“No, Your Grace. Not unless you wish war with the humans. My fey are clumsy on Earth. They do not know it; they do not understand it. That is why you wisely sent… such creatures,” he added, looking with disgust at the pile of remains on the floor.

“Not so wisely, since they failed,” Aeslinn pointed out. “You have a reputation for never failing, my lord. It is why I allow your peccadillos… and your insolence. Are you telling me my forbearance has been wasted?”

Arsen was silent for a moment, but not because he was intimidated, as the flunky had been. But because of the opposite. I felt his heart rate speed up, and his muscles clench to stay still.

Especially when the king turned away, walking off to stare out of the windows at his mountainous realm. “Perhaps that little redhead you’ve taken up with is distracting you. Even clouding your judgment. Perhaps I should have her removed from my lands, along with whatever half breed whelp she’s carrying.” He looked back over his shoulder. “We wouldn’t want to damage such an illustrious bloodline even further, now would we?”

“Even further?”

Arsen’s voice was casual, almost friendly. And like the king’s reaction earlier, it completely creeped me out. Because he wasn’t upset; he was furious. And that was before the king spoke again.

“Well, your mother didn’t get those eyes from us,” Aeslinn said, and almost died for it.

He would have; I heard Arsen’s thoughts as clearly as my own, although they were more like a flood of pictures: a fey woman with long, silver hair but bright, golden eyes. Sun and moon, his father had called her, all in one, and kissed the top of her head. But marrying her, a woman of mixed blood, had cost the family dear, turning away many supporters, and giving the king a chance to strike at one of the oldest noble houses, and one of the few who could have unseated him.

But not now; not after his father stained the stones of Traitor’s Gate with blood every bit as royal as Aeslinn’s. Not after his mother died of a broken heart, leaving a doubly grieving little boy behind. Not after he’d grown up in the shadow of their dishonor.

No, not now.

Unless he took a flying leap at the king, grabbing him and sending them both out the window. It was a long drop, as he knew better than anyone. It was not survivable, even for the demigod that Aeslinn claimed to be.

Lord Derrik would plan until they laid him in his grave and never act. Arsen preferred a more direct path. One with at least a chance of change!

A hand caught his ankle, just as his leg muscles bunched in preparation—and it was a strong hand that gripped and held on.