House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City, #2)

Cormac snorted. “Hypaxia’s half sister is better known as the Hind.” Ruhn gaped at him. How had he not known this? “She didn’t inherit any witch gifts,” Cormac continued, “and was handed over to her father’s kin. The crown naturally went to Hypaxia. But it seems that since your bride has been crowned queen, the question of her necromancy has become … an issue for the witches.”

“It’s of no bearing on this conversation,” his father said. “Ruhn shall marry her, necromancy or not, odious sister or not.”

“My father found Hypaxia’s background to be problematic,” Cormac said.

“Then it is a good thing your father is not marrying her,” the Autumn King countered.

Cormac shut his mouth, and Ruhn held in his grin of delight.

But his father went on, “Ruhn shall marry Hypaxia, and Bryce Quinlan shall marry you, Prince Cormac. There will be no more debate.”

“You do remember that Bryce and Athalar are together?” Ruhn said. “Try to get between them, and you’ll get a refresher course on why he was called the Umbra Mortis.”

“Last my spies reported, she still does not bear his scent. So I can only assume they have not consummated their relationship.”

Just talking about this with his father was gross.

Cormac cut in, “One day, she’ll be Queen of Avallen. She’d be a fool to throw it away on a bastard angel.”

Ruhn spat, “You need Bryce more than she needs either of you. She’s Starborn.”

The Autumn King’s teeth flashed. “If Bryce wished to remain free of our household, then she should not have been so brazen about showing off her power.”

“Is that what this is about?” Fire seared through Ruhn’s veins. “That she showed you up? That she has more power than you? What—you needed to put her back in her place?”

“You’re delusional,” Cormac’s grin promised violence. “I am stooping to marry your sister. Many of my people will consider the union a disgrace.”

“Careful,” the Autumn King warned, true anger sparking in his whiskey-colored eyes. “Regardless of her human lineage, Bryce is an heir to the Starborn line. More so than my son.” He threw a frown dripping with disdain at Ruhn. “We have not seen starlight with such force for thousands of years. I do not take handing her over to Avallen lightly.”

“What the fuck are you getting from it?” Nausea clawed its way up Ruhn’s throat.

His father answered, “Your sister has one value to me: her breeding potential. Both of our royal houses will benefit from the union.”

Cormac added, “And the continued commitment to the alliance between our peoples.”

“Against what?” Had everyone lost their minds?

“A weakening of magic in the royal bloodline,” Cormac said. “As recent generations have demonstrated.” He waved with a flame-crusted hand toward Ruhn and his shadows.

“Fuck you,” Ruhn hissed. “Is this about the war in Pangera? The rebellion?” He’d heard rumors recently that Ophion had taken out four Omega submersibles in the north. Four. Some insane shit had to be going on over there. His father had even hinted at it in the late spring, when he’d announced Ruhn’s betrothal. That war was coming, and they needed to shore up allies.

“It is about ensuring that the Fae retain our power and birthright,” his father said. His icy voice had always belied the merciless flame in his blood. “Your sister can imbue that into her offspring with Cormac.”

Cormac grunted his agreement, flames winking out.

Ruhn tried again. “For fuck’s sake, leave Bryce out of this. Don’t we have other royals we can pair off to punch out some babies?”

“I didn’t remember you whining so much, Ruhn,” Cormac said.

“Before or after you tried to kill me? Or when you buried a sword in Dec’s gut?”

Cormac’s eyes gleamed like hot coals. “Just wanted to feel you boys out.” He pushed off the mantel and strode for the shut doors. “You know,” Cormac drawled over his shoulder, “the Starborn used to intermarry. Brother wed sister, aunt married nephew, and so on. All to keep the bloodline pure. Since you seem so heavily invested in who shares Bryce’s bed, perhaps the old traditions could be revived for you two.”

“Get the Hel out,” Ruhn snarled. His shadows writhed at his fingertips, whips ready to snap for the Avallen Prince’s neck.

“You might rebel all you like, Ruhn Danaan, but you are a Crown Prince, as I am. Our fates are the same. But I know which one of us will rise to meet it.”

Then he was gone.

Our fates are the same. Cormac meant that they would both be kings, but Ruhn knew his fate was more complicated than that.

The royal bloodline shall end with you, Prince. The Oracle’s voice floated through his mind, twisting up his insides. He might very well not live long enough to see himself crowned. His blood chilled. Was it because Cormac would lead some sort of coup?

He shook it off, turning to his father. “Why are you doing this?”

“That you have to ask shows me you’re no true son of mine.”

The words seared through him. Nothing could ever hurt worse than what had already been done to him by this male, the scars he bore on his arms from it, mostly covered by the sleeves of his tattoos. But the words … yeah, they stung.

Ruhn refused to let the old bastard see it, though. Would never let him see it. “And I suppose you think Cormac will become that true son by marrying Bryce.”

His father’s lips curled upward, eyes as lifeless as the Pit. “Cormac has always been the son I should have had. Rather than the one I was burdened with.”





8

“Today’s the big day, huh?”

Hunt turned from where he’d been staring at the coffee machine, willing the grinding of the beans to drown out the thoughts roaring in his head. Bryce leaned against the white marble counter behind him, clad in leggings and an old T-shirt.

Hunt tucked in his gray wings and saluted. “Approachable Asshole, reporting for duty.” Her lips curved upward, but he asked, “How’d it go with your parents?” She’d left well before he was up.

“Perfectly.” She feigned brushing dirt off her shoulders. “Not a whisper about the engagement. I think Randall suspected something, but he was game to play along.”

“Five gold marks says your mom calls before noon to start yelling.”

Her grin was brighter than the morning sun streaming outside the windows. “You’re on.” She angled her head, surveying his daily uniform: his usual black battle-suit for the 33rd. “You should see the decorations that went up overnight—apparently, the city’s rolling out the welcome mat, and sparing no expense. Banners, flowers, sparkly-clean streets, even in the Old Square. Not one drop of drunken-idiot vomit to be seen or smelled.”

“The appointment of a new Governor is a pretty big deal,” he said, wondering where she was going with this.

“Yep.” Then Bryce asked casually, “Want me to come with you today?”

There it was. Something in his chest kindled at the offer. “No hand-holding needed, Quinlan. But thanks.”

Bryce’s eyes glowed—pure Fae predator lurking there. “Remember what we did to the last two Archangels, Hunt,” she said quietly. That was new—the raw power that thundered beneath her words. “If Celestina does something fucked up, we’ll react accordingly.”

“Bloodthirsty, Quinlan?”