King of Merits: A Fae Romance (Black Blood Fae Book 3)

Riven

The rocky cliffs behind the castle descend through a steep forest of larch and pine, the crisp scent of the trees distracting me from the irritating presence riding beside me.

For the thousandth time since we set off today, I wonder how a fae who bears the weighty title of the Silver King could allow his sister to direct him to take an Elemental halfling on a quaint little outing. A picnic, of all things. “Damn ridiculous,” I grumble under my breath.

“What did you say, Riven?” the aforementioned halfling asks.

By the Merits, she has better hearing than Meerade. My fingernails dig into the thick leather of Raghnall’s reins, and I roll my eyes toward the treetops.

“Nothing important, I assure you.” I turn my head and fix a foreboding frown on her. “In case you’ve forgotten, it’s King Riven.”

Merri leans over her sorrel mare’s neck, and I notice that its mane is nearly the same shade as her hair, copper red under the green light of the tree canopy.

Laughter peals from her smiling mouth. “I’m afraid calling you that might be problematic. You see, if I use your title, then it’s only fair that you should use mine, but I don’t like being called a princess of anything. So I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. Call me Merri, because to me, you are Riven, and Riven you shall remain.”

Anger detonates in my skull, my thoughts tumbling and colliding as heat rushes from my chest to my gut in a disturbing mixture of fury and pleasure. Her disobedience wakes something deep inside me, a wild creature who enjoys the sound of its name spilling from her lips. Uttered in her sweet, husky voice, the word is foreign to me.

Riven, she says.

Who is this person she speaks of so breezily? Surely not a king, the most powerful fae in the Unseelie kingdom. Her Riven sounds like a friend. A lover even.

A spark of need ignites inside me, blazing into a fireball of longing. I quickly douse it, and it settles in my stomach like a lump of coal. Cold and heavy, it grates against my organs, whispering its name over and over.

Loneliness. Loneliness. Loneliness.

“I heard that,” Merri says, and my blood gallops through my veins.

Her horse falls behind mine as the path through the trees narrows and forces us to ride in single file. Unfortunately, this new configuration doesn’t stop her speaking.

“I know you’re lonely,” she says. “Even when Isla was at your court, she knew it, too. She believes—as do I—that you’ve created this problem yourself, and you simply need to choose happiness, reach out and take it. But that would involve opening up to others and the risk of getting hurt. Given your childhood, the way your father rejected you, I understand why you’re reluctant to do this.”

Thank the Blood Sun she cannot see the gray light of power seeping through my clenched fists, unleashed by the roiling twin emotions of embarrassment and fury.

I press my palm against a dull ache in my chest. “Perhaps it’s just my journey through life, my fate to be unloved, reviled, and feared.”

Behind me, the princess draws a deep inhalation, no doubt preparing to impart a sage-like answer to further infuriate me.

In the distance, Meerade emits high-pitched calls as she scouts the shallow valley below. “Be quiet,” I tell the princess, listening with my head cocked. I wait three heartbeats. Four. Five. But only silence resounds. “All is well. You may commence your lecture.”

She snorts. “Never mind. My wise words would only fly above the spikes of your great crown of consequence.”

Crown of consequence? What does she mean?

Unbidden, my hand swipes the air above my skull. This morning, I chose a silver coronet of black diamonds and darkest carnelians, simple and well-suited to the day’s purpose. But it’s worrisome indeed if Merri can see the ethereal crown, made by the mountain goblins and bound to me in ancient druidic magic. The goblins made Mother’s crown, too. But not Father’s. I always found that fact fascinating. It made me wonder what the goblins knew about him that the rest of the court did not.

I consider the circumstances that cause the spectral crown to appear when I’m not wearing the physical one. When I sense danger, draw powerful magic from it. Or if I’m aroused by extreme emotions, such as anger or…other potent sensations. Today, only the third reason applies.

“Oh, this is lovely,” Merri says as the trees give way to a captivating view. “I pictured all of your land to be dark and miserable, but this valley reminds me of home.”

Will she still think it’s delightful when the ferocious, fanged butterflies swoop, or the aggressive mechanical-hearted rabbits give chase, both tragic failed experiments of Draírdon’s?

Only the strongest rays of midday sun push their way through the trees, but in the valley below, sunshine floods the land, casting a golden-green glow over everything. My chest expands on a deep breath, the fresh air infusing me with a warm peace and a flash of empathy for my Elemental companion.

“You haven’t seen much of the city, then?” I ask, shifting my weight back so Raghnall halts.

Merri pulls up beside me. “It seems no one has had time to show me around, and I’ve been warned it would be dangerous for an Elemental princess to wander about alone. But I’m bored, Riven, and seriously considering stealing a disguise and taking myself on a tour. I’ve heard the Merit taverns are very entertaining.”

I choke on my next breath. “Please. I beg you not to visit them. They’re full of cutthroats and grifters. In fact, you shouldn’t go anywhere without an escort. Tell me when you plan to have this adventure, and if I cannot take you myself, I’ll send a guard to accompany you. Then you can traipse about the city in full disguise and stand a chance of returning alive.”

Her brows arch, mercurial eyes widening. Then she smiles, the expression disarming, brighter than the sun, and for some reason, more pleasing than the sight of my beloved land spread before me.

What in the Merits could cause such sappy feelings to flow inside me?

Our horses ambling side by side, we start down the hillside in the direction of Citrene Creek, a favorite destination of mine since I was a child and a place of serene beauty.

“Where are we going?” the princess asks as she scans the lightly treed terrain.

“You’ll soon see.”

I feel Merri studying me, so I turn my glare on her, disappointed to find it isn’t me who has captured her attention but my horse. Her gaze treks over my silver mare’s coat and dark mane braided with rough diamonds and highly polished garnets that look as juicy as ripe berries.

“Your horse is beautiful,” she says. “What’s her name?”

“Raghnall.”

“Hm… Raghnall. Interesting.” She rolls the name slowly over her tongue. “Isn’t that a male’s name, though?” She smiles sweetly, diminishing the sting of her insult. “Raghnall means strong, so I find it strange that you, of all people, chose it for your gentle-natured mare.”

Me of all people? What is that supposed to mean? Also, she hasn’t seen my horse on a battlefield—Raghnall is far from gentle.

“With those words, Princess, you prove yourself narrow-minded. My horse has suffered much at the hands of Temnen and his band of sycophantic fools, and still she retains her strong, faithful heart. No creature is more deserving of such a powerful name as my Raghnall.”

Bored of flying above us, Meerade swoops down and lands on my shoulder pauldron, sliding along the angled metal until she’s leaning against my face. “Meerade stronger,” she squawks indignantly. “No companion is as faithful as an owl.”

“Indeed, my jealous friend.” I caress her, the metal feathers clinking musically. “My owl is upset,” I tell Merri. “You see, Meerade means pearl, and she believes that since she is steadfast in nature and untiring in her commitment to me, she deserves a name of greater significance.”

Merri laughs, and I hide my smile by feigning great interest in the view to my left.

“Oh, I see,” she says, “Perhaps something like Cathal, which means great warrior, would be more fitting.”

A laugh rumbles from my chest, and this time, I brashly show my smile to the halfling princess. Meerade’s wings flap above my head, and she screeches, the sound nearly destroying my hearing.

“No? You don’t care for it, Meerade?” Merri asks, meeting my owl’s gaze, the glass and metal eye spinning in displeasure, a warning sign that sensible members of my court would immediately retreat from.

Merri strokes Meerade’s wing, and I flinch away. For an insane moment, I thought she was reaching for me. How stupid I am.

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten what pearls are known for, Meerade.” says Merri. “These mysterious jewels of the sea signify great wisdom and serenity, alongside unparalleled integrity and loyalty. A pearl’s power is in its ability to reveal right from wrong, good from bad. Valuable attributes indeed, and if I were you, I wouldn’t complain of bearing such an auspicious name.”

Meerade emits a high-pitched whistle followed by a succession of bright chirps, then flaps from my shoulder onto Merri’s, burrowing her face under the girl’s thick hair and nuzzling her neck.

I watch them with a strange hunger, then nudge Raghnall forward. “Come. I grow hungry. Let’s waste no more time.”

At the lowest point of the valley, we follow a stream as it weaves through the thick copse of trees along Citrene Creek. A comfortable silence enfolds us and, for the first time today, I fully relax in her presence, the weight on my shoulders easing, and my thoughts meandering through the environment, connecting with it.

The peace doesn’t last long, however, because without warning, she starts to hum, her voice leaping around from a low range to alarmingly high notes, like a willow warbler calling for its mate.

The corners of my mouth fold into a grimace. “What is that?”

“The song? You don’t like it?”

“Ah. Well, not exactly. I suppose I don’t mind it. It’s very different than a usual faery tune.”

“That’s because it’s a human song. My mother, Lara, taught it to me. It’s called I Will Always Love You.”

My chest squeezes tight. “An unusual name,” I grumble. “I prefer titles such as Seachrán Sí.”

Her laugh tinkles out like chimes dancing on winter branches. “Set Astray by the Fairies? I’m sure you do prefer it, Riven, King of the Unseelie.”

“Ah, finally, you address me in the appropriate manner.”

She smirks, then smiles properly. “The song I was humming is actually quite catchy. You should listen to the words.”

“Must I?”

“Indeed. You must.”

The warbling increases to an astonishing degree, this time accompanied by dubious lyrics I’ve never before heard the likes of. Bewilderment compresses my brow so severely I’m certain I’ve caused permanent damage to my muscles. “Please stop. I cannot bear the maudlin sentiment.” Or the repulsive words of love befitting only the ears of children or intoxicated milksops.

She laughs, and then, thank the old gods, goes silent. When I sigh with relief, she mutters the song’s vexing words under her breath, taunting me with her grin.

“Stop it,” I warn.

“Of course,” she says, looking pleased with herself.

I watch as she scans the tree canopy and then fight a groan as she sighs with deep contentment.

Why is she relentlessly carefree and happy? Shouldn’t she be worried that I might choose to keep her in my kingdom forever? Or worse, that she might lose her life and never see her home again?

This girl is a mystery to me, likely because she’s a halfling. I’ve never enjoyed the company of humans, and what is Merri but half one? No wonder her presence unsettles me.

“Your woods are brimming with wisdom, Riven. The tree spirits here are strong. They reach out to me, welcoming me with reassuring whispers. I like this part of your land very much.”

I doubt the dryads are welcoming her. The Elemental princess is a dreamer who believes the best about her surroundings—the woods, trees, the damned sky, but also about my sister, and worst of all, me. I wonder if she’ll live long enough to one day regret her childish optimism.

“Can you hear them speaking too, Riven?”

“What? The trees?” I ask, pretending I’ve forgotten her last words when I remember every one I’ve heard her utter. “Of course. This is the ancient druidic forest of Blackthorn. The unseen beings and creatures that dwell in its rocks and waterways help fuel my kingdom’s power.”

Rust-colored eyebrows rise. “Blackthorn, huh? My mother came from the human city of Blackbrook. It’s similar in name, is it not?”

Another scowl wrings my brow. “Barely. And it is of no significance.”

“If you say so, Your Majesty.” She dips her head in a bow, mocking me as only she would dare. “And is Blackthorn Forest’s magic dark, like your Blood Sun ritual was? To me, it doesn’t feel that way.”

I roll my eyes toward a golden birch, releasing a sigh. She speaks as if she’s an authority on all the wild beings of Faery, when in reality, she is a mere babe compared to the archaic entities that dwell here waiting to swallow her whole with glee.

I clear my throat, my mind abuzz with conflicting emotions—misery and a horrid longing for something I dare not name. “The Lady is strong in the Elemental woodlands, Merrin, but here in the Merit Kingdom, the Horned Lord, Cernunnos, rules. It is by his benevolence that we continue to flourish.”

“Are you a druid yourself, then?”

“I respect and am guided by their ways. Theirs is the oldest of sacred paths—and I strive to walk along it with an unsullied heart, just as they did when they prevailed here long ago.”

“Unsullied? What do you mean by that?”

Raghnall’s step falters on a rock, but she soon regains her balance. I, however, do not.

The lump in my throat swells like slow-death candy, and shivers roll down my spine in alternating waves of fire and ice—a frigid cold to match the discomfort I feel around this subject and wicked heat because…well…because of the very ideas it inspires.

Fire.

Ice.

More fire burning hotter, the flames licking low in my gut as images of Merri in my arms burn me to a cinder.

“Riven?” Her mouth gapes open. “You look feverish. Are you all right? Before, did you mean… Were you telling me that you keep your body pure? As in…”

As her voice trails away, I keep my face averted, afraid she’ll see my depraved desires written clearly upon it, the terrible, unwanted heat sparking in my eyes.

I nod and confirm her suspicions, cringing at her sharp intake of breath.

Now she knows that I, Riven Èadra na Duinn, king of all the Merits and Unseelie creatures, have never once lain with a fae. Yes, I’ve been tempted, and on more than one occasion I came close to losing control.

Very close indeed.

When I was younger and hadn’t committed to the old path, courtiers, the wild fae, river nymphs, dryads, even the leanan sidhe tried to tempt me with their caresses. But I was strong and resisted, mostly because whatever my wicked brother did, I did the opposite.

Many times, I’ve pondered the idea that if Temnen had been kinder, not so cruel, perhaps I would have indulged in an Unseelie prince’s darker tendencies. Perhaps his and my father’s ways forged the king I am today. A pure one. A lonely one.

Meeting the Seelie princess after years of dreaming of her enigmatic eyes, guileless smiles, and wild, carefree laughter, has challenged my resolve to focus my energy, my strength on my kingdom alone.

But I will remain steadfast and committed to my purpose. For me, there is no other choice.

And yet…I burn to ask how many lovers she has taken in her life. She’s young, but fae of both the Light and Dark Courts relish in uniting their bodies with others. For all fae, it is as natural as breathing air, well, except for me.

Still, I yearn for knowledge of those who have touched her—their names, where they live and—

“Riven,” she shouts, dragging me from my spiraling thoughts. “Will you answer my question?”

Heat sears my cheeks, and I dip my head so my hair wings my face, hiding it from her. “And why is it your business to ask a king such intimate questions?”

She puffs out a long breath, and russet and gold leaves fall from the trees, dancing around her shoulders, then landing on her cloak like nature’s embroidery, a gift for the Princess of Air. “Well,” she says. “If you won’t speak of past dalliances, what about love, then? Have your feelings been engaged before?”

“Love!” I scoff. “What is love but a series of curses cast upon a soul? You should be well acquainted with this concept since the Black Blood curse has infected your family’s heirs for many generations.”

“You’re wrong. They may have been cursed, but it was always love that saved them.”

“And you talk too much, paying little mind to your surroundings and giving far too much attention to the inner-workings of the minds of those in your company. Look, we’ve arrived at our destination.” I sweep my arm around, indicating the small clearing beside the creek surrounded by a half-circle of sacred oak trees. The Druid’s Circle.

I ask Raghnall to stop, and she does.

Swinging off my horse, I say, “Dismount, and we shall eat. Are you very hungry?” I hope she is, because if her mouth is occupied, she won’t bother me with endless chatter. And questions. Always the difficult questions.

“Actually, I’m ravenous. What delicious treats have you brought along for us?” she asks, smacking her lips together.

I stare at the velvet rosebud of her mouth, its shape so enticing, so fascinating. I wonder what she tastes like?

Those lips part, and she speaks. “Riven?”

“Hm?”

“Where’s the food?”

Food?

Blood Sun, the picnic food!

I picture the hamper Lidwinia presented me with at breakfast this morning, the fresh bread rolls, fruit, and pastries spilling from under a silver-and-gold-checkered cloth, exactly where I left it on the high table. My ribs contract around my disappointment, the shame of my carelessness a sharp pain beneath them.

I inhale raggedly. “What is forgotten is forgotten. It matters not,” I say in the haughtiest voice I can summon, releasing Raghnall’s reins so she can forage around the undergrowth.

Uncertainty flickers in Merri’s eyes. “Right…so perhaps you forgot your favorite goblet or knife, but you didn’t forget to bring any food. Did you?”

How can I admit that my state of agitation when I departed caused me to leave the hamper behind? She will think me an utter fool.

I straighten my spine and glare at her. “I plan for us to feast off the many delights of my land.”

“Oh?” Her dazzling smile is back. She seems impressed. “So, you’ll be hunting and cooking for me then?”

“Well…not precisely.” I’ll use magic to prepare food for her. I’m a king of Faery, not a kitchen maid. “Wait and see. I predict you’ll be pleased with the results.”

I offer my hand to help her dismount, but she ignores it, alighting with speed and elegance.

I spread a dark saddle blanket embroidered with constellations near the water’s edge and beckon her over. “Please sit down, Princess Merrin. I’ll gather our feast.”

Astonishingly, she obeys without complaint.

Meerade follows me into the trees to search for wild greens, berries, tubers, and herbs, her rasping barks sounding suspiciously like laughter.

“Be quiet,” I tell her as I shove mushrooms into the pouch I carry. “You’ve seen me hunt and gather food enough times in the past. There’s nothing funny to see here.”

She hoots louder as she takes off through the leafy branches, returning to the creek and the pretty halfling princess.

When my pouch is full, I wend my way back along the riverbank, stopping to grab a fat trout from the rocky stream. I smile at my catch. This should satisfy the halfling’s fastidious demands.

Although, where Merrin Fionbharr is concerned, I can be certain of nothing.