Bri blinked, straining her eyes to see in the darkness of the musty room. Cobwebs brushed across her forehead as she stepped through the threshold and into a rundown front room.

Five fae silhouettes clung to the far wall, watching in the shadows as Bri surveyed the space. Hints of the reception room’s former beauty flashed in the firelight. A rusted chandelier hung high above, beautiful swirls of gray and black stone covered the paving, and an elaborately carved wood chair with a crotchety-looking fae sitting atop it was positioned at the far end of the room.

“A king on his throne,” Lina spat, stepping up toward him.

He looked similar to Yaest in his face and build, but the lines on his face were deeper, his hair faded to a dark silver. He wore a thick fur mantle and tatty dark clothes that looked like they should have been replaced many years ago. He looked one cold day away from death. His eyes were sunken in and his lips cracked, and sores marred his skin. It looked like a malady easily treated by a skilled brown witch . . . but not even the kindest witch would ever help these monsters.

The whole site was like a ruin from years past, as if the people who resided there loomed in a purgatory, unable to die or move on.

“Princess Abalina,” the king said in a deep, booming voice, still strong despite his weakened appearance. “Might I say your beauty is unparalleled. Very pleasing.”

“You males are insufferable,” Lina hissed, throwing back her shoulders in a way that made the witch hunter’s eyes land on her axe. “Even when you’re speaking to a Princess, you think the highest compliment is that we might please you. Nothing I do is for your benefit nor any male’s.”

“So I’ve heard,” he said with a knowing smirk. She scowled but he pressed on. “I’ve heard many secrets being whispered throughout the realm of late.”

Lina cocked her head. “And what secrets have you heard?”

“Why would I tell you?” He waved his hand across the derelict room. “You’ve ruined us.”

“I think you’ll find you did this all to yourself,” she snarled. “Now, tell me what you know.”

He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair with a smile. Bri’s palm rested on the hilt of her dagger. She knew an easier way to get him to talk.

“He wants money,” Carys muttered before Bri could take a step forward.

“Not just that,” he said, looking Carys up and down. “I suppose you don’t remember a little town on the western road called Guildford? Your master killed my friend and his nephew.”