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Authors: Heather Killough-Walden

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BOOK: The Unseelie King (The Kings Book 6)
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Chapter Twenty-Three

The arrival of the three men had caused a stir. Caliban could sense the immediate unease on the platform, traveling through the party’s revelers like a rippling wave of disquiet. But this night was not an event solely for the trusted. It was for the unseelie as a whole – the entire spectrum of its many darknesses.

They were known as the Malek Taal. They lived in very close proximity to the Shades, in the Unlit Forest on the far edge of the Unseelie Realm, where it bordered the Shadow Kingdom. The Malek Taal, named for their leader Malek, had lived there for as long as the unseelie had recorded their history. No one save Lord Malek himself knew how they’d come into being, and in all these years, none of them had ever died. Their number remained constant; they were immortal in nearly every sense of the word.

Like the mortal legend of their “human” counterparts, the vampire, the Malek Taal were infamous for one reason alone: They subsisted solely on the blood of their fellow man. The very long, very sharp, and very deadly fangs they sported beneath the glamour that hid them so well were testament to their true design.

Outwardly, their male society was beautiful, calm, refined, and highly intelligent. On the inside, however, they were pure predators – always hungry, always hunting, ever on the prowl. They did not proliferate; again, their numbers never changed. The same sensations, both emotional and physical, that other species achieved and yearned for through traditional copulation, the Taal experienced during blood exchange. It was sensual, but violent, and normally left their victims cold.

The single and small upside to this pattern was that the Taal needed to feed only once a month. They normally chose women who were not needed by society, either fae, mortal, or otherwise, and made certain to erase all evidence they’d ever existed.

On the rare occasion the Taal allowed a victim to live, the
bitten
was considered “chosen,” and given a choice. They could remain alive as a slave to the Taal who’d bitten them, or they could be taken before their leader, the original Malek, to be “erased.” Their memory would be wiped clean of the traumatic event, and they would be set free.

Rarely did this last, however. The Malek Taal had chosen them and allowed them to live for a reason, after all, and the breed was tenacious, if anything. Hence, the cycle was almost always repeated until, eventually the woman grew too weak to resist any longer. She would become a slave, and would later die of a weak constitution. For this reason, the leader of the Malek Taal strongly discouraged becoming attached to any victim. It wasn’t nice to play with your food.

They were not what one would call a benevolent society. The others on the platform had good reason to be wary of them.

Caliban had sincerely considered not inviting the Malek Taal to this engagement. However, the unseelie fae were considered unholy, unlucky, and every other synonym for “bad” because the plain truth of it was – that’s what they were. All manner of very dangerous breed inhabited the Unseelie Realm. Minerva was their queen, and as such, she very much needed to be aware of their existence in the world she now ruled. It would do no good to hide anything within its borders from her.

When he sensed their arrival, Caliban made haste to greet the Taal, knowing instinctively that they would sense Minerva in the room, feel her intense magic, and view her as one hell of a potential meal. He was no fool. Minerva was exquisite, inside and out. He’d
expected
that they would desire her; it was simply impossible for their kind not to do so. But the intensity and speed with which they’d honed in on her, and the swell of hunger he sensed from them admittedly forced roaring, painful flames once more into his own gaze.

It was something he’d hoped to avoid, this unconscious clashing of power over the most tempting woman in the realm. Not only because it physically
hurt
when the fire in him lit up, but because he didn’t really want the Moving Floor to become a battlefield that night.

Fortunately, one of the three representatives to arrive that night was none other than the leader of the Malek Taal himself, Lord Malek.

He no doubt noticed the fire in Caliban’s eyes immediately, and being the skilled diplomat that he was, Malek at once bowed, showing both respect and reverence. He then made a point to express to the king his gratitude that he and his men had been invited to the engagement event.

All in all, the exchange went over well. Once you pressed stubbornly past the fact that every meal for the Taal equated to murder, it had to be admitted that they made good company. They were charming, quick witted, and extremely disarming. It helped that Caliban, himself, had nothing to fear from them.

The matter smoothed out so well, in fact, that Caliban was beginning to think it might be time to introduce the trio of Taal to his queen. That is, until he looked up to find Minerva no longer standing where he’d last seen her, and Dahlia Kellen standing in her place looking secretly very pleased with herself.


Oh, mother hell
,” he muttered aloud.

Lord Malek, who’d been sharing a drink with him, glanced in Dahlia’s direction to see what had upset him. Putting two and two together, he said “An odd mortal colloquialism. But in this case, I would have to agree.”

*****

Caliban was deep in conversation with the three Malek Taal. He spoke to them calmly, smiling with the perfect, genteel ease of a man who could handle anything. He was the perfect king.

You have to get used to this
, she told herself firmly.
It was something she was going to have to learn to live with, this dealing pleasantly with people she didn’t like.

This is your place now. Caliban is depending on you.

But who was he, anyway? In order to be the king of a land with people like those men, what kind of man did you have to be, yourself?

You’ve shared the most intimate form of passion with him, Minerva. You know damn well who Caliban is. You know
what
he is.

You know better than this.

But those men, those monsters wrapped in the finery of a gentle façade, they killed people for a living.

No, they
eat
. A lot of animals in the mortal realm have to survive by eating living beings too. What about natural carnivores like tigers and sharks? They have to eat, Minerva. And so do the Taal.

Her stomach did a belly-flop. But her inner voice kept at her, trying its best to convince her that the situation was not as bad as it seemed.

And that leader of theirs, Lord Malek? Titania said he had never taken a slave, himself. She said he felt it was wrong.

So he was a nice monster. That was about the best it could amount to.

You like cats,
her inner voice pressed.
Cats kill more living beings than just about anything else on the planet.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and gritted her teeth. The conversation she was having with herself wasn’t doing any good, and frankly it was bordering on clinically insane. The hard fact of it was, she couldn’t get past seeing the Taal as serial killers. And the Malek Taal were
one
race.
One
breed of unseelie fae. How many of the people in that room were just as bad? How many of the visages around her were nothing more than masks for monsters?

She ran her hand over her face and turned away from them all to stare out at the black, blurred landscape that was so much more enchanting.

Why her? Why had fate chosen
her
to become queen of this place? She was the most sensitive person in the realms, and she was supposed to rule over a race of evil bastards?

She glanced back over her shoulder to see Titania holding up a tray of desserts for one of the guests, but the fairy’s gaze was on Minerva. There was worry in her pink-purple eyes.

Minerva knew the fairy could tell what she was thinking, how she was feeling. But she’d sent Titania away, also knowing that she needed to appear strong here and now if this queen thing was ever going to work. Titania had wanted to object. But Minerva was fairly certain the fairy agreed with the sentiment. Sometimes you had to be strong.

“My lady.”

Minerva turned fully when a female voice greeted her. The woman who’d approached her was a Tuath beauty by the name of Dahlia Kellen. The Tuath fae were a very rare fae race, very
powerful
, and every king of the fae kingdoms had been a Tuath, including Avery the Seelie King, Damon the Goblin King, and Caliban. Thus, sometimes the Tuath were simply referred to as “Nobles,” and every Tuath in existence served in the royal courts.

It was also the Tuath who had originally declared war on the Wishers, ringing in what was now referred to among the fae as the Time of the Slaughter, and saw the near complete end of Minerva’s entire race.

Minerva had met Dahlia and her sister, Violet earlier that night at the archway as the two had arrived. She’d instantly liked Violet – and instantly
disliked
Dahlia. There was just something about the woman.

“Lady Dahlia,” Minerva greeted, forcing a friendly smile to her face. She’d had her whole life to practice.

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” Dahlia said with a sweet smile that would have flirted past any male defense in the mortal realm, “but I saw that you were standing here alone and thought I might come check up on the new queen, so to speak.”

“That was thoughtful of you,” insisted Minerva. “But I’m fine. I’m just taking in the view.” She turned and gestured to the open air beside her at the edge of the platform.

Dahlia took a few steps to the edge of the platform and looked down. “Ah, yes,” she said. “The Unseelie Realm in all its glory.”

Moonlight cast the land below into picture perfect contrasts, creating roads of white on glass-like rivers and lakes, and lending a blue glow to the leaves of treetops. It seemed to go on forever, like the mesmer of a dream.

Dahlia looked sideways at her. “You must be very proud to have been granted its sovereignty.”

Something about the way she’d said that gave Minerva a strange chill. She turned from the night view to watch the Tuath fae with the wariness of a mouse watching a cat.

“We’ll be reaching the Twixt soon,” Dahlia continued. “I’m sure you’ll want to see how its fairing after all that has happened to it.”

Minerva frowned and asked, “What do you mean?” She only realized after she’d said it that she probably shouldn’t have. The queen should probably know
everything
that was transpiring in her realm.

Dahlia faced her fully and looked at her with wide, innocent eyes. “Why, the Massacre Between Realms, of course.” She blinked, oozing more of that faux innocence that left Minerva feeling a little nauseated. “I just assumed… I mean, since you’re the one who caused it…. I’m sorry,” she pretended to back-pedal. “I thought you were aware.”

Minerva’s gaze narrowed. She rolled her shoulders back and squared the other fae with a hard look. “
What?”
she asked very firmly, “am I supposed to be aware of? What massacre are you referring to?”

Dahlia then pretended to look a little taken aback or even hurt by the harsh tone of her queen. But she, too, rolled back her shoulders. And in a cold, calm voice, she said, “When you left the mortal realm several days ago, you were taken to the Twixt. There, your rampant magic killed nearly a hundred fae who were native to the land between the unseelie and seelie realms.
That
is the massacre I am referring to.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Four

There was only so much a mind could handle. Like a circuit flooded with too much electricity, or a server attempting to take in too many messages at once, there were limits. Minerva’s mind was in Black Friday, a chaotic push and shove that held up the neurons and brought the system down.

People experienced this when they lost someone they loved. Sometimes, they felt it after a storm or a fire, when all they possessed lay before them in ashes or splinters. It was a black cloud of doubt that effectively blocked out the rest of the world, slamming shut all five senses, and most importantly, the doorway to the mind.

Minerva experienced that now. There was a vague knowledge that she needed to escape, and perhaps her body knew this more than her consciousness did, because she was moving. She was
fleeing
. Maybe she had more magic than she’d known she possessed, or maybe she could do what she was doing because she’d taken Caliban’s magic.

But portals opened and portals shut and she was running. She didn’t know where she was going. But she also did. And though she was terrified to get there, she also desperately needed to arrive.

*****

He’d left Malek’s side and was swiftly striding toward Dahlia when the Moving Platform suddenly and jarringly tilted beneath Caliban’s feet. His legs slid out from beneath him, and his magic swelled, reaching for stability. All around him, revelers and guests began screaming, tilting off-balance along with food platters, pitchers filled with liquid, musical instruments from the band platform, and odds and ends that went sailing through empty air.

The platform made a terrible groaning sound, and its normally invisible boundaries began sizzling with energy like an electrified fence. One man slammed into it, as the platform tilted more mightily, and his body jerked in silent agony as those electrical currents rushed through him. More screaming erupted, terrified and frantic.

Caliban righted himself against a table that had slid into the band platform, then concentrated on gathering his magic around him. Once he felt there was enough there for what he wanted to do, he rose above the platform, hovering in space and sent out a pulse of that power, drawing the immediate attention of everyone on the platform.

They clung to the columns in the room or braced themselves on overturned furniture. But his magic wrapped around them, steadying them and holding them in place.

“All of you,” he commanded, amplifying his voice with the same magic, “Transport at once back to your homes. Warn anyone who may be in the Mover’s path, and evacuate necessary buildings.”

The people on the platform were the members of his court, and attending to impromptu disasters was a part of their jobs. They nodded, seemingly at once, and one at a time, they began transporting away from the platform. It was harder for them than it should have been; Caliban could see the swell and spark in their magics; it was draining them far more than it should have. Whatever spell had been cast upon the platform was very strong, and magical discord seemed to be at its heart.

But the court members eventually managed, escaping through portals that appeared one after another. As they fled, Caliban’s eyes scanned the tilting, chaotic crowd, searching for a shot of white hair and a white dress. It was all he wanted to see, and he’d never wanted to see anything so badly in his life.

Not in ten thousand years had anything gone wrong with the Mover. He wasn’t stupid. There was no way he could go without linking this mishap to his queen’s sudden disappearance.

He changed tactics, now searching the crowd for a scarlet red dress and waves of brown hair.

There
.

He tossed out a stabilizing load of magic, and watched as the platform leveled out a bit and stopped moving. Caliban landed, broke into a determined run, and grabbed the Tuath fae by the wrists, yanking her back out of the portal she had just opened. Dahlia Kellen screeched in surprise, stumbling into the Unseelie King. Caliban waved the portal shut before roughly spinning the beautiful woman around to face him.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

He didn’t know how he could have missed it before. All those times that he’d taken this woman to his bed, all those exchanged words and looks and touches, and he’d never noticed what he now saw so clearly, as if it were written in massive scrawling letters and she were an open book.

Dahlia stared up at him in a way that she never had before. The corners of her lips curled upward, and a single brow arched. He grabbed her upper arms and squeezed them tight. Electric currents of rage-fueled magic sizzled through his fingertips just like the ones encircling the platform. “Where did she go?!” he bellowed. He could feel the woman’s evil draped over her like a cloak, and he knew good and well that she’d done something to Minerva.
She
was the reason for the queen’s disappearance.

Hell, she was probably partly responsible for what had happened to the Mover. Though, he doubted she’d worked alone. The spell was powerful; even as he stood there before Dahlia, his magic worked against the rogue spell, and the truth was, he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to hold the platform aloft.

“I didn’t do a
thing
to the little queen,” Dahlia ground out through gritted teeth behind an uncaring expression. “And she didn’t see fit to tell me where she was going.”

Caliban’s grip on her arms tightened. He was trying with all his might not to outright kill what could be his sole source of information, but the platform was draining him, and his fear for Minerva was testing his patience with a grating kind of cruelty. He’d never wanted to destroy a life as badly as he did in that moment.

“Perhaps she would be more forthcoming if she were to spend some time with me,” came a calm suggestion from a familiar voice behind Caliban.

He glanced over his shoulder to meet Lord Malek’s ice blue gaze. Dahlia stiffened in Caliban’s grasp. He looked back down at her. The color had drained from her face.

Caliban realized in that moment that she harbored real fear for the Taal. Most likely, she knew that given the opportunity to feed from a Tuath fae such as herself, they would not kill her outright. They would “allow” her to live as their slave. She would suffer blood drain after blood drain, possibly for years or even centuries, before she eventually gave in to the weaknesses of her body and died.

There were a thousand ways for Caliban to kill someone that were far worse, far more painful, and even far slower. But maybe Dahlia thought Caliban wouldn’t kill her. Perhaps she didn’t fear him as much because of what they’d shared. Maybe she thought it actually meant something to him.

Whatever her reasons, they didn’t matter. Caliban needed to know what happened to Minerva, and Dahlia clearly knew. If fear was going to be her motivator and Lord Malek had to be the source of that fear, then so be it.

Caliban released her and took a step back, coming in line with Malek.

The two men stared long and hard at the single woman, and moment by moment, little by little, she shrank further into herself. Her eyes grew wide and her lips parted in mounting terror.

“It isn’t me,” she finally stated, her tone not nearly as sure as it had been a moment ago. “If it had been my choice, I would have just killed her. But he wants noaivareogij oonignaan lidkif….”

Caliban’s brows knit together as Dahlia’s words began to scramble, coming out as gibberish. He glanced at Malek, but the other man appeared to be hearing the same thing, his expression just as confused.

Dahlia continued, her gaze flitting back and forth between Caliban and Malek, but the volume with which she spoke then began to cut in and out as well, as if she were on a radio frequency in a building storm. “Aweonlscoirg coowlekn woijankejedfinc wistram….”

On instinct, Cal reached out to grab her. But his instincts, though dead on, were simply not quite fast enough. Dahlia’s form flashed in and out, like a hologram losing dimension. An odd smell filled the air for a split second, one Caliban vaguely recognized.

And then Dahlia Kellen was gone.

BOOK: The Unseelie King (The Kings Book 6)
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