Lochlan was probably never going to sleep again.
Not with Brea Robinson's voice in his head.
"I wish this was all a dream."
She hadn't known he'd followed her to the courtyard or that he'd watched her just like so many times before. Not talking or revealing his presence. Only listening, seeing.
And what he'd seen was a girl who didn't want to be here. She didn't see how much she truly belonged, how the people reacted to her.
How Lochlan reacted to her.
The first time he'd wanted to reach out to her instead of just watching in the human realm was when he was seventeen years old. He'd walked across the barren fields stretching in front of the Robinson's house. Paint curled and peeled from the worn wooden walls. A tire swing hung from the large oak in the yard, but it looked like the rope would break with the tiniest weight.
And there stood a girl in the barn entrance, her hair streaming out behind her. He'd seen her a hundred times before as he kept watch for the Eldurian queen. This girl in ripped pants and a shirt so old the colors had faded from the fabric... She was a princess.
Most of the time he saw her with Myles, but not this time. He'd watched much closer than the queen would have allowed because he had to know what she was doing.
Music had filtered from their dilapidated barn, and he’d peered through a broken window to find Brea dancing as if she'd never heard a beat in her life. He’d shrank back into the shadows when Myles finally joined her.
"What are you doing?" Myles had yelled over the music.
A grin lit up the sad girl's face, reaching all the way to her eyes. "It's my birthday, Myles, and I'm throwing myself a party."
Lochlan hadn't stayed long enough to see if Myles brought a gift. He'd run back across the fields, using the night to hide him as he forced open a portal into Eldur and barreled through, landing right in the middle of a royal celebration. Time was different in the fae realm—the seasons here never aligned with the human realm. Alona’s birthday was more than two months ago for them, but there was always a royal celebration on this day every year.
He'd gone from a lonely girl the world seemed to have ignored and her joyful party for two to a ball fit for a princess. He only now realized that yearly ball was meant for the absent Eldurian Princess.
He'd never been the same after that day. Nothing had. He told the queen what he always did, that Brea was safe and healthy, never mentioning the other h word that would have been a lie. She smiled sometimes, but Brea was never truly happy.
And he certainly didn't mention he'd become fascinated with a girl he'd never spoken to, one who didn't know their world existed. As Brea grew older, he realized somewhere through the years, he’d fallen in love with her.
Lochlan sighed as he rolled over in bed, the blankets twisting about his legs. She drove him crazy, but he'd thought he'd gotten over his teenage crush a long time ago.
Then he heard her say she wished none of this was real, and it sent a spear right through his heart. He was real. His world wasn't a dream. She had to get used to that.
He rubbed his face, remembering her horror at the thought of being queen. Hadn't he had those same fears about one day ruling Iskalt? Maybe they had more in common than he'd thought, but he could never admit to the terror thrumming through him at the mention of finally taking the crown from his uncle.
Lochlan might never be able to tell Brea how he felt those years ago. There might be no hope for them, but they’d rule this world together one day as allies and maybe even friends.
A knock sounded on his door, and he glanced to the window. The world outside was still dark, and he couldn't fathom who would be calling at such an hour.
"Just a moment," he called. Slipping from his bed, he reached for the silk robe on a peg by the armoire and shrugged it on, tying it at the waist.
The knock echoed through the room once more before the door burst open, revealing a heaving Finn.
"What's wrong?" Lochlan had always been able to read every emotion in his best friend's face.
"You must come. I was on duty tonight, and we've received a messenger."
"That seems like information for the queen." He raised an eyebrow.
Finn shook his head. "This man... He comes from Iskalt."
Ice shot through Lochlan's veins, and he was sure his eyes frosted over as his magic thrummed to life. Nothing good came out of Iskalt. Not anymore. He stepped into his boots, not bothering to lace them up or get dressed. "Has the queen been informed?"
"Yes. My father went to fetch her."
Lochlan grunted. "Don't let Faolan hear you say anyone fetched her. Come, I must see this messenger."
Finn's brow creased. "You're not going to change?"
"No." Where Iskalt was involved, Lochlan wanted to be the first to know. It might have been a selfish need, being that the queen deserved that right in her own palace, but Lochlan had never been able to shake the guilt over letting his cruel uncle rule Iskalt for so many years.
Finn led him to the great hall where they'd let the messenger warm himself with an ale by the fire. "He rode for many days, only stopping to change horses. I don't think he has slept since leaving Iskalt."
Lochlan gripped Finn's shoulder. "Thank you. Can you send for Brea? I have a hunch I’m going to need her to hear this."
Finn nodded and sent someone to wake Brea while Lochlan crossed the hall to where the hearth breathed life into the cold room. The orange glow reflected off the face of an older man with gray hair tied into a knot on top of his head. His haggard face basked in the warmth as icy eyes stared into the flames.
He wrapped both hands around his mug and lifted it to his lips.
"What is your name, sir?" Lochlan stopped beside the man's chair and looked down at him.
The old man lifted his tired eyes. "Duff O'Dell, your Highness."
"I'm not—"
"I know who you are. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere, sire."
Lochlan turned a wooden chair and sat facing the man. "You are from Iskalt?"
He took another sip of ale before setting the empty mug on the table next to him. "You do not remember me."
"Should I?"
"No. You were a child when I served your parents. I was one of their personal guards."
"Do you serve my uncle?"
Duff sighed. "We all serve your uncle, sire. I no longer guard the king, but my son does. We've expected our princes to come home for many years, and you never have."
"I—"
"No need to explain it to me, boyo. Most of Iskalt is under the thrall of Callum O'Shea. They will follow him to death, but only because they think they have no other option."
Lochlan clenched his jaw. "And you?"
"I have had the truth of the man revealed. It is why I have come, risking my family back in Iskalt."
Lochlan was about to tell him to speak when commotion sounded behind them. The queen's arrival. Faolan breezed into the room with no care of who her retinue disturbed. Few others lingered besides Lochlan and Duff, but the queen's guards and maids turned the quiet conversation into a crowded state report. He breathed a sigh of relief when Brea slipped in at the back of the group, doing her best to go unseen.
"Lochlan." Faolan held chastisement in her eyes. "You are not to speak to messengers without me."
"Dear." Tierney put a hand on her arm. "If this has to do with his kingdom, he has the right."
Faolan's gaze softened when she looked at her wife. "Yes. It is late, so let's see what has gotten us all out of our beds." One of her guards dragged a wingback chair to them, and the queen sat.
"Your Majesty." Lochlan dipped his head. "This is Duff O'Dell. He has come with news from Iskalt."
"If you'll excuse me, my Lady." Those nearby sucked in their breath at the term. Lochlan closed his eyes for a brief moment, but the queen didn't correct her title. "Lochlan O'Shea is my ruler, not an Eldurian queen. I came to speak with him."
"And here we both sit." Faolan looked wholly unaffected. "Tell us why you have come."
"There are too many ears," Duff hissed.
The queen sighed. "Leave us," she ordered. "Eamon, Finn, Brea, you stay." The guards and servants hurried out, leaving the cavernous room empty except their small group.
Duff focused his gaze on Lochlan, ignoring the queen and the rest. "I live in a village about a day’s ride from the Vatlands between Iskalt and Eldur. We are a quiet village, peaceful. Until now. We've been finding friends and neighbors dead. At first, we thought a sickness had come, but there are marks on the bodies, burns. They have rings of charred flesh crossing their torsos."
"A barrier spell," Lochlan whispered. He'd seen those kinds of burns before while stationed along the Fargelsian border. Anyone with full Fargelsian blood died if they tried to cross.
"A barrier spell, your Majesty?" Duff looked to him in confusion.
Lochlan leaned forward. "Tell me, Mr. O'Dell, do people still travel to your village? For trade and other purposes?"
Duff nodded. "Yes. Though, the flow of traders to the markets has slowed."
"Then it is not complete yet."
"Lochlan," Queen Faolan snapped. "What you speak of is not possible. Callum O'Shea does not have the power for a barrier spell."
"Don't you see, your Majesty? He's crafting it, or at least trying to, using one of his own villages as the test before expanding it to all of Iskalt, turning the people into prisoners just like those in Fargelsi."
"But how? It would take more than Iskalt magic for a spell of such magnitude. And it doesn't explain how trade has not stopped."
"But it does." Lochlan tried to remember everything he'd learned studying the Fargelsi barrier. "It takes an enormous amount of power to sustain even a small barrier around a village. More power than Callum can wield on his own. My uncle has never been a great magician. As he tries to complete the barrier, his magic seeps into the village. It's not complete yet, but it is killing people all the same."
Queen Faolan covered her mouth with her hand. "He doesn't have that kind of power."
"Regan does." Brea's voice surprised Lochlan, and he sat up straighter.
He met Brea's eyes. "Speak."
Brea bit her lip. "Fargelsi and Iskalt have an... understanding. I don't know if that's the right word. To them, Eldur is the common enemy. A horrific spell such as this has to come from my aunt. She'd help your uncle. I'm sure of it."
"Even so," Queen Faolan started. "There is nothing we can do. Iskalt problems are not our own."
Lochlan hardly heard her. He barely noticed her bidding goodnight to the messenger, or Duff looking to him helplessly as a maid led him to a room for the night.
All Lochlan could see was Brea, and the secrets she'd kept.
A secret that could end them all.