by Lexi Ryan
Turning, he stoops and plucks the bud of an orange day lily from the garden. It blooms in his palm, and I gasp. “I’ve never seen you do that.”
“My mother loves day lilies. When I’d leave you to go home, my best friend would mock me for staring at them. He knew they reminded me of your hair, but in truth they don’t compare.” He tucks the flower into my hair, and I allow myself a beat to close my eyes. The feel of his rough fingertips on the shell of my ear sends a shiver through me. How can I be so greedy for more of his touches—more of these long glances and tenderly spoken words—when Jas needs me?
“You never talked about your family.” I shake my head. “I should have asked more questions.”
“I never gave you the chance.” He adjusts the flower one last time before dropping his hand. “I was raised in privilege and power. And I couldn’t always trust that those around me truly cared.”
This surprises me. Not everyone is lucky enough to be a mage’s apprentice, of course, but any family with significant power would consider the position beneath them. “What kind of power?”
“Ruling power. The kind I’ll be expected to take on myself.” He takes my hand in his and studies my fingers in his palm. The glamour may have sharpened some of his features, but it left his calluses untouched. “Soon.”
Frowning, I curl my fingers, squeezing his fingertips in my palm. “Then why have you been studying to be a mage?”
“The skills are useful, and I . . . In truth, I needed to get away.”
That’s when it clicks. “You weren’t really leaving for another part of your apprenticeship, were you? You were going home.”
He nods and searches my face. “I wanted to ask you to go with me, but I knew you wouldn’t want the life I could offer you.”
My heart soars and aches all at once. “Why would you say that?” Does he think I’d be that picky? Or was it because he knew I’d never leave Jas behind and didn’t think he could take us both?
He blows out a breath. “I still can’t believe she sold her.”
I return my cheek to its resting place on his chest, relishing the feel of his heat and strength. Maybe Sebastian can’t save Jas or protect me from this task I must take on, but there’s something comforting in his embrace. Part of me wants to believe I could put my problems in his capable hands and he would be able to fix everything. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is my fault that I never told you how I feel. And now I’m afraid I’m too late.” His gaze flashes away, and I follow it to see a group of yellow-and-gray-clad guardsmen marching out of the castle. Yellow, I realize, like my dress. One of the queen’s banner colors.
When I look back up at Sebastian, he’s staring at my mouth.
I lift my hand, cupping his jaw in invitation. Slowly—so slowly it’s nearly painful—he lowers his mouth to mine. His lips are soft, but I slide my hand into his hair and the kiss turns searching. Time stutters to a stop. The sun stalls on the horizon, the birds quiet, and the breeze stills in the flowers. Nothing in the world exists but his mouth and mine, and my heart aches as I try to memorize every perfect second. This could be our last kiss.
How can I make another man fall in love with me when I have always been in love with this man?
When he pulls away, my knees are weak and the world comes back into focus too slowly.
“Please forgive me,” he whispers.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” I almost smile. “I’m pretty sure I kissed you.”
“His Royal Highness, Prince Ronan, is needed in the throne room,” a guard says, too near us.
I jerk away to scan the gardens. Is the prince nearby? Did he see me kissing Sebastian? If he did, how will he ever believe I want him?
Foolish and reckless, Brie. Get it together.
But no one is in the garden except Sebastian, the guards, and me. The guards watch Sebastian expectantly, and Sebastian watches me.
“Sir, excuse me,” one of the queen’s garrison says, “but it’s time to go. They await you inside. The selection was to begin hours ago.”
“Tell my mother I will join her shortly.” His voice is tight and sharp, and my muddled brain scrambles to make sense of his words.
The sentinel shifts awkwardly from one leg to another and looks to his fellow guardsmen. “Your Highness—”
Sebastian sets his jaw. “Leave us.”
I’m vaguely aware of the sound of feet marching away on the garden’s flagstone path, but I can’t take my eyes off my friend. I blink at him. “Your mother?” Prince Ronan. They addressed him as Prince Ronan. And Your Highness. “Bash, I don’t understand. What kind of glamour is this? Why do they think you’re the prince?”
He takes my hand and gently squeezes my fingertips. “Because I am.”
I step back, yanking my hand away. “That’s not funny.”
“Brie, listen to me. I couldn’t tell you, not when I knew how you felt about my kind. I wanted to, but—”
“No.” I shake my head wildly. “No, you’re a normal human. You can’t be—”
“Please. Just give me a chance to explain.”
I’ve backed away without realizing it and find myself in the shadow of a willow tree.
“Brie?” He mutters a curse and spins in place. “Abriella? Please.”
I look at my hands, but they’re not there. Somehow I’ve become invisible again—become the shadows, like before.
I don’t question it. I just run. Through the gardens, beyond the castle gates, and into thick fog. My lungs burn and my legs ache, but I don’t stop—not when the landscape changes from the impossible perfection of the palace grounds to something like a ruin, not when my limbs appear again, whatever magic made me invisible falling away. I don’t slow down until the fog is as thick as a storm cloud and the sun is so low in the sky that the last fingers of light barely brush the horizon.
I lean against a broken marble column and sink to the ground. I don’t even realize I’m crying until my cheeks are wet and my breath comes in hiccupping gasps.
He lied to me. He made me believe he was someone he wasn’t.
I was prepared to steal from a spoiled prince. I wouldn’t hesitate to deceive a faerie to save my sister, and I wasn’t the slightest bit concerned about my heart. But Prince Ronan isn’t just a faerie. He’s Sebastian, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to pretend I can forgive him—pretend I want to marry him.
When you meet Prince Ronan, remember that you need him. Hold his trust, or you will be unable to infiltrate his court.
The king’s words from this morning ring in my head. He didn’t tell me to earn the prince’s trust. He told me to hold it. And yesterday he told me that there are no coincidences in Faerie. That’s why he wanted me for this mission. He knows. Somehow, King Mordeus knows about my relationship with Sebastian, and he’s using me because of it.
I don’t know what upsets me more—the idea of hiding my heartache and pretending that Sebastian’s lies are forgivable or the possibility that playing this part with Sebastian might break me in a way I can never come back from.
But what choice do I have? I ran because I panicked, but if I had been thinking clearly, I would have stayed with the prince—used our relationship as a way in. I will give up anything to save Jas. My pride. My heart. My life.
I have to go back. I have to convince Sebastian that I still want him. I push off the ground and brush the tears from my cheeks. Turning around, I step through rubble to find my path back to the palace.
A robed, hooded figure steps out of the fog. I tense until familiar dark eyes meet mine. My shoulders sag, and a soft breeze of relief washes over me, leaving exhaustion in its wake. I know her.
Another figure—tall and menacing, with glowing red eyes that leer at me from under his hood—appears behind her. I open my mouth to warn her, but before I can get out a sound, sleep swallows me whole and I fall to the ground.
Chapter Eight
I’M JOSTLED AWAKE TO FIND myself being
carried over someone’s shoulder like a bag of grain. I bite back a cry of panic and force myself to take three deep breaths to calm my racing heart. Be smart, Brie.
I’m pretty sure I left smart behind the moment I ran from the safety of the Seelie queen’s grounds with no plan and no weapons. And now I’ve been captured.
If I had to guess from the meaty hands on the back of my skirt and the height of my captor alone, it’s a male that carries me. But the woman I saw before I collapsed—she was someone I thought I could trust.
“Get the door,” the male holding me grumbles. “She’ll wake up any minute.”
“Such a brute,” says a melodic voice ahead. Pretha, the beautiful woman who helped me get into the queen’s castle. I know she’s the same person, but she looks different from the woman I stood in line with. She has the same pretty brown eyes and dark hair, but she has sharply pointed ears and that ethereal glow all the noble fae seem to have. “You didn’t have to knock her out,” she says.
“I don’t deal well with hysterical mortals,” the male says as he adjusts me on his shoulder.
The door opens, and loud music pours out. Trying to keep my body loose so my captor won’t know I’m awake, I scan my surroundings as he steps inside. With the exception of the clientele, the tavern isn’t all that different from Gorst’s place in Fairscape. The place reeks of stale beer and is so loud it makes my ears ache. In every direction, couples of all kinds dance together. A lithe sprite with translucent wings and a barely there scrap of dress lets a troll tuck a gold coin between her breasts. A young elf in leather riding gear strokes his burley dance partner’s Mohawk as they grind against each other. Females and males alike dance on the counters, swinging around poles to the crowd’s chorusing approval. A busty fire fae in tight black leather leans against the wall to my left and pinches Pretha’s ass as she passes.
Pretha smacks her hand away. “I’m working,” she shouts.
The male carrying me chuckles. “You might make time for that, Pretha,” he says. “If you don’t, I might. You know what they say about fire fae.”
“You’re such a pig, Kane,” Pretha shouts.
She leads the way through a throng of dancing bodies, then turns suddenly and catches me watching her from under Kane’s arm. “And there’s our girl.” Yes, she looks just like the woman who offered to be my friend, but her ears aren’t the only thing that’s changed. She now has silver webbing tattooed across her forehead. It resembles the cracks of a broken mirror.
With no reason to pretend anymore, I squirm in the giant male’s hold. “Put me down.”
Pretha winks at me, then pushes past two sentries and through a heavy wooden door, revealing a sparsely furnished office illuminated only from the street lanterns outside the windows.
I’m dropped to my feet. As my eyes adjust to the dark room, I finally get a look at the male who was carrying me. Everything about him is terrifying. He’s massive, with broad, muscular shoulders and thickly muscled arms. He stands at least seven feet tall, even taller if you measure the horns that curl toward the back of his head. His eyes are black where the whites should be, with blazing red pupils. His long hair and trim beard are red, and he wears a hoop in one pointed ear.
“I think she likes you, Kane,” Pretha says. “Either that or you’re so ugly you’ve scared her speechless.”
“You found her,” says a deep, melodious voice behind me.
I whip around, drawn to the owner of that voice, and bite back a gasp at the sight of the male before me. He’s lounging on a chaise with one leg stretched long and the other bent at the knee. His dark curls have been tied back like they were in my dream, and he holds a book in his big hands. The office is large, yet he seems to fill it, with his size, with his piercing silver eyes, with his presence.
My captor shoves me forward. I stumble and fall to my knees before a menacing shadow faerie for the second time in as many days.
I hate this place.
“She was running from the castle,” Pretha says.
I glare at her. “You.”
She lifts her robe off the floor and gives a little curtsy. “Abriella, I told you we’d meet again.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want—” She huffs, scanning the space. “Why is it so dark in here?” She snaps her fingers, and the wall sconces around the office blaze to life. “Better.” She turns back to me with a satisfied smile. “I want to help you. Nothing’s changed since yesterday in that regard.”
“You made me think you were a human,” I spit, and there’s more anger in the words than there should be. Pretha was a virtual stranger, but her sin is the same as Sebastian’s, and it feels good to have somewhere to direct the hurt eating at my chest. “You’re a vile liar.”
The male lounging in the chaise laughs. “That’s fresh coming from the human who claimed to be Arya’s handmaiden.”
I narrow my eyes at him. I don’t like that this strange male is showing up again, and I like even less that I dreamed about him.
Nothing in Faerie is coincidence.
“I don’t think she has control of her power,” Pretha says, all grace as she steps toward me and tenderly tucks my hair behind my ears.
I yank away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Or her emotions.” She tears her disapproving gaze away from me to meet the eyes of the male in the chair. “I think she’s actually in love with the golden prince.”
My cheeks go hot. I hate that these faeries are talking about me, speculating about my feelings. “You don’t know anything about me.”
The male in the chair tsks. “Let her be, Pretha. I’ll take it from here.”
Pretha bristles. “Finn—”
Finn. Finally a name for the enigmatic silver-eyed elf.
“Leave us.” The words are softer than the ones he spoke before, but they are full of authority and leave no doubt as to who’s in charge of this little trio.
Pretha tenses, and I know she doesn’t want to obey, but she gives a sharp nod and leaves the office. The horned brute trails behind her.
I watch them go.
“Rough night?” Finn asks me. Such a casual question, as if we’re chatting over tea and his people didn’t knock me unconscious to drag me in here.
I glare at him. “Who are you—other than some Unseelie kidnapper? I hope you realize that no one’s going to pay a ransom for me.”
He arches a dark brow. “Oh? It seems you know more about me than you let on. What else do you know?”
Dangerous. This faerie is dangerous, and I need to stop antagonizing him and focus on getting out of here. “Nothing. I know nothing.”
He lifts his chin. “I’m curious. Why are you so sure I’m Unseelie?”
“Your eyes.”
“What about them?”
“Everyone knows that the Unseelie have silver eyes. Don’t make bargains or ties with the silver eyes,” I say, parroting the rhyme we sang as children. And what a lovely job I’ve done following that age-old wisdom.
He grunts. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You were taught that the entire Unseelie Court has eyes like mine?”
“Don’t they?”
“No. Only very few.” And even as he says it, I think of the sentries at Mordeus’s castle. Did they have silver eyes? I don’t remember. And is Pretha Unseelie? Her eyes are brown. And Kane’s were that creepy black and red.
“Am I free to leave now?”
His eyes go wide in faux innocence. “And where would you go? You aren’t sure you want to return to your friend, even if you do wish you hadn’t been so rash in running away from him.”
I press my lips into a thin line and lift my chin. “You can read my mind?”
His laugh is dark. “No. I don’t need to read your mind to know your worries, though that would be a useful talent. Your emotions are written all over your face. You’re not sure you can play the part Mordeus needs you to.”
What’s his connection to Mor
deus? Is he working for him? “What do you know?”
“Enough.” With a deep breath he unfolds himself from the chair. He crosses the room to a small bar nestled in the corner of the office, and I take advantage of having his back to me to study him. His presence gobbles up the space. But it’s not just his height or his muscular body that gives the effect. Finn has the aura of a leader who commands the attention of everyone around him. I wonder what kind of power he has that he, an Unseelie, can be here in the Seelie Court.
He uncorks a bottle and pours two glasses. The pale yellow liquid bubbles as it hits the glass. My mouth waters at the fruity aroma, but when he turns around again and offers one to me, I shake my head. I can’t imagine any situation where I’d accept wine from a male I just met—hello, stranger danger—but faerie wine? He must think I’m a complete fool.
With a careless shrug he sets my glass on a long table by the windows. As he drinks from his, he closes his eyes. “I understand that your sweet, golden prince hurt your feelings with his deception, but if you truly wish to save your sister, you need to do what Mordeus asks.”
He’d said the same thing in my dream. “You’re Unseelie,” I say. “Of course you want me to help your king.”
“He’s not my king,” he snaps, and the sharp declaration echoes off the office walls. “He will never be my king,” he adds, softer now.
“Why are you in the golden court? I thought the Unseelie weren’t welcome in Seelie territory.”
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll answer that question if you answer one of mine.”
The word deal triggers my defense mechanisms, but I’m too tired and emotionally wrung out to worry about all the ways I could potentially be manipulated by a deal with a faerie. “What’s your question?”
“What do you know about the faerie who gave you your magic?”
I frown. “What magic?”
He takes another sip of his wine and studies me with those mercurial eyes. “I’ll admit that it’s been many years since I’ve ventured to the human realm, but would you have me believe that humans can now walk through walls and turn themselves to shadow?”