as close to the flame as he wished, he would set himself afire.

  He had been home more than a week, eight nights in the comfort of his own bed, and yet the nightmares persisted.

  He wondered, not for the first time, if the traitor Ultan had cursed him with this nightly replay of his captivity. The unscrupulous fae was powerful beyond anything Aedan had ever seen, save for the daughter of the fae god Belemus. Ultan had tried to kill her as part of a ritual to raise the Dark Clan, but she had defeated him. What Aedan wouldn’t give for that kind of magic.

  Then perhaps he could rid himself of the never-ending nightmares.

  In some ways, Aedan welcomed them. So long as the nightly reminders persisted, there was no chance he would forget even the smallest detail of what happened. And he wanted to keep every last moment crisp and clear in the front of his mind. That was, after all, the only way to prevent a recurrence.

  His mind began to wander to the night he was taken, but he stopped it cold. He had started down that spiral only once, and had barely made it back out.

  He stared down at his arms. There should have been scars. There should have been countless scars. Ultan had taken great pleasure in inflicting the most damage with the most pain.

  But the traitor had also taken great care to use magic to heal over the wounds so that the damage and pain could start again the next day.

  Every day for how many days, Aedan could not remember.

  “There should be scars,” Aedan whispered to the empty room.

  He knew, though, that there were. Just not where others could see.

  A noise in the hall beyond his room startled him, made him jump like a rabbit at the first sign of a coyote. He braced himself for the attack that never came. It wasn’t Ultan. Only a member of the palace staff going about their early morning duties.

  Nothing that should send his heart racing.

  He hated the part of himself that reacted on instinct, that urged him to flee and save himself. Hated it because the fear was foreign to him. He had a reputation among his clan as the fearless one, the one who would try anything, would do anything, even at great risk to his person.

  His friends would laugh to see him sent into a panic at a mere noise.

  He had Ultan to thank for that.

  That helpless feeling, the one that haunted his nightmares, was the root of his fear. The realization that he had been utterly powerless to stop the torture, to stop the daily surprise of what new form of punishment Ultan would try on him.

  One thought kept him sane throughout his captivity. One tiny spark of hope for the future that kept him from doing whatever it took to give in to the torture, to give up and let Ultan go ahead and kill him. One thought.

  Never again.

  He had been caught unawares once and paid dearly for the mistake. He had been too weak to fight off the older and more experienced fae. He had not taken his magical training seriously.

  He should have been able to defeat the traitor with sheer physical force, but in the face of such great magic, Aedan’s strength had been negligible.

  Never again.

  If it took every waking hour of every day, he would make himself powerful enough to prevent a recurrence. He would never be helpless again.

  He crossed to his wardrobe and drew open the doors. Changing quickly out of his sweat-soaked pajamas, he pulled on breeches and a shirt loose enough for training. He was just securing his hair in a knot at the back of his skull when there was a tentative knock on his door.

  When he did not reply, the door creaked open.

  “Forgive me, your highness,” the young man—barely more than a boy—said, “but the High Prince wishes to see you.”

  Aedan studied the boy for a long moment, considering. Finally, he said, “No.”

  “No?” The boy’s eyes widened. “B-b-but—”

  Pushing past the boy, Aedan strode into the hall. He had no time for his brother. Not when he could have nothing to say that Aedan needed to hear again. Not when the training room awaited.

  For once, Aedan had his priorities in order.

  Chapter 2

  Bree Duncan shook with nervous energy as she followed her guide through the Moraine palace. Being called to the palace, to the High Prince’s office no less, was not exactly an everyday occurrence. Her brother had been called there several days before, but he was good friends with Prince Cathair.

  Bree wasn’t good friends with anyone.

  She imagined two possible scenarios for this invitation. One was reassignment. Members of the Seer Guard were meant to remain neutral to all the clans of the unseelie fae. Since Peter was now dating one of the royal guards, it was possible that her entire family—all five siblings—would be reassigned due to conflict of interest.

  But to her knowledge, their three brothers had not been called to the palace.

  Which left the other possibility: promotion.

  A swell of excitement bubbled up inside her, but she forced it back down. It was no use getting excited about something until she knew whether it was warranted.

  Her guide stopped in front of an ornate double door.

  “Here you go, Miss,” the boy said, bowing as he backed away.

  Bree shook her head at the unnecessary formality. She would never understand the purpose of royal etiquette. But it was not her place to have an opinion. She was just a guard.

  Still, she knocked on the door rather than barging right in.

  “Come,” a deep male voice called out.

  She turned the golden handle and pushed inside.

  “Baby Bree!”

  Peter had her wrapped in a bear hug before she had time to realize he was even in the room.

  She hated being embarrassed like that, being called by her childhood nickname in front of her superiors, in front of a royal prince. It was beyond mortifying.

  She hugged him back, growling in his ear, “Don’t. Call me. That.”

  He laughed as usual. But he released her.

  “Thank you for coming,” the deep male voice said.

  There was no doubt the other person in the room was Prince Cathair. Everything about him screamed royalty, from his stick straight posture to his perfectly groomed hair.

  She wasn’t sure whether she should bow or salute or maybe both, so she stood at casual attention. “It is my honor.”

  Cath
air smiled. “Your brother claims that you are one of the best seer guards in the realm.”

  “The best,” Peter corrected. “I said the best.”

  Cathair nodded. “Indeed he did.”

  “I am…” Bree struggled to find the right words—ones that would sound appreciative without sounding arrogant. In the end, she only said, “Thank you.”

  “I understand that you are not yet a full member of the Seer Guard,” Cathair said.

  Bree tensed. “No, sir.”

  “Why is that?”

  Bree side-glared at her brother. “I think it is because many in the ranks see me as a child. As a little sister.”

  “Not me!” Peter insisted. “We youngests have to stick together.”

  Cathair nodded. “I have a task that might prove your skills as a guard,” he told her. “If you are up to the task.”

  “I am,” she said, before he could even tell her what it was.

  That didn’t matter. Whatever she could do to speed her promotion to full member of the Seer Guard, she would do.

  “Please,” Cathair said, gesturing to the chairs that faced his desk, “sit.”

  She took the chair on the left, while Peter dropped into the one on the right.

  “I assume you are aware of the situation with Ultan?” Cathair began.

  “There are few who aren’t,” she replied. “The traitor’s attempted to raise the Dark Clan. That caused a lot of concern within the guard. There have been a lot of discussions.”

  Not that she had been included in any of those discussions. As a probationary guard, Bree was left out of most things.

  Still, she knew more than most. Thanks to Peter.

  “And are you aware,” Cathair continued, flicking a glance at Peter, “of the situation with my brother?”

  Again, there were few who hadn’t heard about the younger prince’s kidnapping. Taken from under the noses of the Palace Watch and the Royal Guard, while both were distracted by a false alarm.

  But thanks to some help from the Deachair, he had been quickly rescued and returned to the safety of the palace.

  “Yes, your highness.”

  Cathair made a face that was a cross between pain and pity, but it was quickly gone.

  “Ultan’s trial is about to begin,” the prince said. “The queen and I will oversee the proceedings. We will be preoccupied with such for the foreseeable future.”

  Bree nodded, although she wasn’t certain where the prince was going with this. What did she have to do with the trial? Maybe he wanted her to stand guard in the courtroom?

  She would jump at the chance to work the trial of the millennium.

  “While the traitor has been taken into custody, and is being guarded by every protection known to fae, we fear that there may be other plans already in motion.”

  “I imagine there are,” Bree agreed.

  Someone as evil and conniving as Ultan wouldn’t leave things to chance. Wouldn’t let his own capture mark the end of his nefarious plans. He would almost certainly have backup plans.

  “We have lingering concerns for my brother’s…safety.”

  The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Oh. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

  Please tell me this is not happening.

  She flicked a glance at her brother, who was suddenly very interested in the floor.

  Cathair gave her a tight smile. “My mother would feel better if he were being guarded.”

  Bree mentally muttered a string of curses that would make the patrons of the Black Dove blush.

  “By me.” Bree hoped she hid her disappointment well enough to deceive the prince.

  “Yes,” he said. “We have assigned a member of the Royal Guard to his overnight security, but all forces will have duty assignments during the trial. We cannot spare her during the day.”

  “Her?” Bree’s gaze turned on her brother.

  He nodded. “Regan will be watching the princeling in the wee hours.”

  Bree supposed she shouldn’t feel slighted by the babysitting assignment. Guarding a member of the royal family was a privilege, and one she would share with her brother’s new girlfriend. Regan had a reputation as the fiercest member of the Royal Guard. Bree should be proud to be considered her equal.

  But she couldn’t shake the idea that babysitting a spoiled prince was a demotion. Especially when she had been hoping for a promotion to full member of the Seer Guard.

  But the surest way to never get that promotion would be to turn down a special assignment like this one.

  “It would be my honor.” Bree stood and bowed.

  Cathair stood and held out a hand, which she took. “We are in your debt.”

  “Come on, baby sis,” Peter said, slapping her on the shoulder, “I’ll show where Aedan’s been hanging out.”

  As soon as they were in the hallway, she twisted away from his touch. “Stop calling me baby. I am less than a year younger than you.”

  “Habit, baby—” Peter threw his hands up in surrender. “Sorry.”

  She shook her head and smiled at him. She knew Peter never meant any harm. But sometimes he and their older brothers treated her like she was still a child. They would never accept that she was a junior member of the Seer Guard. Sometimes they acted like she was just playing at being a guard until she found a real job.

  They wouldn’t take her seriously until she was inducted as a full member. That day couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter 3

  The palace training room was outfitted with every piece of equipment that members of the Palace Watch and the Royal Guard might need. Weapons, weights, fight dummies, and a sparring ring in the center.

  Aedan had spent countless hours there each day since his return.

  If he didn’t need sleep or food, he would never leave.

  His fist connected with the fight dummy, sending a sharp pain up his arm and through his shoulder. He swung again. Harder this time.

  Again. Again. Again.

  “What did that dummy ever do to you?”

  Aedan did not turn at the teasing question. “Have you nothing better to do than defend fight dummies?”

  Tearloch appeared at Aedan’s side, then walked around behind the fight dummy. He faced Aedan over it’s burlap-covered head.

  “Not at the moment,” Tearloch said.

  Aedan switched to his left fist, throwing a sharp jab at the dummy’s shoulder.

  As Captain of the Royal Guard, Aedan supposed that Tearloch had as much right to be in the training room as he did. More, probably.

  That didn’t make Aedan resent the company any less.

  He harbored no ill will to his brother’s friend. His friend as well, he supposed. It wasn’t Tearloch’s company in particular that he resented. It was all company.

  At least Cathair had eased up on the full battalion of guards who dogged Aedan’s every move. The constant crowd had been pushing him to the edge of panic. Instead, it was a never-ending string of fae who just happened to run into him.

  Aedan grunted at his latest coincidental guardian.

  Tearloch did not react to the unwelcome greeting. He just stood there, bracing the dummy for Aedan’s punches, and watching him intently with the eyes of someone who saw too much.

  Finally, Aedan couldn’t take it any more.

  “If you must know,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides, “I would prefer to spar a live partner, but no one will enter the ring with me.”

  Tearloch’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps they are afraid to embarrass themselves.”

  “Right.”

  Aedan threw a double-punch at the dummy.

  They both knew the real reason. None wanted to spar with a prince. Go too easy on him, and they would be branded a coward who doubted Aedan’s ability to fight. Go too hard on him, and they would fear repercussions for daring to best a royal.

  It was a no win situation.

  Aedan resented the Everdark out of all of them. He needed a training partner, someone
who could both challenge him and allow him an outlet for his mounting frustrations.

  When none stepped forward, he turned to the dummy.

  “You haven’t asked me,” Tearloch said.

  Aedan didn’t miss a punch. “Would you say yes?”

  “I might,” the Captain replied. “If you were asking for the right reason.”

  Aedan pulled up short, stared at Tearloch. “What is the right reason?”

  “To train.”

  “And the wrong one?”

  Tearloch’s eyes narrowed again. “To forget.”

  Aedan huffed out a laugh and went back to punching the dummy.

  “What if it’s both?”

  The door to the training room swung open and before Tearloch could answer Aedan’s question, a loud, boisterous voice called out, “And here he is, the Party Prince himself.”

  Aedan scowled at the teasing nickname. It had never bothered him before, the idea that everyone thought of him as the carefree, fun-loving spare to the throne. He had well earned it. The young royal as depraved as he was daring. Nights spent in the tavern, days spent in bed. His life had been a perpetual party.

  But now, for some reason, the nickname rankled.

  He intended to ignore the comment, to ignore the ignorant fae who had spoken the words and to continue his sparring match with the dummy. But then he felt a flash of power surge through him. A boost to his magic that could only come from the negative emotions of a human. Irritation, to be precise.

  Tearloch waved at the intruder. “More like the Punching Prince at the moment, Peter.”

  Peter? Ah, yes, the human guard from the sanctuary. Aedan had seen the young man on the days he passed his la ainmhi in the protected meadow that served as a neutral safe ground for all the unseelie clans. Bright red hair, freckled skin, and a smile always in place.

  Aedan wouldn’t expect such a negative emotion from him. Then again, he didn’t truly know the human.

  Cathair counted Peter a friend, but Aedan had never spoken to him.

  He started to turn his attention back to the dummy. Until Tearloch asked, “What brings you to the palace, Bree?”

  The surge to his magic doubled.

  Clearly she—Bree—was the source of the negative emotions that were currently feeding his magic. That made more sense.