Heirs of the Gods

Ch 18: Oh, how the mighty have fallen

"That's what someone with absolutely no sense of social graces would say. Very classy, Aedion." She looked up at him only to catch him peering at her with poorly concealed interest.

"If you value your eyesight, you'll kindly refrain from staring," she said hotly, feeling herself flush.

In such a case where a man stared too brazenly at a lady of the court, said lady would swat him with her fan flirtatiously and pretend at coyness.

If fans were used in Faerie, Ella would have shoved it down Aedion's throat.

Aedion only looked up with an expression of mock affront, "I'm deeply wounded that you would assume such things of me, I am a decent man." His devilish expression was anything but.

"I'm sure you were," she muttered, pink-cheeked and acid. "You impish swine."

Aedion only grinned roguishly, not denying anything.

Ella was denied the pleasure of quipping in more tart replies by the sight of towering double doors, flanked by two footmen who greeted them and opened the large doors to the dining room. This wasn't the usual one they had their meals in every day, this one was grander, no doubt used for entertaining guests.

It was a circular room with high vaulted ceilings towering overhead, illuminated by dozens of candles bathing the room in golden radiance. Enormous windows gave way to a magnificent view of the turbulent, choppy sea. It was probably a stunning vision of beauty in the morning, with the light cascading and the view of the neverending coastline. Now, Ella could hear the crashing of the waves against the sides of the cliff and breathe the briny air wafting through the windows, making the curtains flutter lightly.

The dark wooded table was placed for three, and at the head stood the King.

Ella recalled thinking that Aedion's power rolled off of him like unrelenting waves, strong and physically palpable. Now, she understood why Gidden said this was likely the most powerful King in Faerieland.

If Aedion was a wave, then the King was a tsunami.

He was a statuesque man, everything about him screaming his imperial blood, from his impeccably tailored slate-grey tunic, prominent high cheekbones and brows, to his hair—close-cropped and luminously white as the freshly driven snow. The man was solemn and imposing, regarding them with guarded interest as they approached him.

Ella felt the need to straighten her spine, compelled by the sheer power that poured from him. This man had the regal grace of a ruler, but the stance of a seasoned warrior, his mere presence commanded respect.

"Good evening Callan," Aedion drawled. "Took you long enough to get here, lovely of you to join us."

Her eyes widened and she swallowed a gasp. Did Aedion have a death wish? She couldn't believe he'd have the gall to speak to the King as if he were a chummy old pal. Not only had he addressed him by his first name—no title or honorifics whatsoever—but he'd also mouthed off.

Nobles never referred to each other by private names in public, not even siblings or intimate friends. Certainly not an advisor speaking to a King. It was a shameless breaching of etiquette. Speaking to Harrion in such a way would have been unfathomable, even in private; she could still remember the harsh slaps that left her teeth rattling and her cheeks smarting for days the times she'd decided to mouth off even the slightest bit.

Any underling that had the delusional impulse to do such a thing, in front of guests for the matter, would have found themselves in hell.

Much to her utter astonishment, the King didn't flinch even the slightest bit, nor had he demanded to have Aedion removed for his insolence. Instead, he regarded Aedion with an impassive, only slightly irritated expression that was mostly begrudgingly amused.