Grimnaugh let out a deep sigh. “Very well, your Grace. I cannot say no, though I will ask Cerul to take my place by your side. Will you agree to that? Wait, Cerul could go! She is much more regal and acceptable as an emissary!”
“Which is why she cannot go. I need someone who will be unnoticed by Bodach and his agents. You will be perfect.”
His last suggestion rejected, he hung his head. “Yes, your Grace. I will leave after your next court, when you discipline the rebels. I should be by your side in case you have questions on that decision.”
Clíodhna placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “As always, I will welcome your help, my friend.”
* * *
As she sat on the throne, Clíodhna tried to hide her trembling hands by clasping them in her lap. She’d never sat in judgment on someone before, other than her own misbehaving children. How did she think she possessed authority and power to punish thousands of Fae? Powerful beings in their own right, a people who had lived in the marshes and wild places of Faerie and the mortal world far longer than she’d been alive? And yet here she sat, waiting for the perpetrators to march in under guard to answer for their ill deeds.
Their ill deeds. They rebelled against a Queen who had made unreasonable decisions. That Queen died in the battle. This made Clíodhna herself Queen. In reality, she should thank these rebels, these insurgents whose refusal to accept oppression had vaulted her to power. That presumed she craved that power and responsibility, however.
Yet, if she did that, she would send the message to the entire realm of Faerie they had acted under her direction, under her orders, despite the untruth of this assumption.
Clíodhna didn’t want to be sitting on this throne at this moment.
As they waited for the prisoners, Bodach arrived. Clíodhna relished his absence so much, she never inquired where he disappeared to, but when he sat on the throne this time, he took her hand. She tried to pull it away, but he held it fast.
She kept her face neutral as she hissed, “Let go of my hand, Bodach.”
He replied with a sweet tone, almost sing-song. “We must appear to be in accord for this decision, my Queen. Any hint we aren’t a united front would damage your strength and reputation.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, and he grinned back, as if they were lovers sharing a joke. He patted their clasped hands with his other one. “When we finish with this duty, I will show you the rest of the Queen’s duties to her Consort.”
Clíodhna put as much strength in her voice as she could muster. “You will do no such thing.”
His voice remained sweet. “Do you forget, my Queen, I know where your children live in the mortal realm? I can go to them and do what I like. They hold no magical protections, and you are trapped in this realm as the Queen.”
Clíodhna must remember to ask Adhna about that. She had the previous géis about only returning once. Did that still hold true with her new power?
Bodach trailed a finger up her arm in a caress. Her skin tingled, the sensation moving down her body, warming her desire. She clamped her jaw to quench her reaction to his sexual magic, but it still thrummed through her.
The first Fae stood tall, taller than any she’d seen. He stood higher than a mature oak tree, and he resembled one. He walked with long, lumbering strides, his bark creaking as he drew closer. Clíodhna wondered how much power those branch-like arms held, and if he bore any relation to Bodach with his bark-like skin.
When the Fae stopped, his guard had to hurry to catch up. They glared up at their prisoner, but he paid them no mind. His huge, yellow eyes blinked twice and then bowed to her, almost touching the ground with his uppermost branches. When he straightened, he spoke in a rasping voice. “Greetings to you, Queen Clíodhna. I am pleased to vow my loyalty to you, with that of my people. We are of the Wannaig of the Bog-Oak People. I command some wild Fae.”
“Greetings to you, Wannaig of the Bog-Oak People.”
Further conversation halted while the guards led the other leader in. She came less willingly.
Her screeches resounded down the hall, echoing off the walls in painful repetition. Clíodhna clenched her teeth, wanting to cover her ears but not daring. Her keening ululated now, up and down along the discordant scale.
Bodach turned to her with a whisper. “She proved a formidable foe. You must punish her with harsh determination or she will fight against you as she did with your predecessor.”
Two guards struggled with a dark mass, pulling her forward with great effort. The prisoner raked at their eyes with sharp claws, but they pulled back in time to avoid injury. They both wore thick leather armor that covered their arms and legs, with leather helmets. They must have dealt with this prisoner for some time to have taken such precautions.
A stench preceded her, the stink of rotten vegetation and swamp gas. Her skin oozed black and green, leaving a trail of slime behind her. She cackled once and then screamed again, the sound cutting to Clíodhna’s mind.
A third guard stood at attention. “Sanna the Swamp Hag, your Grace. She commands the marsh Fae.”
Though she wanted to recoil from the foul creature, Clíodhna gestured to the second prisoner. “Greetings to you, Sanna the Swamp Hag.”
Beside her, Bodach let out a derisive bark of laughter. Clíodhna glared at him.
Instead of the polite greeting Wannaig offered, Sanna
