Dal’coler was… intimidating. To say the least. Having lived on his father’s estate all his life, and never having visited the palace, the first impression had Corvel crushed to the ground. The stone walls, guarded by the magical barriers, bit into the mountainside like the teeth of a predator in the throat of its prey. As he and Alnam passed through the gates, many eyes looked at them – stone eyes, full of a strange intelligence that things shouldn’t have.

Alnam seemed to focus on the goal, which was to pass through the Gate, and only through the Gate. In his opinion, Dal’coler was not a good place for Corvel, at least not until he learned its ways. He was too naive, too young. Court affairs should be left to older fey. Like him. Or any other with more than four hundred years. But Corvel left him no choice. It was his greatest dream, and Alnam hoped it would come to him as he had dreamed it, not as a disappointment.

The lonely corridors that surrounded the heart of the palace breathed with melancholy. Filled with stone sculptures, surrounded by ever hungry vines. Pierced by roots, just like the walls. The place had a beautiful aura of something decaying in all its splendour. Reaching out with claws of mist and night.

Alnam loved Dal’coler.

Corvel touched the wall with barely concealed fascination. He stood in that pose, as if the stone told him stories long forgotten – and perhaps it did, for each fey felt Dal’coler differently. Personally. Corvel pressed Alnam for months to be taken to court. A winter court for an autumn child, born seven hundred years too late…

Without a word, they walked down the main corridor leading to the throne room. As was the custom with every lord, the young were brought before the king for judgement. Alnam knew that customs meant little now. The current king didn’t follow tradition unless it suited him. And Gods help them, the young Fae were happy to be unbound. Bliss and violence. Darkness and the illusion of freedom.

The passage became wider, more overwhelming. Roots and even whole trees grew straight out of the high, looming walls. Alnam drank them like delicious wine. But he saw that his own Autumn Child was no match for the dark aura of this place. No more than the High Fae were accustomed to their natural element.

Corvel, though visibly nervous, enjoyed the visit, which might begin to be his key to blind and capricious, yet generous, fortune.

Alnam was sure that for Corvel, the change of environment could be both his salvation and his damnation. He liked to think of it as more of a saving grace. Corvel may have been inexperienced in court life, but he was full of inner flame.

Dal’coler had already injected its poison into their veins, brimming in them, promising more than she could ever get. Corvel looked enchanted. The boy should know that with his blood and his strong budding magic, he could bind many humans and lowly fey here with a magical thread so thick that they would never be able to free themselves.

Oh, he was surely aware of his own power. Alnam passed s this knowledge on to him. But Corvel was only thirty. A man who was still a child. Too young to truly spread his wings.

A small, lesser fey approached and bowed before them, her opalescent wings shimmering with their own light in the darkness.

“My lords… King Lorian has been told of your arrival. He… awaits you in the throne room.”

The slight pause the lesser fey made told Alnam that Lorian was either not waiting for them at all, busy with his own affairs… or preparing to simply reject Corvel. It was no secret that they disliked each other. Alnam thought Lorian was a brat with a huge ego. Lorian thought that one day Alnam would openly oppose him. The words they exchanged were always filled with animosity – the court may have already foretold Alnam’s downfall.

But Alnam had no intention of falling.

Corvel glanced at the throne room with barely concealed interest as they entered. Alnam must teach him not to stare. Not here, where every step was watched by many eyes. Some of them with attention, some with hunger.

He saw Lorian as soon as they entered. Filled with seductive enchantment… and all in the wrong, distorted way. When Lorian took the throne, Alnam hoped that he would be a king who was at least a little like his father, Marnsul. Marnsul was stern but fair, and Alnam was proud to call him his friend. But Lorian, though at first he seemed a perfect match for the throne… in time he showed his true, cruel face. Lorian had no children, and that gave less hope. Only descendants can replace a king. And of course the hand of the assassin. But in Lorian’s case it was madness to try to kill him. His magic was too strong, and that alone made Alnam hope he would impregnate his woman, the sooner the better.

Or any woman, for that matter.

Lorian was having a conversation with her right now. Her face tensed, she disagreed with him and that seemed to displease him as well. The worst moment to present Corvel, Alnam thought, but what was done couldn’t be undone.

He felt Lorian’s attention on them, rather than seeing it, for he still seemed to be focused on Nymre. But he felt it, deep beneath his skin. Lorian looked at them slowly, almost lazily, and Alnam bowed, his expression a perfect mask of calm composure, Corvel following his example.

“Your Majesty… my son, Corvel Devlon.”

“Your Majesty,” Corvel smiled. He was moved by the atmosphere of the capital, so much so. Fire in his eyes and probably in his soul as well.

At least that.

Lorian stood up, Nymre looked at Corvel curiously. The fey ruler approached and stepped towards them.

Alnam wanted to shake Corvel, so he straightened up, for the sake of the dark woods.

Lorian smiled charmingly. As if he were genuinely glad to see them, which Alnam knew was not true.

“Look at me, boy. I need to see your heart.”

Corvel lifted his eyes, flaming and passionate, holding darkness of a different, purer kind. And brushed across Lorian’s black holes. But his gaze drifted and suddenly landed on Nymre.

Alnam cursed in his mind. For his son’s gaze had landed on Nymre and stayed there. Longer than it should in a situation like this.

Lorian’s eyes followed Corvel’s and his smile went from perfect to perfect and predatory.

“There are many wonders to be found in Dal’coler. I am glad that you found some even before you were accepted as part of the court.”

Alnam decided it was time to put an end to this. Corvel did not make a good impression. And the gods know what he was thinking.

“Your Majesty… will you do our family the honour of taking my son under your wings?”

Lorian managed to get Corvel to focus on him again. The boy really needs to learn how to be a lord. Perhaps the court will carve that into him, even at the cost of wounds.

“Your son is a promising young Fae, such a high flame…,” Lorian’s smile still lighted up his features. “I like to see what Devlonmere has to offer, always. Fresh blood is delicious.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Alnam gritted his teeth. “This is pure joy… how else could it be?”

“The first day in the palace is always the most exciting. I will send someone to show him his place, a place he truly deserves. So he can revel in the enticing beauty of his new home.”

Alnam felt as if the moon spear had struck him.

“I will show him myself, Your Majesty. You will need all your servants.”

“Lesser fey can do the job without batting an eye. Let them rejoice. Let them feed their eyes with a new face.”

Alnam smiled too. His grin was stark and pure, a waking sun. A young shining star.

Lorian was testing him, but Alnam was used to it… and ready for it. Corvel looked at Lorian with a curiosity that could move mountains to tell him their secrets.

Yes, you will learn that not everything here is as it seems. And most of the inhabitants of Dal’coler would rather eat you than level you.

They didn’t like each other, though they would never attack frontally. Alnam knew why Lorian did it, and Lorian knew what to expect from Alnam. They were both dancing on the edge of the colossal monument, and the pit beneath them was filled with broken glass that neither of them wanted to fall into. He didn’t even blame Lorian – he would do exactly the same.

Alnam just hoped that the hidden look Corvel gave Nymre again was just an accident.

But of course it wasn’t.

Of course.

Foolish boy.

Alnam was furious at how badly things were going, deep beneath the easy words and courtly politeness. Corvel should know better.

They all should know better.