The Seven Year King (The Faerie Ring #3) Read Online Free Page B

entry to the palace and Larkin stopped on the top step. “Remove your glamour.”
    Tiki whispered the words and the smell of clover hung rich in the air as her features melted into a different shape. Next to her, Rieker sucked in his breath with a low hiss and his fingers tightened on hers.
    “My god, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.
    Tiki was surprised by the ravage of emotions she saw in his usually unreadable eyes. Her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of his gaze.
    “Focus, William,” Larkin said, a hint of annoyance coloring her tone. “Tara needs to remain undistracted until we get Donegal off the throne.” She leaned close, her words becoming more urgent. “The stone has roared for you and you alone. You are the rightful heir to the Seelie Throne. Demand what is yours.”
    Tiki stared at Larkin. The faerie was always so sure of herself—so powerful. If only she could borrow that confidence long enough to confront the Winter King.
    “Are you ready?”
    Tiki gave a hesitant nod, looking uncertainly at Rieker.
    Rieker squeezed her hand. “She’s ready.”
    “Then follow me.” Larkin whirled and marched toward the lofty entry doors with her shoulders back and her head held high.
    Tiki mimicked her posture. “I am the true queen,” she whispered to herself. “The stone roared for me. The Seelie throne is mine.” But deep inside, she remained unconvinced. Who would possibly believe she was a queen?
    Larkin swept past the guards and down the main hallway into the Great Hall, her gown flowing behind her. It was as Tiki remembered. Vast black and gold fluted columns soared above their heads to support a ceiling filled with macabre paintings. This time Tiki didn’t look at the disturbing contents of the ceiling. Instead, she focused on the black-haired man sitting on a great golden throne in the shape of a dragon at the end of the room. The Winter King. Donegal.
    Black smoke belched from torches that lined the walls, filling the room with the acrid smell of fire and decay. Tiki’s nose curled at the odor. The hall was full of well-dressed people, dancing and cavorting, drinking and celebrating, the sound of bagpipes and reedy flutes filling the air.
    Larkin took a winding path toward the throne, blending with the party-goers. She paused among the last group gathered before the open space that fronted the throne. Guards stood on the four corners around Donegal, their bladed spears held at their sides, razor-sharp daggers hanging from their belts, black eyes scanning the crowd.
    The gaudily dressed Court Jester sat in a relaxed pose next to the throne. The colorful stripes and patterns of his clothing were comical next to the morbid black that Donegal wore. Tiki imagined she could hear the bells jingle on the Jester’s floppy three-point hat as he whispered to the Winter King, who leaned forward with an elbow on his knee. In response to the Jester’s comment, Donegal sat back and laughed out loud.
    When Donegal moved out of the way, Tiki’s gaze riveted on someone in the shadows behind the throne. Dain stood with his wrists shackled, a rope around his neck that doubled as both noose and leash. His handsome face had clearly been beaten. Anger like she’d never known boiled through Tiki’s veins until pure outrage fueled her voice.
    “DONEGAL!” Tiki shouted. Out of the corners of her eyes she saw both Larkin and Rieker jerk around to look at her. The room went quiet in an instant. Even the music screeched to a stop.
    “What are you—” Rieker started.
    Tiki didn’t wait to hear what he was going to say. She seethed with anger as she stomped forward. The crowd fell away to open a pathway straight to Donegal. Tiki lifted her chin, her face set and focused. She was the queen and she was not going to let him harm one more person she loved.
    “I am Tara MacLochlan—” her voice was loud and confident—“QUEEN of the Seelie Court.” As Donegal pushed himself to his feet Tiki pointed at