Of Shadow Kings and Snowdrop Queens
A prequel short story from the enchanted world of ✨Song of the Sidhe✨
Author’s Note
One of the biggest challenges in writing fantasy is not the breadth of the worldbuild—but the depth of the characters within it.
Alexander Rionnaghan is one such “side character”: the only known surviving son and heir of the ruthless (and now exiled) king of the Tuatha Dé Danann, he spent nearly a thousand years trapped in the machinations of those who saw a vacant throne and endless opportunities in it.
He’s a complicated man, forged in the fires of political upheaval and societal fear. The Great Houses held their breath to see if he would be an echo of the tyrant before him—the same kind of tyrant who dared to rip a tear between the Night and Dream Realms for the sake of power.
A daughter of one such Great House decided to find out for herself.
Her name was Siobhan.
And if we’re being honest, that’s exactly the kind of fortitude the kingdom needed in its queen.
It felt like every eye on this side of the forest clearing was on him, a mix of surprise and apprehension on their faces as they watched their crown prince stretch his limbs for An Rása.
He was used to being stared at.
He was also used to ignoring them.
The sky overhead glowed a brilliant cerulean without a single cloud on the horizon. Alexander squinted up at the edges of the sun’s powerful rays and heard himself mutter a prayer in the Old Tongue for Lugh, the god of sun, to light every corner of the long path from here to Baronane.
Belenus, too, if that god considered securing a bride to qualify as a form of healing.
“Can’t say I’m not surprised,” came the deep drawl from one of the high lords standing only an arm’s length away. “We’ve been wondering when they were going to let you out of your cage.”
Alexander straightened. Eyed the young man who must have been from one of the mid-ranking Great Houses—the kind which climbed the social ladder just as easily as they fell off it. He could tell where they landed by the puffed chest and general forced swagger of someone who didn’t actually believe they were as important as they wanted to be seen.
Not that he had much room to talk. He was supposed to be the new king of Ithandryll, the most powerful of all the Tuatha Dé Danann, and yet he’d spent the last countless years screaming through nightmares and questioning if he was worthy enough to live, let alone rule. The High Council had deemed him too unstable to trust with “normal” development after everything that happened with his father. It was easier for them to stunt his growth and lengthen the years from childhood to adolescence so they could step into the throne room and direct the nation as they saw fit, rather than roll the dice and allow the gods to have a say.
Sure, they sent him physicians and counselors and secured his education as a true Rionnaghan for the eventual day of his coronation. They weren’t cruel or neglectful, just…manipulative.
Controlling.
Determined to make sure he understood that they could take his inheritance just as easily as they could grant it.
Until a few weeks ago—when someone new walked into his life with a very convincing offer.
“What’s wrong with that?” Alexander felt his mouth curve into a smirk. “Are you worried I’m going to steal all your women?”
A hush fell over the men. Half of them shifted their weight as if ready to tackle the prince should someone give the signal.
Which made him burst into laughter. “Oh my gods, it was a joke. Do you really think I have that kind of stamina to satisfy a harem? Riordhan sure didn’t.”
Little by little, the men eased. Some even chuckled.
It was progress. That’s what counted. By this time, physically in his early twenties but mentally much, much older, Alexander understood a great many things about navigating the treacherous waters of the High Court, most especially as a Rionnaghan. Most feared him, many respected him, but all around the whole of both Great and Minor Houses braced themselves for any sign that he could be headed in the same direction as his father. The philandering, the squandering, the conquering…the genocide…
As if their own predecessors hadn’t given Riordhan’s father and grandfather carte blanche to do whatever the hell they liked.
If they were going to move into a better future together as a people, Alexander needed them to not only see, but believe he was different from his father. That he knew how to discern between what he wanted for himself and what was good for the kingdom. For the realm.
Making jokes at the blind exile’s expense was certainly one of the easier tactics to employ.
Securing a wife, however?
He squinted across the clearing to skim through the lovely faces of the women gathered there. Some of them seemed genuinely excited, while others looked nervous and downright terrified.
The one he was searching for picked at a hangnail, casually reclined against a large oak tree. When she moved to bite it off, her eyes met his and he swore something delightfully mischievous twinkled in those sapphires. She didn’t seem particularly eager for The Race to begin, but she wasn’t cowering behind the tree like several of her friends tried to do. Instead, she wiped her hand on her dress, stretched her elegant arms over her head, then began braiding her beautiful white gold hair into a plait Alexander could tell was meant to keep her tresses controlled.
Oh, she was preparing to give him a chase.
His smirk broadened into a grin. His heart skipped a beat and other parts of his body tightened in a different kind of preparation—not just for the pursuit, but for the victory after.
The horn gave a short warning blast. Men and women lined up in their respective sections, sending out a few wolf calls and catty taunts to stir up the blood.
Alexander tried not to seem too excited as he sauntered up to the front row; he decided that making a sensual show of peeling off his tunic would be distracting enough that no one would notice the way his stupid heart kept hammering against his rib cage. It did require shouldering through a couple of high lords who glared at him over the intrusion, but he did not care. They’d get their bounty regardless or they’d try again next year.
As for him and his beauty?
They weren’t going to wait for the next day, let alone the next year.
She eyed his bare torso with a sweet little lick of her lips. Then blew him a kiss.
The guard in the high tower blew the horn.
If any of the other men had doubted Alexander Rionnaghan’s ability to “keep up” after years of confinement, those thoughts dissolved in the wake of his impressive sprint across the clearing. He reached the trees before any of them and wasted no time darting through the thicket after the woman who shrieked with laughter and made a quick escape deep into the forest.
Some of the screams that gradually rose around him weren’t of the happy kind.
Stay focused.
Everyone understood the ramifications of the ritual. It was why so many of them tried to “pair up” before the annual race instead of running without prospects, because it made the event something like a blessed and fun mating ritual if one already knew who they planned to catch or be caught by. The only other option was to pray to the gods and roll the dice—or allow the deeper, more primal urges out at the expense of those who never wanted to participate in the first place.
Not your problem.
He had to keep going. He couldn’t afford to stop now, even as the shouts and screams and pleas for mercy pierced the air from several of the young women who he knew he was meant to protect as their future king. This was not the sort of thing he was allowed to interfere with. The laws which governed An Rása superceded even his regal might, and interference would mean harsh punishments for everyone involved, including him.
He shook off the guilt. Shoved what remained deep down where he kept all the other shadows from his life buried.
Not your situation.
A flash of white gold caught his eye far ahead and off to the left. Alexander followed it, noting along the way how the sounds of the others faded into the trees behind him and a blessed sort of silence opened up before him.
White linen fluttered in the gentle breeze. A piece of her dress intentionally “snagged” on a branch untouched by her running.
He plucked the fabric from the tree and held it to his nose. It smelled like her. Clean and soft, like a field of snowdrop blossoms after the first thaw. Again that sweet tension tightened in his body and made his senses sharper, clearer, and perfectly honed on his beautiful prey—
The next step slid the ground out from under him. One moment he stood upright, the next he felt that same ground slam into his back while the canopy of trees spun in his vision.
A peal of laughter trickled down from somewhere up in that canopy.
“Ow.” Alexander meant to say something else, but that was the only sound his winded lungs could manage at the moment.
“Awww, is the widdle baby gonna cry?”
He squinted. Where was she? “I don’t cry.”
“But you admit to being an infant.”
“Careful, my lady.” Even as he drawled the warning, he heard the touch of amusement in it as much as she probably did. “I wouldn’t be so quick to sling insults at your future king, if I were you.”
“Pulling rank now, are we?” The eye roll infused itself through her voice. Which was closer now, if the fall hadn’t disoriented his hearing, too. “Tsk tsk, Your Highness. I wouldn’t be laying down on the job since that title means so much, ‘if I were you’.”
With a low and playful growl, Alexander rolled back onto his feet, expecting to see her standing nearby if not next to him. But to his surprise, she was nowhere to be seen.
At all.
“Siobhan?” He slowly turned. “Where are you?”
Frost crystallized on the tips of ferns to his right, forming a trail that appeared while he watched.
So she loves games. He felt that self-satisfied smirk reappear. Good to know.
“How long will you hide
oh queen of the night?
How long will you shudder
when you should fight?”
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Of course, he already knew she played the games of the High Court with expert precision and in a way that honestly made him a little envious the day they met. While milling around the solarium of House Borelinus’ estate among the other high lords and ladies, all waiting for the announcement that the feast hall was ready for seating, Alexander had overheard the tail end of some lame insult a young lady flung—along with her wine—at a rival’s bodice. That rival swiped a finger through the bubbling liquid dripping down her cleavage, sucked that same finger clean, then remarked at how the lady’s taste in wine was as terrible as her aim.
Up until that point, Alexander had snorted with disgust at the idea of “love at first sight”.
He did not expect the universe to snap into place.
For the peace to suddenly settle around him, quieting everyone’s voice except that of Lady Siobhan of House Deighear.
He also did not expect her to meet his gaze, her eyes to widen, her elegant cheekbones to suddenly flush, or for her to spin on her heel and duck out of sight.
What followed was an exhilarating tango neither of them could avoid once the feast hall doors opened and everyone ushered in to find their assigned seats. Of course the Fates placed them directly across the long table from each other and ignited the banter and periodic, pointed avoidance for the following two hours of dignitaries and pleasantries. Siobhan proved herself to be as sharp in tongue as in wit, much to her parents’ obvious chagrin.
She also proved to be far more delicious than the dessert their hosts offered after the wine flowed freely and guests spilled out into the manicured gardens.
Her breathless voice wove through his memory as he now followed the frosted trail of ferns.
“If you can catch me, you can have me. Completely.”
Nothing else mattered to Alexander after that night. Not “the plan” his well-meaning tutors had instilled in him since childhood. Not the machinations of high lords who sought to continue that same childhood well into his adulthood as if he was some gods-touched simpleton too innocent to wear the crown. When he arose that following morning, he rose as a man born into the status long denied him, no longer tolerant of such manipulations. When he strode into the Great Hall and announced his participation in this year’s An Rása, he immediately shut the dissenting high lords up with a stern reminder of what happens when someone double-crosses a Rionnaghan.
He knew he reminded the elders of his father.
He felt it churn in his stomach like a sickness.
But he’d also spotted the blushing smile of a certain golden beauty among the crowd and felt himself swallow back the nausea for her sake.
Everything he did from that night—and morning—onward was for her sake.
Including taking her very own bag of tricks with a laugh, a grin, and a definite trip to the healing baths later on to hopefully heal his pride as much as his sore back.
As he followed the frost through a thicket into what he hoped might be a clearing, Alexander carefully checked the soil before solidifying each step. That black ice earlier was clever. No one would expect such a thing so close to Midsummer. If he found more, he’d catch himself on a bush or branch or maybe even flex a little of his own power just to preserve his dignity.
Rules of The Race be damned, especially when Siobhan obviously felt the same.
The clearing turned out to be a large pond at the base of a small waterfall, tucked out of sight among lush saplings and vines that filled the gaps between trees. Siobhan sat at the top of the waterfall, reclining on a platform formed out of ice and licking a snow cone.
Gods. Alexander would happily watch her soft tongue lap at…anything, really. All day, every day.
Until he grew too jealous of the object of her attention and needed to become her favorite treat.
“Isn’t this a bit off the designated path?” He called up to her, hands braced on his hips in an attempt to look more confident than winded.
“That’s kind of the point!” She called back, not stopping with her snow cone or bothering to glance down at him.
“You do know they’ll come looking for us! If we don’t get back in a decent time, that is.”
“Which we have plenty of. Well,” she rolled on her icy couch and propped her head on her hand, “I do. I can’t speak for you and your climbing skills.”
“My climbing…” Gods above, she was going to make him climb around the waterfall as well as run? And knowing her, she most likely planned to slick every stone and foothold with ice so he’d have to spend hours doing what would take anyone else fifteen minutes.
He could cheat. She sure did. The rules of An Rása included not utilizing one’s gods-given abilities in order to gain any sort of advantage or avoid the intended outcome of the race. Should life and death hang in the balance, of course one was allowed to do whatever they needed to survive. Sometimes a rock slide occurred, or a bird of prey lost its damned mind and tried to pluck up an unsuspecting runner.
Alexander was starting to feel like one such bird. Circling around what he wanted while simultaneously losing his sanity. “May I ask, dearest lady, what I have done to offend you?”
Now she glanced at him. Shrugged a shoulder. Returned to what was left of her treat. “Nothing. But…” She sighed. “Maybe that’s part of the problem.”
“Excuse me?”
Siobhan neatly slid the icicle base between her lips and gave it a long, slow suck. A few droplets trickled down her chin to her elegant neck and Alexander instantly forgot what they were talking about. Why they were there.
What his own name even was.
What was that sound?
Oh. Him. Him and his embarrassing low groan emanating from the ache only his leather breeches could hide. Thank the gods.
She slide the icicle back out, her pillowy-soft lips puckered so deliciously it was impossible to not imagine them doing the same thing to…other…things…attached to his body.
Which must have been her plan all along, because in the next instant she tossed the glistening cone aside, flicked her wrist, and turned the waterfall into a slide she skated down like it was the most natural thing she’d done all day. Down and around the stunned prince, her skirts swirling around her legs to reveal a pair of matching leggings tucked into white leather boots laced up to her thighs.
Alexander knew he should call her out on yet another rule breach. Women were not to wear anything underneath their dresses and skirts. Nothing that could impede the primal mating was allowed for either male or female participants, as the whole point of the ritual was to catch, claim, keep, and propagate. If he wanted, he was in full rights to pin her down and use the hunting knife tucked in his own boot to cut the laces and rip off that supple suede so he could do all of that and more.
But…he was curious.
Wildly turned on, and curious about this rebellious spirit who regarded him with a similar curiosity, if not suspicion and a kind of apprehension he did not want to ever see mar her face when she looked at him.
Something in his chest tugged at him to be honest with himself in the very least.
You care about her, too.
You know you’ll never, ever lift a finger against her.
The image of her struggling under him was enough to make him want to vomit and also murder the very figment of his imagination.
“You’ve been in the palace for a long time.” Siobhan kept circling around him, extending the ice as she skated while allowing the trail behind her to return to its normal flow from waterfall into the pond. “A very long time. Yet you haven’t stepped into your role as Ithandryll’s king. Why is the son of Riordhan Rionnaghan so content with doing nothing?”
“Would you believe me if I said it’s because my father did far too much?”
She tilted her head to one side. Gave the notion some thought. “I suppose that is fair.”
“I strive to be nothing like him.” He turned where he stood, following her so she could see the sincerity in his countenance. “To be a completely different king.”
“So instead of forcing everyone to bend their knees and obey, you allow them to force you into submission?”
Alexander frowned. “Careful, my lady.”
She slid to a stop. Used the ice to land directly in front of him, her chest nearly touching his. “What do you think I am doing? I cannot afford to be otherwise. None of us can.”
Her meaning sank into him like a heavy stone bound to the truths neither of them needed to verbally spell out. His father was infamous throughout the Otherworld for being ruthless, merciless, and endlessly hungry. No amount of wealth or women ever satisfied the cravings which drove the king into the kind of madness only the god of dreams managed to temper back—and even then, Riordhan still managed to be as insufferable as he was blind. It was no secret that half the realm held its breath to see who Alexander would turn out to be. Would he follow in his father’s footsteps?
Or, as this incredible woman blatantly accused, would he go in the opposite direction and become a simpering, useless pawn masquerading as someone worthwhile wearing a fancy hat?
“Maybe I need help.” Alexander relaxed the clench in his jaw and managed a lazy smile. She desired confidence? He’d give it to her. Hell, he’d pipe the Silver Seas into her bath if she voiced the idea. “Maybe I’m being as careful as you. The palace is a den of vipers and you’ve proven yourself to be quite the snake charmer.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of her luscious lips. “Snakes make better belts.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Well, then! Show me which one you want and I’ll start skinning.”
That earned him a wider smile. A hint of admiration in those sapphire pools he wanted to dive in until he drowned. But Siobhan pulled it back into herself and squared her shoulders. Lightly touched a finger to the center of his chest where the Rionnaghan crest patterned his skin. “And what if I asked you to get rid of this?”
“What?” Alexander stilled. She wouldn’t.
“What if they do?” She stepped closer, studying his face and allowing her gaze to wander over his broad shoulders and impressive pectorals. “What if tomorrow, you are no longer Alexander Rionnaghan, distant son of Oberon and heir to the throne of Ithandryll?”
He caught her slender wrist in his hand. Didn’t squeeze, but also didn’t allow her to think such suggestions were mere child’s play. “Do you know something I do not? What have you heard?”
Siobhan met his hard stare with her own. Then, to his surprise, she softened. “Nothing, Alexander. I only want to know who you are as a man. Not as a prince or a king, but as a person. Are you only what they made you to be? Or have you forged yourself into someone capable of more than just agreements and diplomacy?”
Her questions resonated deep within his soul in a way no one else’s ever had. Not from his teachers, not from his extended family, and certainly not from the high lords and ladies who loved to pepper him with inquiries day after day.
Siobhan Deighear asked of him, and demanded him to answer, the only questions that truly mattered.
“I will answer your interrogation if you answer mine.”
Her eyes narrowed. But also slid to his mouth, much to his inward preening. “Fine. That sounds fair.”
Alexander slid his fingers from her wrist to wrap around her hand, pressing her palm to the warm spot directly over his heart. “What is it to you? Not you, a lady of House Deighear. But you, Siobhan?”
They both heard the way her breath sucked in and caught in her throat.
They both felt the way his heart thrummed against her palm as if to encourage her to hold it.
“I…” Her tongue darted over her parted lips, most likely to moisten her suddenly dry mouth. Alexander swallowed back the moan that threatened to give away his distracting need to taste that sweet tongue and stroke it with his own. She seemed not to notice, or even know, just how much of a delicious distraction she was to him. “I was raised, and trained, under the pretense of possibly becoming the next future queen. From the moment I could walk and form words, I was forged into something that could withstand the complications and challenges of serving my king as his consort, should that be the fate woven for my life.”
That did not surprise him in the least. Most, if not all, daughters of the Great Houses were reared into potential queens on the off-chance that the crown prince might choose them. “But…?” Alexander pressed her hand a bit more, just as he pressed for the thoughts she still withheld from him.
“But I’m not…like…that. And I need you to know as much, before you follow through with any decision you might have made about me. I am not some meek or submissive consort content with smiling and nodding to whatever I’m told to say or do. And I don’t…” She shook her head.
Tried to step away.
He pulled her back into his embrace, still holding her hand while lifting his other to touch the ends of her white gold braid that draped over her shoulder. “Don’t what?”
Her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t want to marry a king. Or a prince. I want to marry my husband. And I need to know if he will…” She looked back up into his myriadic eyes. “If you will love me as your wife. Not just be content with me as your queen. At the end of the day, after the crowns are set aside and the royal robes fall to the floor, who will we be to each other? Will I be simply bearing heirs for your kingdom? Or will we be creating emblems of love forged in true passion?”
Damn it all; tears pricked at his eyes. Brimmed on his lashes before he could do anything to stop him.
But maybe that’s what she needed to see. Maybe it was what they both needed to experience together—Alexander in his rawest form, vulnerable and moved, and utterly entranced by the pure honesty of the woman who intoxicated his waking and sleeping moments every hour of every day since they first met.
Alexander, the man who needed the safe space she offered in her arms. The peace, the ability to stop being a monarch and simply be.
“I have a confession to make,” he muttered with a sigh.
Siobhan stiffened. Nodded once.
He slowly wrapped both his arms around her waist, pulling her as close to him as possible without merging into one being. Not a terrible idea. “It’s really, really very easy for me to find a queen. I’ve been eligible to pick one for…” He scrunched his nose as he pretended to do the calculations. “A while. Let’s just say, ‘a while’.” When she didn’t say anything, only blinked and very obviously refrained from shoving away at the insinuation, he allowed the slow smile to creep along his face. “But that always sounded like a life sentence more horrible than sleeping in the deepest dungeons of Nicotesh. And since Rionnaghans aren’t known for finding soulmates, I’ve been avoiding the many opportunities granted to me to even secretly mate up with whichever pretty thing they’ve shoved my way.”
A brow slowly arched. She didn’t exactly believe him. “I saw the way they protested your announcement for this race.”
“What you saw was a realization settle into those who seek to control our kingdom’s narrative.” He made sure she did not look away. He needed her to feel, not just know, what he was telling her. Confessing to her. “What you heard were the protests of those who realized I wasn’t just chasing after a random bride. I’d found my soulmate. My anamcara. And that is a powerful, dangerous thing to anyone who wishes to keep me under their heel.”
For the first time since they met all those weeks ago, Siobhan genuinely appeared shocked. Certainly at a loss for words.
He gently rubbed a hand over the small of her back. “Can you tell me you did not feel the same? That moment our eyes met, those few precious seconds of peace and rightness in the universe? Like everything we’ve ever endured on our own suddenly clicked together and made sense amidst the chaos?”
Now it was her turn to blink back tears. “I…I thought I was going mad. There’s no way it’s possible. Not…” This time she did look away, a warm pink deepening on her cheeks.
He couldn’t help but smirk. “Not with a Rionnaghan?”
She shook her head. Then nodded. Then shook it again and broke into a half laugh, half sob.
“Don’t worry, mo shíoghrá. I could hardly believe it, either. I mean, look at me.” He eased himself away, painful as it felt to do so, just enough for her to get a good scan of him from head to toe. “I’m an absolute beast compared to your beauty. And I daresay, you make me wonder if I’m a halfwit whenever that clever tongue of yours gets to work.”
Siobhan balked. Shook her head more, this time in a slight panic. “Oh! No! No, no, I don’t—please, I will work on it! I promise! Mother says I’m always—”
Her words cut off when his lips captured hers, soft and sweet until it deepened with the hunger and longing he’d kept leashed for her sake. Everything for her sake.
Although, now that he got to taste her once more, he felt that leash slipping away as if melting in their shared heat.
“Don’t change,” Alexander rasped against her mouth before stealing another languid kiss. “Not for me. Not ever. I need your challenge. Your fire.” Another kiss. “Your ice.” And another, this one threatening to pin her to the nearest tree and begin the slow, thorough claiming of her body.
But Alexander Rionnaghan didn’t want only her body.
He wanted her completely, heart and soul.
And he wanted to be what she leaned on, not some stupid sycamore tree that wouldn’t know how to hold her or comfort her or make her voice sing with the kind of pleasure he ached to give her.
So he anchored her soft curves to his body hardened by years of training with the Gardaí and fighting skirmishes across the realms. His hands wandered and explored while also respecting the fact that she was still a lady, his lady, free to shove him away and slap him into the Outworld should she so choose. No amount of muscle would prevent her from exercising free will and choice, even if that choice was to part from him.
Given the way her smooth voice melted into a whimper when his thumb circled the underside of her breast, he sincerely doubted that possibility crossed her mind.
“Alexander,” she breathed when they managed to break the kiss for some much-needed air.
“Siobhan.” He nuzzled her jaw, rubbing soft kisses to her even softer skin. Gods, he wanted to wake up to her just like this every morning. Her sweet hair fanned across both their pillows, her sleepy face near enough to his that covering her with his love would be effortless. “I may have had my pick of queens, but you are my one and only wife. You are the only one who holds my heart. You are the only woman who has pulled me out of hiding and into this accursed ritual to run for gods know how long just so I could soothe your worries and hold you in my arms.”
This time, she was the one to pull him close for yet another kiss. She was the one to struggle to keep her hands in appropriate places, even as they wandered over the leather belts resting precariously close to his groin.
“And you better believe, my lady, that when our crowns are off at the end of each day, I’m personally peeling those royal robes from your delectable body and reminding you, thoroughly,” he let his fingers gently dig into the barest outer curves of her rear so she’d feel the truth in his promise, “of how much I love you. My woman. My wife. And yes, one day the bearer of every emblem of our loving passion. Of which I plan to forge many.”
Her lidded eyes flew open. She barked a laugh. “Many? How many?!”
Alexander grinned wide. Boldly rubbed both hands over her flanks, firm and possessive and on the razor’s edge between leaving things as they stood or ripping every layer of fabric off. “Given the way you drive me wild just by breathing? I imagine we could start our own nation with our brood.”
They sank into each other’s embrace, sealing the bond between them with caresses of hands and lips and a playful flick of her tongue along his neck which made him growl with a warm warning that neither of them might make it back to An Rása before someone noticed their diversion off the designated path. Siobhan did not think it a problem, opting instead to tuck her fingertips inside the belt line of his pants with a coy little smile and whispered suggestion that they take every advantage of these stolen moments.
A twig snapped behind Alexander.
Then another.
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He grabbed Siobhan and spun them both so his body would shield hers as he faced the intruder, his heart hammering in his chest at the instant thought that someone or something might harm his bride.
One of the unpaired high lords, a generally insufferable arsehole from House Farwyn, glowered at the pair as he approached. “You are not on the path,” he stated rather bluntly.
Alexander squared his shoulders. Held a hand behind himself to make sure Siobhan stayed where it was safe. “Neither are you.”
“I’m hunting my bride.”
Now was not the time to dissect just how wrong that sentence sounded. Alexander scoffed through his own deepening frown. “Well, then, get back to it. Over there. Way over there.”
Farwyn—for Alexander couldn’t remember his first name, even though every anticipating heir went by their first names until the full mantle of lordship passed from deceased father to expectant son—slowly shook his head. “She’s not on the path, either.” He shifted his stare to just beyond Alexander’s shoulder. “She’s right here.”
A whispered string of exceptionally colorful curses hissed through Siobhan’s teeth. Were it not for the knife strapped at Farwyn’s belt and currently inches from his fingers, Alexander would have burst into laughter. How could he be so blessed that the gods gave him this delightful woman?
“I’m afraid you are mistaken,” the crown prince said with an easy shrug. “Mistaken, and fucking blind.”
Those last two words echoed with warning.
Farwyn cocked a brow. “Do you think I don’t recognize Lady Siobhan’s hair? Her figure?” He also shrugged and carefully slid his knife from its sheath. “Or that I’m going to obey the rules while you’ve clearly broken all of them?”
Fuck.
“I claimed her.” A truth that existed in an unconventional way that did not match Farwyn’s or anyone’s strict definition of the term when it came to The Race. They hadn’t gotten that far. “I caught her, I claimed her, and I’m keeping her.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken, Your Highness.” Farwyn didn’t lace the title with sarcasm, which was probably more maddening than if he had. He remained cold and calculating, as if discussing weather patterns or the orbital trajectories of the Otherworld’s moons. He took one, two, three steps forward and watched as Alexander inched himself and Siobhan back. “I claimed Siobhan long before you had the pleasure of meeting her. For all we know, she carries my babe in her belly as we speak.”
An indignant shriek sounded from her, quickly followed by an illustrious chant of curses in the Old Tongue which could have scathed the skin off the high lord if she possessed that ability. He was a bit rusty on the linguistics himself, but Alexander caught the words, “liar”, “bastard”, and something he dared not repeat in translation even inside his mind.
He was going to kiss that dirty mouth and beg her to make it even dirtier while riding him.
Alas, first things first. “One more step, Farwyn, and one more dissenting word against my wife? I’ll have no choice but to end your line right here and now.”
This time, Siobhan’s gasp was softer and she gripped Alexander’s forearm. “Don’t kill him!” She whispered.
“I didn’t say I was going to kill him.”
A breath. A beat. And then a sigh paired with a soft pat on his arm. “Oh. Right. Yes. Do that. I’m fine with that.”
Gods above, he loved this woman.
Farwyn spun the knife in his hand and smirked. “Don’t be a fool, Alexander. I know you have your own personal healing baths, so I know I’m at liberty to cut you open within an inch of your life if you insist on denying me my woman. I won’t hurt her,” he gestured with the blade at Siobhan, “but I must be honest. I’ll enjoy hurting you.”
“This is about some old grudge, then?” Alexander nearly rolled his eyes. Of course it was. “Some crime my father committed against yours or your grandfather or whatever?”
“Something like that.”
The swipe came too obvious to catch the prince unawares, and it seemed almost embarrassing to even dodge the attempted blow from such a lazy hand. Be as it may, Farwyn tried again with a frustrated snarl and this time sliced for the jugular despite his earlier claim. Alexander ducked and used the motion to swiftly grab his boot knife. He also used that opportunity to actually land a slice across the back of Farwyn’s calf, which caused the high lord to cry out and stumble to the side.
“I drew blood.” Alexander held the dripping blade out at his side as he rose for everyone to see. “Call it good? Seems only fair.”
“I’ll kill you!”
Farwyn lunged at the crown prince and feigned for a tackle, but even though he trained in combat with the best tutors his family could afford, it still did not add up to the extended years of brutality his opponent endured to get to this point. Every swipe was dodged, every jab blocked, every attempt to throw Alexander off his footing failed to even make the man put in real effort.
Only once did the high lord actually get the upper hand. He muttered something under his breath that made the prince pause, eyes widened, and then grinned as he made for a maiming blow.
Something whizzed through the air and struck him through the billowing sleeve of his shirt.
Another followed as he spun, piercing the other sleeve and yanking him back with a hard slam against the bark.
More icicles as sharp as spearheads shot into the sycamore tree, lining his body like a wintery crime scene silhouette until the final one grazed his cheek just close enough to draw a long, thin line of crimson.
Siobhan glared at the high lord. She didn’t lower her outstretched arm until it became clear he wasn’t able to pull himself free no matter how hard he struggled—and oh, did he fight for his freedom.
“You bitch!”
“You’re boring.” She strode across the green grass with all the confidence of a queen simply absent a physical crown. With the way the sunlight haloed her head, Alexander had no trouble envisioning one gracing her silken braid. “We shared one stupid little kiss and you suddenly think you have any rights to me whatsoever? Please.” Her nose curled as she regarded him with disgust. “You taste awful. See a dentist. May the gods have mercy on whoever pities you enough to bear you children because I sure as hell won’t.”
She turned to Alexander, who met her with his own concern and they both checked each other for injuries. Which was sweet on his part, considering her involvement was an impressive show of airborne missiles compared to his knife fight. “Are you hurt?”
Alexander shook his head. All he could do was stare at her in awe and wonder, his calloused hands cradling her face. “I ache, but not from wounds.”
She frowned. “Ache? Where?’
He slowly lofted a brow.
“…Oh.” Her blush returned, and she leaned in closer so only he would hear her next words. “You know, I did see a cave behind that waterfall. I’m sure there’s something we could do about that…” She flicked her gaze lower the same time her tongue darted over a supple lip. “…‘ache’.”
Farwyn sputtered a harsh protest but was quickly muzzled by a band of ice which sealed over the bottom half of his face. Even though his gagged-and-bound situation would eventually melt away, this bought the couple enough time to dart into the trees, down the snowy path Siobhan created over the pond, and through the veil of water that soon solidified into a sound-proofing wall of iridescent ice.
Well, almost soundproof.
Whatever buzzing dissent floated among the high lords and ladies who waited within the Great Hall for the initial results of An Rása, it vanished the moment the air near the main doors split open and a portal appeared.
Alexander Rionnaghan stepped through, shirtless and covered in thin pink lines all over his shoulder, arms, and back—and a brilliant grin of pride practically splitting his face in two. In his hand he held that of Lady Siobhan of House Deighear, her long hair completely undone from its braid and voluminous where hands raked through…and gripped…and tugged…which were undoubtedly the same hands that ripped the skirts of her dress clean up to her thigh and haphazardly helped her re-lace the boned corset bodice.
If anyone dared get close enough to the young and similarly grinning woman, they would notice those laces came from a pair of white leather boots.
The originals lay in tatters in a cave somewhere deep in the southwestern forests, along with what remained of her leggings piled on top of the now-useless footwear.
“Y-your H-h-highness!” One of the elderly high lords, someone whose name Alexander definitely could not be bothered to remember right now, stumbled forward with shock and indignation etched in his wrinkles. “The Race! You cannot portal through—”
“Once a mate has been claimed, the runners can use any means necessary to return to Baronane and begin the Assessment.” Alexander spoke with respect, but also with a hint of a tone which suggested the high lord might want to think twice before challenging him. “I read the fine print, my lord. I have also claimed my mate.”
Not-so-hushed whispers filled the vast room as the people turned their wide-eyed stares to the giddy young woman leaning a bit heavily on her prince’s arm.
After a moment, a guffaw of surprise and joy bellowed from somewhere near the balcony doors.
“Oh, dear gods…” Siobhan pinched her eyes shut with a lopsided smile. “That would be my father.”
Alexander’s grin only widened. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, unfazed by the understandably boisterous proclamation of, “That’s my daughter!”
Which, after yet another moment, was followed by a far less enthusiastic, “That’s my daughter!”
“I love you. Please run.”
“Not a chance.” With a kiss to the back of her hand, Alexander turned them to face the oncoming parents who consisted of a red-faced and confusedly-emotional older man and his far more serene wife. “Lord and Lady Deighear. I must thank you, from the depths of my soul, for the incredible gift of your daughter. I want to personally assure you, before the gods and every Great House in this room, that this is not just an instance of capture and claiming.” He stole a loving glance at his blushing bride. “She is my anamcara. My heart and my soul. I apologize for not mentioning anything sooner, but…” He sighed and shrugged, meeting her father’s perplexed stare. “I do truly love her. I would never force anything upon her she did not wish for herself.”
Lord Deighear cleared his throat, pointedly avoiding any sort of once-over that might linger too long on her state of…one could call it, “dress”. “Is this true, my darling? Is His Highness your gods-given soulmate?”
Siobhan shared a brief glance with her mother, something deeper passing between them before the lovesick joy returned to her face. “It is, Father. I confess to not realizing it at the time, but it has since become exceptionally clear.” Her flush brightened when her mind flitted back to only an hour or so ago, and Alexander did not miss the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other while pressing her thighs together.
Careful, my love. I’m trying to make a good impression!
She stole a quick glance at her betrothed, her countenance only slightly icing over with warning. I am not the one who tore my clothes all to shreds!
No, but you are the one who marked me more than all these runes put together.
Lady Deighear regarded her daughter with immense pride. Even though she was not as animated as her husband, she did not hold back the happiness she felt for this union. “Our blessings upon both of you, our beloved daughter and son-in-law.”
That irritating high lord coughed and stepped into their circle with an upheld finger. “Pardon me, my lady, but there is still the Assessment to conduct, as well as the ceremonies should Lady Siobhan qualify—”
“Are you saying something about our daughter?” Lord Deighear rumbled, his face reddening once more.
Alexander laughed with a shake of his head. “Do not worry about it, my lord. No one would dare imply their future queen is anything but the utmost qualified for their king. Or challenge his word at that.”
“B-but, Your Highness—”
“And if there is any doubt about who my bride belongs to,” he added with a much louder voice filled with taunting authority as his hardened gaze landed on House Farwyn, “I am certain Lord Farwyn’s son will provide a most illustrious testimony verifying that I and I alone claimed her during An Rása. He did, after all, bear witness to most of it.”
I think we’ve scarred him for life.
Good. Or in the very least, given him some pointers for that poor future wife of his.
Siobhan clapped a hand over her mouth when she snorted a loud laugh.
Alexander tugged her closer to his side and wrapped an arm around her. He didn’t give two flying harpies what anyone thought of their union. It was valid, it was sealed, and he had personally verified in the most delightful way that she’d been completely untouched before him.
Stop.
He tried to hide the slight frown. Stop what?
Remembering. Siobhan bit the inside of her cheek and tried to pretend as if she was listening to her mother describe the impending dressmaking schedule. It’s very distracting.
You’re very distracting.
I can’t help that.
Neither can I.
“Mother,” she cooed with a loving touch to Lady Deighear’s arm, “would you and Father like to join us for—”
Lunch. Tomorrow.
“–lunch? Tomorrow. I’m feeling a bit tired, and…” She waved a hand over herself as if to indicate she’d just run a marathon across continents. “The Race, you know. It’s truly exhausting.”
Now it was Lady Deighear who snorted and quickly covered that burst with a cough for her husband’s sake. He still seemed to not know which emotion to settle on, but that was a sign of a wonderful father. “Of course, my darling. We will stay at one of the inns in the city.”
“Take my escort.” Alexander nodded for one of his trusted footmen, only a level below Gardaí in terms of security but far more adept at arranging travel, to attend to his soon-to-be in-laws. “I want nothing but the absolute best for my family.”
That helped Lord Deighear finally determine a mood. His chest puffed with pride and he gallantly thanked the crown prince loud enough for every Great House to hear, then allowed the footman to lead him and his wife through the palace to their luxurious accommodations.
Siobhan turned to her betrothed. “Is there something wrong with meeting for supper?” She asked in a whisper.
“Yes.” Alexander focused on grabbing the shoulder of the high lord who cared a little too much about procedure. “My lord, since you are the expert in these matters, I trust you will arrange for my beloved’s examination to occur tomorrow afternoon? Say, around two? Not a minute sooner or later.”
The old man bowed. “Of course, Your Highness.”
“Gather the Tionòl for tomorrow evening. This precious Assessment will be completed by day’s end, or there will be hell to pay. Understood?”
This agreement held more hesitation, but the high lord assented. “Yes, Sire.”
“Good man.”
Seriously, Alexander. What’s going on?
He simply smirked and led her out of the Great Hall into a wide corridor which would eventually lead to the royal suites, most of them gathering dust in the wake of Riordhan’s chaotic departure. On a second thought, he tugged her with him around a sharp corner into a much smaller space and waited to see if anyone was following them.
Then, once the coast was clear, he stretched out an arm and opened a portal to the Night Realm.
A rather specific bedroom in the Night Realm.
“We’re going to be busy during supper.” Alexander’s smirk grew as he studied her expression. “And I’m having you for breakfast, so…”
“Alexander!”
“Save your voice, mo ghrá. I don’t think you’ll have much of it left by morning.”
The adventure continues and the Wild Hunt begins…
Queen of Night debuts September 30, 2026
The cat-and-mouse game between ancient bloodlines and modern political engines continues to weave between the Outworld and Otherworld, between friends and families, between what’s real and what’s simply a means to survive.
And if they’re not careful, those who hold the threads risk awakening the very entity prophesied to bring about their destruction.
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