The Sons and Daughters of Thayaria have been around for about fifty years, challenging my rule and spreading the same propaganda of the Golden King—that I’m a witch, that Thayaria’s isolation is due to my own need for power and control, and that I deny Thayarian citizens the safe harbor Velmara offers. It’s a small subset of the population, but those who believe in the rebellion’s narrative are certain a better life awaits them in Velmara, if only I would surrender to the Golden King. If I didn’t know that Mazus was as barred from Thayaria as the rest of the world, I’d think he had started the rebellion himself to undermine me. For most of their history, I was content to leave the rebels to their ideology and peaceful protest, believing in the right of my citizens to free speech and belief. But over the last five years, they’ve turned violent, and that I will not tolerate.

The male is blubbering now, blood running from his eye socket and vomit on his chin. “I don’t know anything else that’s planned, I swear,” he whimpers. “My only contact was captured with me. He’ll know more.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to determine if he’s telling the truth. His body shakes, and something like regret flashes across his eyes. I release him and open the door, motioning the guard to come in as I walk away from the prisoner.

“Remove him. He’ll stand trial for his crimes tomorrow. If he’s found guilty, he’ll be executed.” The male begins to sob and plead, but I cut him off, looking over my shoulder to speak to him. “Be grateful I provide swift executions for those found guilty of treason. Bring in the next prisoner.”

My morning continues in this way, torturing fae after fae in increasingly creative ways. The male who organized the attack was a powerful plant channeler and somehow used the ivy to slit his own throat before I could question him despite the dampening of fae power in these cells. No others were able to provide any real information, and I leave the cells even more frustrated than when I entered them.

“Now to everyone’s favorite topic of the decade—the upcoming Forum of Royals,” Nemesia says to my Council of Advisors. After cleaning up from questioning the prisoners, I had to attend a meeting with my advisors. The Council chamber is a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city of Arberly. Being only a few feet down from my rooms, it’s the same view I see every day when I wake. Late afternoon light illuminates the massive round table where over thirty fae and humans sit. Papers and tea mugs litter the tabletop. “We need to discuss which advisors will accompany Her Majesty to Delsar for the conference and what the security detail will look like,” Nemesia continues.