Open for Negotiation

Chapter Two

Marcus lay back on the bed with a sigh. When he woke in the morning, she would have been gone for thirty years. He was still no closer to punishing her killers and knew he wasn't doing justice to the people she had valued so much. The hollow feeling in his chest grew. He heard a whimper and looked over.

The dogs lay on the floor next to the desk he had allowed no one to disturb since she had left. Oberon was curled around Titania and both were watching him with the same sorrow in their eyes. They knew and shared the ache of her loss. Never one to avoid the inevitable, he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

He knew the dream for what it was the instant it began, but was helpless to stop it. Denial had him fighting it. He couldn't relive this.

The scent of her roses hung in the air as he moved about the study briskly. A strong female voice spoke to him, but he could see no one. "Watch and see what you missed before."

Lethe was approaching him with grief stricken eyes as he armed up. He knew something was wrong and that she was hurt. Part of him had known though, Marcus thought. Even then.

"Good, Lethe. You're here. We need to assemble the army to go help Gwen." he said briskly then turned.

"Marcus, it's too late." Lethe said. He had a box under his arm.

"What are you talking about? She needs our help..."

"She's dead." Lethe tightened his grip on Marcus' shoulder when he stilled, a sick dread creating a pit in his stomach. He turned to face Lethe.

"That's not something to joke about, Lethe." he warned. "I'm not feral so she can't be dead."

"I don't know why you aren't feral, but she's dead. I was hoping to spare you this." Lethe took the box and laid it on Marcus' desk. "Open it."

The sick dread became a churning fear as Marcus opened the box. Her dismembered arm lay inside. The one that she had tattooed their hand fasting vows on. His knees buckled and he almost hit the ground. Lethe was prepared and kept him from hitting the floor by going down with him. The denials became whispers that turned into a roar of grief that silenced the mound. Suddenly thrust above his grieving form, Marcus seen the steward come in with a blade. He saw Lethe shake his head at the man as he sobbed. Relief that he wasn't expected to feel it again swamped him.

"He's not feral. There's magic at work here." Lethe tossed over his shoulder. He seen the relief on the face of his steward as the blade vanished. Relief, but not surprise. He was the first faery to not go feral at the death of his mate. Why wasn't the steward surprised?

The dogs came running in and sat down next to Marcus, whining. Then howling.

"Duke, the high court is in chaos. The fighting has already begun." the steward spoke, his tone cool. "I know she had someone in mind..."

"She's not even been mourned yet and they are already squabbling over her throne? They still have a fucking king!" Lethe snarled. The steward nodded.

"I agree completely. But they are going to need to see that."

Lethe stood, after easing Marcus to the floor. His shadows swirled and boiled around him in the way they only did when he was truly angry.

"Watch him." he said to the dogs that stopped howling and eased under the grieving king's arms. Lethe walked out of the study into the chaos of the main hall. The door was left open and Marcus, unable to bear the sight of his own grief even in a dream, followed.

When Lethe entered, he let his shadows fill the room until it went black. There were a few screams then silence. Lethe pulled them back in.

"First, not one of you will ever sit on this throne. Not one of you is worthy of it. Second, you still have a king. Gwendolyn safeguarded his sanity before she left as she did every time she had to leave his side. Given time to grieve, he will be capable of ruling." His voice rang out in the hall and Marcus had to smile a bit. No one played a room quite as well as Lethe. "Third, even if he wasn't capable and I had to put him down, the high queen did leave an heir."