Prologue - Ember
"He's here again, Your Majesty."
King Ember need not have asked to know who his most trusted servant was talking about. It took only a few seconds for him to pin down the target across the playing room.
"Foolish man," Ember grumbled beneath his breath. Using his wine glass to hide his lips, he responded to the servant leaning down to his ear, "Filton, find out what he is gambling this time."
Surely the fool has nothing left to lose, he thought silently.
Ever loyal and obedient, Filton silently nodded and began to make his way from the head table where his master sat to the round table at the furthest corner of the room.
Ember had spent most of the evening pretending to be preoccupied with the women that surrounded him, though secretly he had his eye on the workings of the court. Within the room, there were several men who owed his parents rather large sums of money. Chief among them was Lord Perivale, a fae whose wisdom had not come with age.It was expected that a nobleman would be wise enough not to gamble away his fortune, and the fortune bestowed upon him by the crown to help him during his period of grieving after the death of his wife. Especially one who is eighty-five years old, with three wives under his belt and a long-standing position at court.
That period of mourning was now over, and Ember had been ready to collect the debt owed to his parents for several weeks. Yet here he was, empty handed. And here Lord Perivale was for yet another roll of the dice.
Ember watched his man watching the lord for several minutes before he found he was no longer able to remain seated.
"Please excuse me, ladies," Ember said quietly to the four women who had occupied his table for most of the evening. They looked mildly disappointed, offering him wishes that he would return soon, before they began to talk once more among themselves.
Offering his now empty wine glass to a servant passing with a tray, he began to glide through the room. Most were too busy gambling and fondling the courtesans to look up and acknowledge him. That was just the way Ember liked it. He felt like a predator stalking through long grass, ready to pounce on his prey.
Ever observant, Filton noticed him before he reached the table, and drew to his side.
"Well?" Ember hissed under his breath.
"It appears he has not a penny left to his name, Your Grace," Filton said in a low voice.
"If that is true, how is he at the table?" Ember asked. For a moment, he wondered whether Perivale's fellow lords were taking pity on him. Yet when he glanced at the table, he could see that those surrounding him were stone faced. Some laughed openly while others judged silently. Lord Perivale seemed oblivious to it all, concentrating on the dice in his hand.
"He has placed everything he has left on the table," Filton replied, and when he saw Ember glance at the surface of the round table, he added, "Figuratively speaking, my lord."
"Spit it out, Filton!"
Filton jumped like a startled dog, and his pale olive hair bounced before he quickly ran his fingers through it. His wings, a similar color to his hair, fluttered several times before he calmed himself.
"Lord Perivale has placed his bride on the table, my lord."
Ember's throat constricted instantly. The thought that one fae could own another in such a way made him feel sick. Of course, he had servants, but he paid them well and he had never asked them to do anything that might go against their morals. The worst Filton had ever done in his name was spy, as he was so good at it. But to be just another currency to gamble and trade? That made Ember furious.
"My lord? What are you…" Filton began, but Ember was already striding forward.
"Lord Perivale! It is good to see you!" he said in his most positive, welcoming tone, but even he could hear the undercurrent of disgust that always invaded his voice whenever he spoke to the lord in question.
Perivale's head whipped around, and Ember felt some satisfaction at the way his face instantly drained of color at the sight of him.
"Your Grace!" Perivale gasped, beginning to get up from the table.
Ember clamped a hand down on the man's shoulder and forced him back down into the seat.
"No, no, Perivale, don't get up," Ember insisted. He did not remove his hand and instead squeezed the man's shoulder to the point that the lord began to grimace.
"I hear that you have made a very peculiar wager, sir," he continued, "Am I right to believe you have made this wager in an attempt to recoup the money that you owe to the crown?"
Ember saw the lord's throat convulse on a gulp. The trembling beneath his hand told him that Perivale was close to terror.
"I... I could think of no other way, Your Grace," Perivale admitted, his pallid lip quivering as though he were close to tears.
What kind of woman would allow herself to be connected to this sniveling idiot? Ember asked himself, but deep down he knew the answer. His kingdom, the Spring Isle, had been set apart from all other Isles by its traditions. Where most marriages were a case of connection and influence, many of the marriages on the Spring Isle were a consequence of who had the most money. Having been married three times previously, it was safe to assume that Perivale had once been one of the richest men on the isle.