Page 111 of Foundling

“I am Attalus Princeps, twelfth born of my father, diadochos of the Droplets. I have pledged my fealty and troth to your Queen, my mate.” His titles were somewhat lost on the crowd, but that didn’t matter. What did was that they understood, “Should anyone else entertain ideas of regicide, I promise, all that awaits you is dragonfire. Pleasant eve.”

The crowd stared at him in shock and Attalus waved back. Leita waved too and then they made their retreat.

His hearts were a little lighter to hear her tired laugh. “That last part definitely wasn’t necessary.”

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree, agae. Now they understand me.”

When her council met the following day, Attalus ensured they all understood him, too. Gone was the princely consort who smiled and bowed. Instead, they got the protective, possessive mate who would sooner bite their heads from their bodies than suffer the smallest threat or indignity to Leita.

The mood had palpably shifted, and it wasn’t just because of more guards stationed nearby. In the second meeting Attalus had attended some time ago, a seat had been procured for him—and set opposite Leita in the circle. He’d made a small fuss about moving all the chairs to her right down one to make room for his, so he sat where he belonged: beside her. His seat hadn’t moved since, and today, Attalus was beside his mate again.

Standing at her elbow. Arms crossed. Mouth unsmiling.

This was no time for pleasantries. He wanted answers. And Ondra’s head.

Although Attalus hadn’t slept much himself, Leita had, and so he was able to look upon some of the council a sliver more graciously today. When Charis began to speak, he didn’t even growl or snarl.

“Preliminary interrogations have been carried out, my Queen, and Ondra’s rooms both here and at home have been searched. Those inquiries continue, but a few things have been found. Ondra hasn’t admitted anything, so a stronger hand may be needed.”

Attalus smiled without humor. Excellent.

When Charis noticed his bloodthirsty grin, she paled.

“Interrogators can pull at the mind,” said Lady Eilean, “but someone who’s trained to resist them can endure. The Queen must compel Ondra.”

It was Leita who paled then, swaying in her seat. “My…predecessor did such things. I don’t think I can.”

“She stabbed you, my dear,” Lady Eilean argued, and Attalus hated agreeing with her. “And in doing so committed high treason. Whatever is done to her is justified. Assassins know the consequences of being caught.”

“Her life was forfeit the moment she drew her blade against you,” Attalus added.

Leita looked up at him, those dark blue doe eyes troubled. He hated seeing her distress, but on this he wouldn’t yield.

Her mouth drew thin and she looked away, at no one in particular. “To invade someone’s mind…it’s worse than death.”

“She doesn’t deserve your sympathy.” He gentled his words with a supportive hand on her shoulder. That she didn’t want to do such a thing proved her noble heart—and how wrong Ondra was to want to slay her.

“Let’s see what we can learn in the days to come,” Charis suggested, ever the voice of reason. “She will die for her crimes, but we need her for now.”

Leita took the escape Charis offered. “What’s been learned?”

Pulling a sheaf of paper from her stack, Charis informed them, “It seems Ondra is part of a larger faction, although they aren’t numerous. Most are younger fae who haven’t known a time before Amaranthe. Under her tyranny, they came to decide the faelands must be freed from having a Queen at all.”

Attalus shared the council’s anger at hearing such a thing. To fight against Amaranthe, known as a cruel despot across the continent, was one thing. But to turn that hatred on the one who’d delivered the faelands from that curse? To usurp her place as Queen and hero of the faelands?

He wouldn’t stand for it.

It seemed his outrage would have to do for them both, as Leita was unmoved by the revelation. Or, if not unmoved, only more troubled. Her hands, folded in her lap, twisted around each other, fingers gone white.

“That’s utter madness,” hissed Lord Boros. “The fae have never been without a Queen.”

“It seems they’d prefer the unknown to the evil of Amaranthe.” Charis sighed. “Although, continuing their plans against Queen Leita is…unwise.”

“After centuries spent at the whims of a creature such as Amaranthe, it’s not surprising some might begin to think such things,” Lady Idrisil agreed. “But our Queen Leita proves herself time and again to be everything her predecessor was not.”

“It seems…” Leita’s gaze fell to her hands as she quietly voiced her thoughts. “They perhaps fight against the cycle as a whole, not just the singular head.”

“They endanger us all in doing so,” Tamerlan said, arms crossed unhappily.