Arden’s father sat on the stone bed attached to the wall. The room was lit by one of the rune-powered torches, on the wall, and the light glinted off the prisoner’s grimy blond hair.

  “You look like shit.” Arden said mildly.

  “Oh, my bastard son has come to see me. How wonderful.” Kirven cackled, golden eyes glittering with cold malice.

  “Yes, we can dispense with the pleasantries.” Arden said flatly. “I don’t want to be here anymore than you want to see me.”

  “What? Of course I want to see my clever little son.” Kirven’s eyes flashed angrily, having not forgotten how his clever little son, who’d he’d treated like little more than a sentient possession, had been responsible for putting him in that dungeon cell.

  “We have some questions for you.” Asher said, keeping his tone businesslike.

  “I’ve answered all the questions I’m going to answer.” Kirven replied, smirking.

  “You know, he could have had you put to death.” Arden told his father, crossing his arms. “But he decided you should live the rest of your miserable life here. I was all for it, but Asher decided to show mercy."

  “Yes and how grateful I am for it. Such a choice room here in the palace!” Kirven rolled his eyes.

  “You’re a traitor. You don’t deserve to be treated half as well as this!” Arden snapped.

  “Aww, did I get you riled up?”

  “You’re going to answer our questions.” the white-haired soldier said.

  “Oh am I?” Kirven grinned mockingly.

  “Who’s your informant within the palace?” Asher asked.

  Kirven’s golden eyes flickered once, and Arden felt a surge of triumph. That had concerned the traitorous wretch. So there was an informant within the palace!

  But his father’s smile only widened, and to Arden’s surprise, he didn’t try to deny it. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

  That…was not good. If Kirven wasn’t trying to deny it, there was a good reason.

  Fury coursed suddenly through Arden’s veins. This piece of filth had tried to overthrow the only truly good king the feylands had ever had was the same evil scum who’d tormented his mother into madness far beyond her natural years, keeping her a prisoner in his home to use for his pleasure whenever it suited him.

  Arden surged forward, slamming the prisoner back so hard into the wall that it left a dent.

  Kirven twitched for a moment, stunned by the impact and the breath knocked out of him.

  “You will tell us!” Arden snarled, still holding his father against the wall.

  Catching his breath, again, Kirven laughed, and spit in Arden’s face.

  “Now really!” Asher sighed.

  But Arden only smiled, using his free hand to wipe the spit from his face. But the fury had settled into a blazing wrath inside. “You know what? I think this is a good chance for me to try out something I’ve been thinking about for a while.”

  “Oh, gonna torture me, little boy?” Kirven snickered, knowing full well that Asher didn’t approve of torture.

  “Yes.” Arden shrugged. Pulling for his magic, he caught his father roughly by the temples, and poured his magic into him.

  “What are you doing, boy?!” his father muttered, jerking in discomfort.

  “Covering the essence of your feyness with my magic.” Arden told him. “You see, I’m not just some bastard half-fey child of yours. I have a gift. I can suppress my fey side so deeply that no one else can feel it, and people think I’m human. It’s a rare gift, and makes me well-suited to undercover work.” Sensing that he’d been able to totally wrap his fathers’ elvishness with his own magic, Arden commenced with the true torture. “But I’ve always wondered, if I can suppress my own fey side, could I do it to someone else?” his father began to gasp for breath as Arden’s magic slowly suppressed the very essence of the fey man’s being. “For another half-fey person, it would only make them feel human. But what would it do to a fully fey person, who doesn't have their human blood to fall back on?”

  Arden watched, satisfied as his father gasped and jerked and writhed, eyes rolling back into his head. Wrinkles drew themselves across the prisoner’s face, his fingers grew skeletal and gnarled, and age spots popped up here and there.

  “Finally looking your age without that magic, I guess.” Arden commented mildly.

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  “If you kill him, we won’t ever get any info.” Asher said mildly.

  Arden sighed. “Fine. But it’s no more than he deserves.”

  “I know.” the king agreed quietly.

  Arden pulled away his magic, and stepped back, letting the stunned, writhing traitor fall back onto the stone bed.

  “He’s not going to talk.” Arden muttered.

  “If you did that and he still didn’t talk, then no. Although I’m not sure he could.”

  “Did it look unpleasant?”

  “Entirely.”

  “Good. Wish it was permanent.” But as his father’s magic rose to the surface again, all signs of old age were chased away.

  Suddenly, there was a shout from the stairs.

  “What’s that?” Asher frowned, crossing to the door and opening it.

  As they peered out, the guard who’d been on duty at the top of the stairs stumbled into sight, alarm etched on his face. “Intruders!” he gasped.

  “What?!” Asher demanded. “Where?!”

  “In the palace! They flooded in! Hurry!” the guard cried.

  “F*ck!” Asher swore.

  Arden was already out the cell door, leaving the king and the guard to lock the cell door again, and follow behind.

  The fey soldier encountered a rebel, since that’s undoubtedly who the intruders were, about halfway up the dungeon staircase.

  Arden was in fight mode, and made short work of him, darting to the side to kick the intruder’s kneecap in a direction it wasn’t supposed to go, grabbing one of the torches off the wall and using it as a bludgeon to bash the man around the head for good measure.

  The rebel crumpled to the floor.

  “Nicely done.” Asher commented as he hurried up the stairs behind him, the guard who’d warned about the attack following on his heels.

  “That was just one. There will be more.” Arden said grimly, then told both the guard and Asher, “You both stay close to me. We need to find Meadowbell. Three of us guarding you, Asher, will be better than one. If we can find any of the generals, then that will be better still.”

  “The generals are never in the palace this early. I expect that’s why they attacked when they did. Plenty of light to see, the guards are changing over about now, and the upper level military folk aren’t here.” Asher sighed.

  “Right.” Arden said, reaching the head of the stairs. He deactivated the light rune on the torch, but continued to hold it aloft, like a bludgeon, since it was the only weapon he currently had, but the guard himself had a sword, and was brandishing it. Bracing himself, the white-haired soldier opened the door to peek out, and saw several irritable-looking fey folk lingering in the hallway. Given they weren’t guards, weren’t military, and weren’t members of palace staff, they were likely rebels.

  Inching the door shut again, Arden turned to Asher and the guard. “Asher, you stay here. What’s your name?”

  “Pirva.” The guard answered.

  “You come with me.”

  “I can fight.” Asher muttered annoyedly.

  “Yes, but you’re also the king, and I don’t want to risk you getting hurt. And it’ll be best if we can keep your location under wraps for as long as possible. If we can get you out of the palace without them knowing, that would be ideal.”

  “Good point.” the king had to admit.

  “Pirva, once we get out of here, we need to stop by my office and-” he cut off, the terrible realization that Marri would be walking into a rebellion filling him. He glanced at his watch. It was late enough in the morning that she might indeed already be there.

  “And what?” Pirva asked, frowning.

  “Sorry, I just…” Arden looked at Asher, “Marri and Hyacinth were going to come to the palace to hang out in the squad’s office today.”

  “Oh gods!” the king grimaced.

  “So we’ll head to the office first. There’s a stash of weapons there, so we can better arm ourselves, and if Marri is there, then we’ll take them with us. Her voice might be a boon.”

  “Right.” Asher nodded

  Arden took a deep breath, and told Pirva, “On three, we’ll bust outta here. I’ll take the lead, then you come behind with your sword.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “One, two, three!” Arden flung the door open, and he and Pirva bolted out.

  The rebels saw them immediately, and howled with rage. But that’s about all they were able to do before Arden and the guard, who had the element of surprise, were upon them in an instant.

  As the last one crumpled, Asher left the relative safety of the staircase and Arden motioned for him and Pirva to go ahead, “I’ll bring up the rear, Pirva, get him to my squad’s office, and don’t stop until you’re there. If you get barricaded in there, there’s a window you can escape from.”

  “Right.” Pirva nodded, “With me, your highness.”

  “I have ears, guys.” Asher sighed, but followed obediently.

  Arden was pleased with how Pirva led them along, glancing quickly around corners before waving them on ahead. He himself kept an eye out behind them.

  A couple of times, they had to duck quickly behind columns or into a side room to wait for larger groups of rebels to pass, and once or twice, they fought little groups of two or three rebels who’d broken off from the main group for whatever reason.

  As they turned down a corridor that would take them to the squad’s room, Arden heard what he’d been dreading.

  A shout from behind them cried, “There they are!”

  Arden swung around to face the attackers, and saw, much to his dread, that Kirven led the rather large group that were racing towards them, smiling wickedly, his golden eyes full of fiery malice. Apparently he’d recovered quickly from the magical suppression that Arden had put him through, and was ready for revenge.

  So the rest of the rebels had found their way to the dungeons, and freed the filthy little weasel. That had likely been one of the main goals of this assault on the palace. He should have thought about that the moment Pirva had announced the danger. If he had, he might have just turned around and killed the man right then and there to help stymie whatever plans they had regarding him, but the white-haired half-elf had been more concerned with getting Asher to safety instead.

  “Run!” Arden shouted at Asher, who, along with Pirva, had turned to see the group now running after them.

  But Asher’s face was grim, and Arden felt the king’s magic crackling. “No. There’s no way you can hold them off for us to escape, no offense. You’re one person, and they’re at least twenty strong. I’ll stand and fight, thank you, rather than be killed with my back turned, running.”

  Asher was no coward, and was king for a reason.

  “Lear is going to kill me.” Arden groaned, turning to face the oncoming group, brandishing his makeshift weapon.