by Bec McMaster
“Take the dagger.”
It’s not a suggestion.
I pick it up, feeling the weight of it. Accepting it doesn’t mean I have to go through with anything.
“I’ll consider it,” I say as my hand closes over the hilt of the blade. I catch a glimpse of my mother’s dangerous smile in the reflection as the queen backs away. It wouldn’t surprise me if she made this bargain with this end in mind.
“You have an hour. Get dressed and meet us in the courtyard. We ride for the Hallow. Wear the red.”
Then she’s gone, her metal skirts rasping over the marble.
Leaving me trembling.
I can’t believe she gave me no warning. Or maybe that was deliberate: With a hint of what was to come, I might have been able to flee or outmaneuver this treaty. Now, I don’t have a choice. I can hear the stamp of the guard’s feet as they settle outside my door, and my mother expects me in the courtyard within an hour.
This isn’t merely hesitating to strike a killing blow against a monster.
This is politics, and she will brook no refusal.
But who would I rather face? My mother in a rage or a volatile, dangerous prince who might think me a plaything?
My resolve firms. If he thinks he’s getting a trinket to toy with, then he had best think again.
The prince of the Kingdom of Evernight is Unseelie to his bones, despite the fact he claims to be Seelie. I can’t afford to show him even a hint of my weak underbelly.
And curse my mother, but I’ll be damned to the Underworld if I’ll let her think me her puppet.
I fling the wardrobe open, both the red and the white gowns tumbling in a frothy mess to the floor. Inside the wardrobe, right at the back, is the dress.
It’s like a piece of pure midnight was carved from the sky, diamond stars glittering down its silken length. I don’t know what urged me to have it made. Mother’s right: vibrant colors suit me best. And yet, I’d been unable to think of anything else the moment I saw the material.
Red would be a sign of groveling.
The white is probably what she intended me to wear all along.
But this…. Time to show her I refuse to bow to her whims. This princess has claws. And she’s not afraid to use them.
3
Enormous bonfires dot the hillsides as I make my way across the grassy plains toward the Queensmoot, where the Seelie Alliance will meet for the Lammastide rites.
In the distance, the bonfires glow like a necklet of starfire gems draped around the throat of the nearby mountains. An unbroken chain of Lammastide fires to ward against the thinning of the Veil and protect the realm from the Others who occasionally slip through the portals from the Underworld that open when both worlds pass each other so closely.
All the guards are on edge as we take the portal to the nearby Hallow. It’s the only one in the area, which means every queen—and prince—will be using it. Despite their vigilance, there’s no sign of danger as we step through the circle of standing stones that guards the portal. Power hums through the ley line it’s set upon, setting my teeth on edge, but the night is quiet and dark.
And probably full of surprises.
Andraste waits for us in the circle of lintel stones that guards the portal to the Queensmoot.
She wears black leather from head to toe, with a ruff of raven’s feathers around her throat. That moonlight hair is braided back fiercely, and silver moons drip from her ears. No dress for her. She’s a warrior princess, prepared to hold a sword at someone’s throat if needed. I’m the one dressed up like a gift, though the black silk cape I wear hides my starlight dress. I’m not quite prepared to reveal it just yet.
Curse it. I feel like a peacock, displayed on a platter on the dining table.
“You didn’t tell her.”
My sister doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even move her eyes.
And a thought occurs. “You knew.”
Andraste didn’t need to tell mother about my failure. She’s already won. I’m to be sent as tribute, a sacrifice to peace. The path to being named heir is clear for her without so much as a hint of bloodshed.
It’s so well done, I’d almost clap, if I wasn’t about to be sacrificed.
“It’s not like that,” she finally says. “I—”
“It sounds exactly like that,” I point out with a tight smile. “You’ve won. You barely had to even lift a finger. All that talk about finding another court….”
“Vi—”
“Don’t.” We both know anything that comes from her mouth next is insincere. She can afford to be gracious. “You’re Mother’s heir. That’s all that matters.”
My mouth tastes like ash. What am I going to do? When I return in three months’ time—if I return—what am I coming back to?
It’s unwise for a princess of the blood to remain in another’s court. It creates too many opportunities for politicking nobles. Too many pathways to dissent. I’ll always be a knife held to my sister’s throat unless….
Unless I disappear.
“There are things you don’t know.” She finally looks at me.
More cursed secrets. I’m starting to realize how peripheral I am to Mother’s court. Andraste’s always at her side, whispering in her ear.
“All these little secrets,” I murmur, twitching at my cloak. “It’s starting to make the skin between my shoulder blades tickle.”
Almost as if someone’s already planted a knife there.
“You’ll understand, one day.”
“Oh, I think I understand now.”
Andraste’s gaze drops to the hem of my skirt, and her eyebrows hit her hairline. “You’re not wearing the dress Mother had made for you.”
My fingers brush against the midnight-dark silk that caresses my legs. Tiny pinprick diamonds are woven throughout the fabric, so it seems as though a cloak of pure night clings to my body. “I thought the white lace seemed a touch too virgin sacrifice. This suits me better.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Find it?” Andraste spends most of her time in hunting leathers. I’d have thought fashion would have been the last thing my sister would ever willingly discuss. “I had it made on a whim several weeks ago. It… It seemed a little more fitting for the night. After all, he’s the Prince of Evernight. Therefore, why not wear the dress that makes me resemble the stars?”
The faintest of smiles plays about Andraste’s lips. “Has Mother seen it?”
“Not yet.”
I can’t explain why I withheld the dress. Only a gnawing sense the queen will not approve.
Andraste laughs. “Oh, I can’t wait to see her face when she does. Wait until the last moment to reveal it, or she’ll strip you to your skin.”
The precise thought I’d had. For a second, some of the old camaraderie we’d once shared whispers in the night.
Of course, she’s happy. You won’t be around to block her path to being named princess-heir.
My smile dies on my lips.
Only three minutes separate the pair of us, and from the moment we were birthed into the world, we were inseparable. I remember rolling in the grass with her as children, chasing demi-fey through the trees, stealing into Mother’s chambers and trying on her jewelry and her crowns….
I don’t know where it all went wrong.
I can’t remember a single fight or betrayal that tore us apart. It was a slow creep of realization, I suppose. Leaving childhood behind and realizing my sister was now my competitor.
It was one of my tutors who pointed out the future to me. I’d never wanted the crown. Andraste could have it for all I cared, but my hob tutor had slapped his cane on the desk in front of me one day when I wasn’t paying attention and snapped that if I didn’t focus on my lessons, then my future was bound to be short and inconsequential.
She’d never hurt me, I protested.
But every ball, I’d see the pair of us on display. Nobles would circle around us, and I realized Andraste was maki
ng her own little court.
It soon became clear she was the favorite. The one who began to be seated at Mother’s right hand on the dais. The one who was asked for advice in Mother’s Round Chamber. The doors would close in my face, and I’d see my sister through them, shooting me a sad, apologetic look.
It’s been years since I’ve seen that expression.
The sister I knew is gone, replaced by this hard, implacable woman. Though she wears no crown, the circlet of braids reminds me of a coronet every fucking time I see it.
“You should make the most of it,” she finally says.
“My three months in Evernight?”
“Yes.”
I give an incredulous laugh. “I think you’ve been drinking too much elderberry wine, sister.”
“Perhaps it won’t be so bad,” she replies, toying with the ring on her finger.
Won’t be so bad? “Which part?” My voice roughens. “The part where I’m handed over to a monster? The part where I have to bargain for both my virtue and my life?” A horrible thought occurs. “Was this your idea?”
She has the ear of the queen, after all.
Andraste flinches. “I-I warned against it. But you know she doesn’t always listen.”
It sounds like the truth.
And I want to believe it so badly….
For a moment, Andraste looks like she wants to tell me something.
Then the queen stalks toward us, surrounded by her advisors and guard. The moment’s lost.
“Are you ready?” she demands of both of us, though I know she’s looking at me.
I can’t help myself.
Some part of me always has to challenge her.
So I step forward and brush the cloak from my shoulders, where it falls in a spill around my skirts.
The queen’s face hardens when she sees the dress. For a second, rage ignites her magic, and glints of pure gold streak through her irises.
Defiance is her least favorite attribute.
But it’s too late now.
I arch a brow in her direction. “I don’t want him thinking how nice the red dress looks against my skin, and the white gives the impression I’m some pure little dove ripe for the plucking. Considering I don’t have any chain mail in my wardrobe, I settled on the least offensive option.”
“Oh, Iskvien.” Her jeweled claws capture my chin, the heat of her magic banking in her eyes. “Why must you always defy me?”
“Because I want to make my own destiny, Mother.”
“You’ve already made it,” she whispers, the claws biting into my skin. Not quite firmly enough to cut, but I’ll have little pinprick bruises on the morrow. “And now, you can lie in your bed and bear the consequences.”
“Mother,” Andraste murmurs.
They share a look, and I hate the fact they’re clearly communicating something I don’t understand.
“Let Vi wear what she likes,” Andraste says. “There are too many witnesses.”
There’s no time for the queen to punish me for the transgression. Trumpets blare, and a malicious whispering wind suddenly springs through the trees, announcing the arrival of another court.
The queen lets me go, her spine straightening. It’s one thing to punish defiance, quite another to have it witnessed by the enemy. And in her world, even if she calls them allies, the other queens are all the enemy.
I breathe a sigh of relief and glance at my sister. It irks to have to say it but… “Thank you,” I mouth.
Andraste gives me a sad little smile.
Time to throw the dice and play the game of my life.
I don’t join the dancing.
There’s nothing to celebrate.
And I can’t stand to remain with my mother’s delegation, watching as she introduces Andraste to envoys and foreign nobles from other courts.
Instead, I grab two glasses of elderberry wine, drain one, and then sip the other as I weave through the gathering.
There has to be some way to escape this trap, though I’m aware that two of my mother’s guards stalk me circumspectively. Running is clearly not an option.
Perhaps the Queen of Aska will take mercy on me and welcome me into her court in exchange for every little secret I know about my mother? Unlikely, though, and my mother would make it her life’s duty to have me assassinated.
Painfully.
I’m running out of options when a shiver trickles down my spine; a sense of trepidation hovering in the air, like the lingering portent of a lightning strike about to detonate.
I turn.
For a second, there’s nothing there but myriad dancing fae.
Then shadows melt together, forming into a tall, masked figure that stalks through the crowd as if it doesn’t exist. It’s as if Kato, the god of death, walks among us. But this is no god, slumbering now in the memories of the fae. This male is carved out of hard, heated flesh and practically poured into black leather. Despite my anxiety, I can’t help noticing the breadth of those shoulders and the powerful flex of his thighs.
The fae of mother’s court flee before him like deer scattering before an approaching predator.
Because that’s exactly what he is.
Even I feel it.
Piercing eyes meet mine through the eyeholes of the mask he wears; a feathered raven’s beak cascading over his brow. Though no crown graces his temples, power drips from him, leaving me with no doubt of whom I face.
Thiago, Prince of Evernight.
Lord of Whispers and Lies. Master of Darkness.
I hadn’t expected the sheer boiling power contained within him, or the shock of anticipation—the feeling that I’d somehow spent my entire life drifting toward this single moment. The sensation punches the breath out of my lungs and sets my heart racing.
I’ve never been afraid of man or immortal, but I feel a moment of trepidation as I realize the black cloak eddying behind him isn’t fabric, but a pair of batlike wings that hint at his impure heritage. He calls himself Seelie, but my mother claims he has impure blood. And the wings betray him, for no Seelie bears the features of a beast.
I blink, and the wings vanish. There’s only a man before me, draped in a black cloak.
But I swear I saw them.
A mirage. Or was it?
Our gazes lock, and I force my spine to straighten. To become steel.
You are an Asturian princess, and you will not yield to the Prince of Evernight.
“Princess,” he says, searching my face with a heated gaze that shivers over my skin like a liquid caress. The way he looks at me makes me feel as though nothing else exists. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
All night, I’m sure.
It’s time to play the game of crowns and prove I can survive anything my mother or the Seelie Alliance can throw at me.
I tip my chin up. “Prince Thiago, you honor us with your presence.”
His gaze drops, the faintest flicker of—is it disappointment?—marring those dangerous eyes. “The pleasure is mine.”
Why, then, do I feel as if I’ve somehow failed some test?
Perhaps he thought I’d be more welcoming.
If so, then he’s a fool.
“I don’t believe pleasure has anything to do with it.”
His eyes sparkle as he lifts my hand to his mouth, his lips ghosting over the back of it. “Yet.”
Oh, so that’s the way he means to play.
I tear my hand free, though I can’t deny a shiver runs down my spine, and the sensation of his caress lingers. “Ever.”
“Did your mother not warn you?” I’ve clearly amused him. “I’ve never met a challenge I’ve failed to surmount.”
“But you’ve never met me before.”
“Haven’t I?” Another mysterious smile. “We’re to spend the next three months together. Be careful with your challenges. I always play to win.”
“Ah, but what precisely are we playing for?”
“Hearts, perhaps.”
It steals a
laugh from me. Oh, he’s so polished, he’s practically gleaming. “You think to steal my heart?”
“I don’t think that at all. I think you’ll give it to me.”
“Never in a thousand years.”
The prince leans closer. “There you go again, Princess. Opposing me. Daring me. I think I’m going to enjoy the next three months. Very much so.”
Of course, he will. He’s the one with the power. “Perhaps. You might regret them instead.”
“Regret meeting you? Never. Dance with me,” he says.
My temper boils. Time to prove I’m no mere pushover. I press my hand to his chest. “But you didn’t say please.”
The faintest of smiles graces his hard mouth. “I never say please.”
I’ve heard that about him too—I can see it in the flex of his jaw, as if a part of him yearns to reach out and take my arm. He’s not the sort of male you deny. A warlord, a conqueror, a prince who stole his kingdom from its rightful heirs.
“Sorry. You don’t own me just yet.”
And then I whirl away into the watching crowd, leaving him staring after me.
4
“A curious choice of words: I don’t own you….”
He finds me within minutes.
I close my eyes, blinking away the afterimage of a bonfire. When I open them, the prince fills my vision. Fire backlights him, shadows cutting harshly against those cheekbones and the playful fullness of his mouth.
The worst part of this entire affair may be the fact that even though he’s my worst nightmare, he looks like he stepped directly from my dreams.
“Midnight,” I tell him. “The exchange happens at midnight. Until then, I’d prefer to be alone.”
I push past, but a hand shackles my wrist.
“Stay,” he whispers, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist. He’s big enough that I feel a little overwhelmed. Every inch of him dwarfs me, and his dangerous beauty holds a lethal grace that intrigues me, just a little.
He has the face of a sinner.
The body of a god.
And the touch of a seducer.
I tear my hand free. “I have little choice in accepting this sham of an alliance and my role in it, but do not ever mistake me for obedient. I will fight you at every turn, and if you dare put your hands on me again, I’ll remove them.”