The Unseelie King (Maze of Shadows Book 4), page 1
THE UNSEELIE KING
MAZE OF SHADOWS: BOOK FOUR
KATHRYN ANN KINGSLEY
Copyright © 2022 by Kathryn Ann Kingsley
ASIN: B09JP5F7XJ
ISBN: 9798799157012
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
For More by me…
Follow Me!
About the Author
FOREWORD
I want to thank you all for coming along with me on this wild ride through Tir n’Aill with Abigail and Valroy. This series has been such a joy to write, and I am so honored that you’ve made it this far with me.
I hope you enjoy the conclusion of Maze of Shadows.
If you enjoy my particular brand of villainous romance, don’t forget to follow me on my newsletter or by visiting my website here.
CHAPTER ONE
Oberon was dead.
Titania had trouble believing it, no matter how hard she tried. It seemed like an impossible nightmare. How many centuries had they spent together? How many thousands of nights had they lain in each other’s arms and watched the stars twinkle overhead, or sat together in awe of a sunset?
Oh, yes, they fought. They sparred. They bickered and warred. But beyond it all, beneath the veneer of contention, was a love that could not be shaken. A love that could never, ever be severed. If she was ever in need, if she ever reached out in the dark, he was there.
He was always there.
But now…he was not.
Oberon was dead.
Her Oberon was dead. No matter how many times she repeated the words to herself in her mind, they did not seem to wish to stay. It simply did not feel real. She chanted the words in silence, but they did not settle. They were like butterflies, flitting away from her each time she tried to understand them.
There he lay, unmoving and cold upon a pallet that would carry him to his final resting place. And there he had been for a day and a night.
He could not be dead. He was her everything; he was her other half. She sat at his side with nothing but her tears to keep her company, though they were in abundance.
She remembered his laughter. His smile. His gentle touch. His kiss. His words of love. And she would never hear him again. All that had come before were now nothing more than memories. They were snowflakes upon a stone, melting away in the light of the sun. Time passed, the sun rose, and her love, her king, her Oberon…was dead.
For a moment, when Valroy had survived the blows from the dagger, she had wondered if it had not truly been cursed to kill whatever the blade touched. But as Oberon lay in her arms, dying, gasping for air through the gash in his neck, it became clear that it was as blighted as the legends had said. No magic she could summon—no prayer to Dagda and the great old gods—healed him. She had been helpless.
And so…she held him.
And watched.
And wept.
As he died.
Those beautiful golden eyes of his had gone lifeless and empty as his life had fled. As Oberon had reached up to touch her face one last time, he mouthed to her words of love for as long as he had the strength.
And when he was gone?
When he exhaled, and did not breathe again?
Something deep inside her died with him. Some part of her had been torn from her chest in the same blow that Valroy had paid her husband. Some part that, with the same cursed blade, would never, ever heal. And would never, ever regrow.
And all she could do was weep for the loss. Weep, and rest her head against his chest, and pray she might feel it move once again. That the river of tears that ran over the golden etched vines of his armor might be enough to return him to life.
But her tears, like her prayers, went unanswered.
The blood had been cleaned away. Golden armor was chosen that hid the wound in his neck, and an evergreen scarf that matched his long hair wound about his throat where the armor could not reach. Her husband lay resplendent, garbed in his finest attire, surrounded by wreaths and laurels of flowers. Beside him lay offerings of every kind. Jewels, weapons, amulets, and trinkets.
The court had come to say farewell to its king, and so too had thousands of Seelie come to attend his funeral. They lurked in the line of trees, creatures of every make and shape, watching. Mourning. Crying with her for their loss.
He was beautiful, as he always was. But he was marred by one thing—the pallor that painted him and tinged his lips the faintest shade of blue. The color of a corpse.
Oberon was dead.
Titania barely heard the keening and the dirge song that was rising into the morning sky as the Seelie sang their grief. She knelt beside his body in the grass on the hill where he would be put to rest. He had chosen it a long time ago, thinking his funeral would be many eons in the future.
The death of the Seelie King or Queen was to be a celebration. It was to be when they willingly returned to nature of their own accord—passing their crown on to the next because it was time for the cycle to renew.
Not like this.
Not by murder.
Tears stung her eyes, though she did not much care. She had not stopped crying since he had passed, except for the briefest moments. They were her truest companions now. They would comfort her in the dark of the night when he was not there to hold her. And she would weep until rivers flowed beneath her feet if it meant the world would share in her sorrow.
Oberon was dead.
And it was time to say goodbye to him. It was up to her to return his body to the song of life, but she hesitated. How could it be over, if she did not yet accept that it had happened in the first place?
It was too soon. It was all too soon. But time did not care for her reticence, and he must be put to rest. Leaning down, she kissed his cold lips, and the act pulled another sob from her already exhausted body.
Stroking a hand over his hair, she smiled down at him through the pain. “Through all our madness, through all our disagreements…you always held my heart.” She could barely manage more than a whisper. Nor did she wish for the courtiers around her to hear her words. They were meant only for Oberon.
“You are my roots, my love. Without you, I fear I will blow away in the wind like the seeds of flowers. I—I do not know what to do without you at my side.” But it did not matter if she felt lost and alone. She was the Seelie Queen. And though she would forever reign alone, she would reign all the same.
For one last time, she kissed her Seelie King. Her Oberon.
Standing, she took a few steps away from him and whispered a broken goodbye to her beloved. Holding out her hands, she let her magic stretch out and into the dirt below her.
Take him home, great mother of the gods. Take him to rest within your song.
Bleary as her vision was through her incessant tears, she watched as Oberon sank beneath the ground, taken by the earth and the grass. She choked back another sob, though it shook her shoulders, and she fought the urge to fall to her knees once more.
It was done. Her Oberon was gone. The song of death ended, and the courtiers began to leave her side. But she could not bring herself to leave just yet. How was she meant to go on? What was she meant to do?
Her plan had been flawless…or so she had thought. Fate had proven her wrong.
When something shifted beneath the ground, she wondered if it were not some great wyrm come to devour her and send her to join her mate. But a moment later, she smiled, grieved and overwrought as it was.
For it seemed that Oberon would not abandon her just yet.
A tree began to grow.
First, a sprout rose from the ground where he had been placed, its branches spreading and arching up toward the sky, reaching to the sun. As though the seasons and the cycles were but seconds to the sapling, it soon towered over her. The ash tree that he had become was one of the largest she had ever seen, its leaves now blotting out the sun above her.
Stepping up to it, she placed her palm to the bark and smiled. She could feel the strength of it—the depth of its reach. This tree would never fall, no matter what wrack or ruin it faced. “You are my roots,” she whispered to the tree. “And you shall forever be my strength.”
Oberon was dead.
But he was not gone.<
And in that, she would take what solace she could.
Abigail had never felt so alone in her life as she did the morning she awoke in Valroy’s bed without him there. She reached out to touch him in the haze of sleep and found the pillows beside her cold and empty.
And once more, she struggled to keep the tears at bay.
That was not to say she was entirely alone, however, judging by the warm weight crushing her leg. She looked down to see Puck, curled into a ball, watching her from where his head was propped atop his paws.
“Hello, friend.” She forced herself to smile.
Puck’s tail thumped quietly against the pillows.
With a sigh, she pulled her leg out from under him and rolled onto her side. Reaching out a hand, she scratched his head. “What am I to do?” She did not expect an answer. What she received was a lick on the hand and him nuzzling into her. She supposed that was the best he could do at the moment.
Poor Puck.
Cursed to be a dog for…well, for not doing anything terribly un-fae-like, as far as she could tell. Sure, he had lain with Cruinn and Bayodan in Titania’s bed as a mean-spirited prank. But compared to what else she had seen the fae do to each other, it did not seem so worthy of such a punishment.
But if the famous play had anything to teach her of the relationship between Titania and Puck, it may have been the result of a grudge long brewing.
“Titania holds my husband prisoner. King Oberon is dead. I am the Unseelie Queen—though I am Seelie, and…I do not know by what method of madness this is all possible. I am betrayed by my guardians, who sought to remove Valroy from power. I cannot find Anfar. I find myself, except for a dog who is actually Robin Goodfellow, entirely alone.” She shut her eyes. “What manner of cruel trick is this?”
She was treated to a cold nose against her palm, but that was it.
“By all the gods, I wish you could talk.” She put a hand over her eyes, trying to fight back the tears. Trying to fight back the desperation and the panic that welled in her chest. “By all the gods above and below, I wish I could free you from your curse, Puck.”
The next few seconds were a bit of a blur of chaos.
There was sudden laughter that was not hers.
Someone threw her onto her back and straddled her.
And then someone was kissing her.
Letting out a muffled cry of surprise, she shoved on them, finding them much smaller of frame than Valroy. The figure retreated, insomuch as they sat up and stopped kissing her. She found herself lying on her back on a pile of pillows, looking up at…a young man.
He had hair the color of purest snow that almost seemed to glint silver in the moonlight. It would reach his chin, if any bit of it went in the same direction as any of the rest. It fell over his evergreen eyes, and his lips were pulled wide in a joyful grin.
He stretched his arms over his head and roared in laughter. “I am me again!”
And he was entirely naked.
She shoved him.
“Whoa!” With a yelp, he fell over onto the pillows and landed with an “unf!” But he did not seem to mind too much, as he rolled onto his back, and, patting his chest with his palms, then his arms, then touching his face, he kept laughing in pure happiness.
She scrambled back away from him, staring at him wide-eyed. There was no question of who she was looking at. The dog was gone, and in its stead was this white-haired young man. She knew better than to think him the age that his features gave him.
For this was Puck.
“How…how?” She could only stare at him.
“Because you are a queen!” He sat up, looked down at his legs, and cackled in laughter. “I have—look! Look! I have real feet!” He wiggled his toes.
“Because I am a…but I…” She shook her head. “I do not understand.”
“You have true power, love. You wear the silver crown! You are the Unseelie queen, and your power matches that of Titania.” He hurled himself at her, throwing his arms around her waist, hugging himself to her as if he were a child and she a favorite toy. The words left him in an excited rush. “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!” He kissed her stomach over her shirt. Then a little lower.
She smacked him on the back, trying to shove him off her again. “No!”
He sighed dramatically and flopped onto his side next to her. “Fiiiine.” He grinned. “You are still such a prude. Although your show at your betrothal ceremony was quite something.”
She slapped him on the chest. Hard.
He groaned. “Sorry. Sorry. Touchy subject.” He snickered. “Literally. Touchy subject about being touch-ied. A touchy, touch-ie subject.”
She honestly had no idea what he was talking about.
Puck kept laughing from where he lay, enjoying what must have been a joke that she did not understand. He poked her in the side and cackled again. “I have fingers! And I—” His stomach audibly groaned, and he whimpered. “Ooooow. And I am starving. My stomach is bigger now. Breakfast? Food!” He shot to his feet and jumped from the bed, still entirely naked, took four steps, and fell to the ground. “Ow. Legs!” He growled down at the offending limbs like, well, a dog. “Work! Stupid! Work!” The way he yelled the words almost sounded as though he were barking at himself.
Now she couldn’t help but laugh.
He looked up at her and smiled wide, beaming in pride. It took her a moment to realize why. He was happy because he had made her laugh. Because, just for a moment, he had cheered her up.
“Are you going to betray me, Seelie Spymaster?” She climbed out of bed, summoning herself a long robe to wear. The Autumn was turning to Winter already, likely spurred on by recent events, and the air was beginning to be uncomfortably cold.
“Huh? Me? Why? No!” He frowned. He shuffled forward until he was kneeling at her feet. “You are my friend. I have no one. You saw. My master is dead, and now—now I really have no one.” He reached out and clutched the fabric of the edge of her robe and pulled it into him. “You freed me. I owe you.”
“You owe me nothing. I didn’t mean to do anything. It simply happened.” She reached down and ruffled his white-silver hair.
“But that’s even better! You didn’t know your wish was power. You honestly wished to free me for your heart, not for gain.” He hugged her legs, nearly knocking her over. “Now you are my queen, and you are my mistress, and that is that.”
“But I—I am the Unseelie queen, and you served Oberon.”
“I am a half-breed. I can serve either court.” He sniffed dismissively. “Besides, you are Seelie. You are like me, belonging to both and neither.” His stomach groaned again, and he let out a loud whine. “Fooooood!”
Once more, she laughed. “Very well. Food. But please put some clothes on.”
“Why?” He grinned up at her. “Does it…inspire you too much?”
She whacked him on the head, though she did not put force behind it. “It is too cold to be wandering about naked.”
“That’s what you think.” But he shot to his feet, and as he did, clothing appeared on him. Trousers, a shirt, and a vest, all in black. He went to do a turn for her. “Do you appro—whooa!” He tripped over his own legs.
She caught his arm and kept him from toppling to the ground. Well, she tried. It would have worked if he had not grabbed her and dragged her down to the ground in a heap. But when she landed, she found they were both laughing.
“You silly idiot.” She untangled herself from him.
“That I am!” He kissed her cheek. “Come! Food! I can smell it.” And as he shot up to his feet and took off—in perfectly fine gait—toward the edge of the forest, she realized…he had been faking his clumsiness.
To make her smile.
To cheer her up.
