by Lexi Ryan
As I throw open the doors to the wardrobe, I realize that I don’t know what I’m looking for. It is—at least in appearance—an ordinary piece of furniture, a place to store clothing. Although I didn’t expect flashing lights spelling out Magic portal! Step this way at midnight to find your sister! I thought there’d be some sign as to how I could use the thing.
Of course there’s nothing remotely obvious. Bakken described the wings for me, but perhaps there’s more than one wardrobe matching that description. What if the queen finally did destroy the portal, and this is nothing more than an ordinary wardrobe?
I open all the drawers and run my hands along the walls and back. No passageway, no hidden compartments or false back. Maybe this is like the portal at the river, and you have to enter and believe.
But enter where? How?
There’s a low, husky laugh behind me that makes me spin around.
I don’t see anyone at first, but then an orb of fae light appears, floating in the air toward me, and a tall, dark-haired male emerges from the shadows. I recognize his silver eyes immediately.
I reach for the dagger I don’t have on my hip. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get into the castle if I had weapons, and against my better judgment, I’d come into this dangerous realm completely unarmed. If I were wise, I would’ve made my first stop at the queen’s armory and then begun my search for the portal. No—if I were wise, I’d have made Bakken tell me how to go directly to the Unseelie Court. If I don’t figure out this portal quickly, I’ll have to hide in this castle a full day before it opens again.
I’m running out of time.
“Did you follow me?” I demand.
“A fascinating human comes to Prince Ronan’s ball and somehow sneaks around the palace undetected—of course I’m following you.”
Not completely undetected, apparently. Not if he followed me here.
“I’m wholly intrigued,” he says, but he doesn’t sound intrigued. He sounds irritated.
I freeze, waiting for him to call the sentries, to lunge for me and drag me to the dungeon—something. But he doesn’t make a move, and I realize belatedly that this male with his silver eyes and dark hair isn’t one of the golden fae nobility. Don’t make bargains or ties with the silver eyes. He’s from the Court of the Moon. “Who are you?”
He chuckles. “I’d ask you the same thing.”
I lift my chin. If he’s not one of the queen’s court, he won’t know that I don’t belong here. “I’m a handmaiden for Queen Arya, sent down here to retrieve something for her.”
Folding his arms, he cocks his head. “You don’t look like any of Queen Arya’s girls.”
“And you’ve met them all?”
“I suppose not.” He looks me over. “But I consider myself familiar with the humans in her court.”
“Perhaps you’re not as knowledgeable as you think.” I know better than to talk back to a faerie. I should run, not speak. And yet I’m drawn to him—something about him calls me to move closer, not run away. Power purrs in my blood, a trace of the same high I felt when we danced.
Why did no one tell me that humans have powers in Faerie?
He smirks, stepping forward, and with just that step I’m too aware of how large he is. He’s dressed in fine black pants and a matching tunic that looks like it’s made of velvet, but his shoulders are broad like a warrior’s. And here I am without any defenses.
You can walk through walls, Brie. You’re not stuck.
And with that mental reassurance, I take a deep breath and let him study me. As if I have nothing to hide.
“If you wanted to pose as one of Arya’s handmaids, you should’ve at least bothered to learn what colors she dresses them in.” I can only interpret the shaking of his chest as a silent chuckle. “Or to know that she’d never take on a handmaiden more beautiful than she is.”
My cheeks heat at that, and I have to fight the urge to look down at myself. I’d half convinced myself that I’d imagined him saying those words when we danced. This gorgeous male thinks I am beautiful? Of course, with Pretha’s magical cosmetics, anyone would look lovelier, but if he wants me to believe he thinks I’m more beautiful than the queen, he must be trying to flatter me. “What do you want?”
“I’d love to know who you are.”
“I’ve just told you.”
“You’re no handmaiden, and I’ve lived long enough to know a thief when I see one.” He shakes his head. “But I can’t figure out what it is you’re trying to steal. What do you think she’s hiding in that wardrobe?”
I fold my arms, not bothering to answer.
“Maybe you’re looking for something we both want,” he says. “Maybe we can help each other. Tell me what you need, beautiful thief.”
My story nearly leaps off my tongue—there’s something charming about this male that would make it easy to tell him whatever he wants to know—but I bite it back. Of course he’s charming. He’s fae. Worse, Unseelie. They’re born with charm and deadly cruelty.
He’s probably powerful enough to compel me to talk, and I can’t risk that. My chest goes tight, my breathing shallow. I feel trapped—pinned under that scrutinizing gaze that seems to miss nothing.
The palace bells ring, and the walls seem to shake with it. Bells.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly midnight.” He meets my gaze. “Somewhere you need to be?”
I look into his eyes, and for a moment I can’t remember why I need to rush away. I’ve never seen eyes like this—silver flecked with white. They’re extraordinary, and they match the rest of him. Captivating. The kind of unexpected beauty that entrances. Dangerous.
The chimes continue. Six. Seven. Eight times.
I stumble back. “I have to go.” Nine. Ten.
His nostrils flare as he draws in a breath. “Let me help you.”
Eleven.
In a panicked rush, I hurl myself into the wardrobe.
Twelve.
I lunge toward the back wall, but I don’t walk through. I fall down—right into a massive ebony four-poster bed in an elegantly appointed bedroom. Around me, half a dozen sentries stand with hands on their blades.
I look around in a panic. Where am I?
A single sentry steps forward. “Abriella Kincaid, come with us. King Mordeus awaits your arrival.”
Chapter Six
MY BODY LOCKS UP IN TERROR. The guards surrounding me are thickly muscled, with curling horns on their heads and forked tongues that dart out every few seconds like a frog’s would. Although I know the beautiful elven fae nobility are just as deadly as any, the sight of these sentries makes me want to run and hide.
I wish I could disappear or become shadow, but any power I had in the queen’s palace eludes me now. A clawed hand closes around my wrist, and I yank my arm away. “Stop!”
“No one makes the king wait.”
“I will speak to him only if I remain unharmed.”
The sentry holding my wrist snorts, unswayed by my threat, and two more like him step forward and grab my other arm.
“Release me.” My bravado turns to panic. “Let me go now, and I promise to follow you.”
Two of the guards exchange a look of amused bafflement. The third laughs and tells the others, “She thinks we trust her.”
Their hands pinch my arms and wrists as they lead me out of the room and down a dimly lit hallway. My panic rises with every turn.
They’re going to take me to the king, and he will throw me into a dungeon. They’re going to enslave me, just as they’ve enslaved so many humans. But worse than knowing that my own life is over is knowing that I failed to rescue Jas.
Suddenly they pull me into a room that is brighter than every hallway we’ve been in before. Globes of light dance high above my head to the rhythm of the music. Faeries of all kinds dance under the moonlight that shines in through a domed glass ceiling.
The Court of the Moon is beautiful beyond imagining, and the gathering before me is no
drunken reverie. I pictured human sacrifices above great bonfires, torture in every corner, and curdling screams of pain. But this? This is a ball, as lovely as the one happening at the golden court, and though the guards escorting me are terrifying, the elven fae in their fine attire are as lovely as the nobility in the queen’s palace.
We enter, and the sentries drag me forward, as if they’ve been awaiting my arrival. The crowd hushes, then parts, revealing a polished ebony throne sitting atop a dais at the opposite end of the room. And standing beside it, his arms crossed, is a male who could be no other than King Mordeus.
Even from across the room I can see his silver eyes. He fixes them on me as I approach. Arrogance and entitlement roll off him in waves. He stands with his legs wide, oozing power and confidence. His dark hair is tied back at the nape of his neck save for two white braids that hang free, framing his sharp jaw and high cheekbones. If it weren’t for the cruelty gleaming in those eyes, I might call him beautiful. But those eyes . . .
A sharp chill runs through me. This is the male who bought my sister as if she were an item to be owned. This is a ruler who will stop at nothing to get what he believes is his.
He holds up a hand, and the music stops. The crowd falls silent. He crooks a finger. “Bring her to me.”
The sentries obey, dragging me to the dais faster than my feet will follow.
“Abriella, the Fire Girl,” the king says, his calculating eyes roaming over me possessively. “No one told me how pretty the human thief is.”
I want to spit and claw at him. This piece of evil may have already hurt Jasalyn—or worse. Maybe he sees that on my face because as the guards shove me forward, he laughs.
I stumble, but when I right myself, a sentry knocks me in the back of the knees, and I slam into the cold marble floor. “You will bow before His Majesty, King of the Shadows, Lord of the Night, Ruler of the Stars.”
Pain radiates up my legs, and when I try to stand, I can’t. Invisible bonds force me to kneel before this wicked king.
Anger flares through me, as hot as the fire from my nightmares. For a beat, darkness floods the room, so thick that nothing is visible in any direction.
I gasp, and it’s gone. Is the king showing off? Trying to prove his power to a lowly human girl?
“Impressive,” the king says, smiling down on me. “So impressive.”
Is he complimenting his own magic? I lift my chin. They can force me to my knees, but I will fight them before I bow to their king.
“They said it couldn’t be done,” the king says. “They said no human could move through the Golden Palace undetected. But I knew. You’re special.”
“Where’s my sister?” My words are but a hiss of steam from the rage that boils inside me.
The king’s smile could be described as nothing but welcoming—the comforting expression of a friend who wants you to know that everything will be okay—but no smile can hide the ice in his eyes. “Your sister is safe. For now.”
“Why do you want her? You’re a faerie king. You can have anyone you choose. There are countless human women who would line up for a chance to be with you.” The fools, I add silently.
I wonder if he hears my thoughts, because he smirks and chuckles quietly. “I don’t want your sister.”
“Then why—”
“I want you.”
I yank against the invisible bonds. “That makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“If you wanted me, why did you buy her?”
“Would you have come to me if I’d asked? Would you have done my bidding if I’d bought your contract instead of hers?” His gleaming eyes lock onto me with such intensity, I feel like he’s studying my soul. “No, a girl like you wouldn’t help me, not even to save her own life. But if you had to help, if your sister’s life depended on it . . .”
“Why would you need my help? You’re a faerie king. I’m a mortal girl.”
“Abriella, even you know you’re far more than that.” He toys with the end of one of his white braids. “You managed to sneak through the golden queen’s castle and wander her hallways. You found her portal and came through undetected. You have impressed even me, the Lord of the Night. I believe you can do a job for me that no one else can.”
“I doubt it,” I spit, then wish I could yank the words back. As long as he has my sister, I’m at his mercy, and he knows it. If this job is the only leverage I have to free Jas, I need him to believe I can do whatever he asks. “I won’t do anything as long as you have my sister prisoner. Send her home and I’ll talk to you about whatever help you need from me.”
“Home? You mean send her back to that moldy cellar beneath the witch’s cottage?” He laughs again, and this time the whole court laughs behind me. I hate them all. “You expect me to believe that if I release your sister, you will give your services freely?”
“You expect me to believe you’ll release her if I help you?”
He nods. “Of course. Yet you don’t have a choice but to believe. I think we can make a deal—a bargain if you will. In return for your services, I’ll let your sister go. I’ll send her home safely. But only after you return what the golden court has stolen.”
“Why not do this job yourself? You’re the all-powerful Lord of the Night.”
He grins, and again I’m rocked by his sinister beauty. “Thank you for the compliment, but I won’t abandon my throne to be an errand boy.”
I nod toward the sentry standing beside me. “Then send one of your guards.”
“This is not a job for a faerie.” He steeples his fingers and taps them together. “Queen Arya’s son is searching for a bride, a human bride. I believe Prince Ronan will find you quite to his liking.”
“What does the prince have to do with—”
He stops my words with a wave of his hand. Literally stops them. I’m moving my mouth, but no words are coming out. I grab my throat and glare at him with all the hate in my heart.
“Tomorrow,” the king continues, “the prince will choose a dozen young women to stay at the Golden Palace as potential brides. You’ll offer yourself as his bride and infiltrate my enemy’s court. While you’re trying to win young Ronan’s hand, you’ll retrieve some of my belongings that the queen has had for a bit too long now.” Another smile. “You will need to win the young prince’s heart and his trust to gain access to the magical artifacts that have been stolen from my court—you must bring all three to me if you want your sister to return home.”
Suddenly the magical gag on my voice is released. A cry slips from my lips before I can stop it. “You’re mad. I don’t know the first thing about winning a faerie’s heart.” And even if I did . . . Shudder. The idea of seducing a faerie makes my stomach churn. “What makes you so sure he’ll choose me out of the hundreds clamoring for the chance?”
The king laughs. “You need to understand that nothing in my realm is a coincidence, human. If you present yourself to the prince, he will do everything in his power to keep you close. He will give you the access you need.”
“I couldn’t even pretend to care for a faerie—”
“Do you want your sister back or not?” he snaps. His smile slips, revealing the fringes of a dangerous temper.
I swallow. “How do I know you even have her? How do I know this isn’t all a trick?”
He pulls a tiny pink swatch of fabric from his pocket and tosses it in front of me. “This is the best I can do.”
I choke back a sob and snatch the scrap of Jas’s sewing smock from the floor. “Let me see her.”
“You want me to trust Elora’s most talented thief with my most valuable possession? I wouldn’t dare. However”—he clasps his hands together and steps forward—“the first artifact you retrieve for me will allow you to see your sister. It’s a magical mirror. In it, you can see whatever you wish.”
“You want me to trust a mirror?”
He arches a brow as if to say, You want me to trust you?
“Let me se
e my sister, and then we can discuss this task you have for me.” What if he doesn’t have her? What if he’s hurting her right now? What if she’s already gone? The thought makes the simmering rage steam in my blood. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get me here, so the least you can do is take me to my sister. This isn’t negotiable.”
“You think you’re in position to negotiate?”
I yank against my invisible bonds again. When they don’t budge, I spit at him. Mordeus’s eyes flash and his nostrils flare. He lifts his open hand in my direction and sends a ball of darkness rolling toward me.
I jerk away from it, but I’m too late. The moment it hits me, I find myself in a brightly lit room that smells faintly of mildew and urine. My thin dress does nothing to insulate me from the ice-cold stone floor, and my teeth chatter as I push to my feet.
Where am I?
There are no windows, no doors. At least none that I can see. Just four stone walls, a stone floor, and blinding light that seems to pour from the ceiling. Does the shadow court use light to torture their prisoners?
Shaking—half with cold, half with rage—I walk the perimeter of the room, pushing against the walls, searching for cracks between stones, anything, but I don’t see a way out.
I wrap my arms around myself and squint against the light as I try to make out a trapdoor above me. This must be some sort of oubliette, but all I can see above me is blinding brightness. “Hello?” My voice echoes off the stone. “Is anyone there?”
No answer.
“I demand to speak with the king!”
No answer.
I kick the wall, and pain lashes through my foot. “Get me out of here!”
No answer.
I stare at my hands, willing them to disappear into shadow the way they did at the castle, but there’s no shadow here. There’s no darkness to hide in or slip through.
I slide down the wall and wrap my arms around my legs. I’m so tired. I haven’t slept since the few hours I got on Nik’s floor before running from Gorst’s men, and a full day has passed since I came through the portal.