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HE OBSERVED HIS SON for a moment, before entering and letting his presence be known. He was tall and slender, his black hair slicked back from his dark face, in the same fashion Lunn liked to dress his own locks. In fact, by all accounts the boy was a carbon copy of him, so similar in looks and mannerisms they were often confused as the same person at court. The all-black clothing and cape he wore, with the Fae insignia signifying his station in the court, suited his complexion and form, but it almost made Lunn laugh out loud. Almost.
Once, his son had meant something to the Faean court. Once, he and that brat he’d mated, Aisling, had been looked at as the future of Faery. Now, he was nothing. A Fae prince turned advisor, forced to grovel at the feet of an undeserving, weak queen. He cleared his throat, introducing his presence.
“Our plan is shaping up quite nicely,” Lunn said as he entered the dungeon of his castle rubbing his hands together in glee. “Soon, my son, you’ll have your revenge over that mate-stealing bastard and his child, and I will have the throne.”
“So, I can kill this one, father?” Tynan pointed at the repulsive figure cowered before him on the floor of the cell. His auburn hair, thick with filth from lying on the ground, was now brown. He clothes were a ratted, tangled mess and could barely be constituted as material anymore. Tynan kicked the half-mort’s foot with his boot and covered his nose with his sleeve. “By Danu, he already smells dead.” He turned to eye his father.
“No, no. Take one of the others. I may still have use for him if the child proves difficult.”
Tynan laughed at him then sneered. “What, you think you can’t handle a little human child, father?” He left the cell begrudgingly, giving the prisoner one last kick for good measure, and slammed the door behind him. With a twist of his wrist, the locks clicked, the sound echoing off the walls of the close cell. “I’ll be back for you.” He mouthed the words to the man, so that Lunn wouldn’t hear him.
Lunn glared at him. “Watch it, Tynan. You’re my son, but you can always be replaced. Now, go and grab one of the others. I’m feeling quite famished.”