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Spring, in other words. If the last squeezes of winter would only finish their death throes.
Traditionally, Fair's reign over the Tribe didn't begin until the equinox. A bare 16 turns. But nobody had seen hide nor hair of her opposite since he had disappeared uncountable moons ago. They had made the arrangement for a reason, and the missing monarch's cruelty was unfortunately well suited for the lean seasons, but with his death looking more and more likely, Fair would need to name a successor among the Unseelie.
This would have been an easier task, if he had left any living heirs.
It would need to be done soon. The successor must have time to rally and prepare. Seeing their folk alive through the winter was no easy task, and the Unseelie had grown increasingly...unruly.
Today was brisk, but Fair had dismissed her attendants and found a patch of sun and a warm rock to take a brief respite from her responsibilities. It was on this subject her mind was turning.