Chapter 1
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Well, at least, this could suck more.
So.
I’ve been kidnapped.
By a faerie man of all things.
Sitting on the plush floor of a gilded bird cage that lies centerpiece and rises to the high, glass ceiling of this vast bedroom, I swallow.
There are no windows in this room apart from the ceiling, which starts far higher than I can hope to reach.
There are no perceivable exits beyond the one this man—this faerie—glided me through moments ago.
That single exit lies beyond him as he sweeps across the tile floor away from me and out of this elaborate bird cage, black robes silent upon the marble.
Without flourish, he tosses the golden door shut, obscuring my view with thin metal bars.
My heart twists as a small key appears between his fingertips, magical and unattainable.
When the lock clicks and the key vanishes just as quickly as it came, the weight of hopelessness settles on top of me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Frelsi, my tiny pixie companion for all of three short months, demands, flying through the space between bars to beat her fists against the fae man’s shoulder. “Let my Dani out of this monstrosity!”
The man waves her off like she’s an annoying bug and focuses his blindfolded attention on me. When a fanged smile crawls over his lips, I drop my gaze.
His eyes turn people to stone. He said that earlier. Earlier, before he brought me through a dark forest filled with gleaming red eyes, up a long path framed in white flowers and violet berries, and into a palace crawling with even more monsters.
Things have…not been going great for me tonight.
After two solid weeks of not dying and—bonus—not being molested, my glorious streak of freedom has come to a horrific end.
“Comfortable?” the man’s silken voice skates across every inch of my exposed flesh.
I tuck my legs a little tighter beneath me, tugging my skirt as far over my thighs as it will go.
Outside the cage, above me, the stars sprinkled in the night sky cast an eerie glow over the shadowy furniture in the large room—including a bed cloaked in a black canopy.
Within the cage, I’m on a plush white rug.
Behind me, hung from golden chains, a large bed rests suspended.
Heart-shaped ivy crawls up those chains, all the way to the top of this elegant prison.
Which, upon further perusal, contains nothing more than a single armoire, the bed, and this rug.
“What, no water bowl?” I ask. “No seeds?”
The man chuckles.
I clutch the fabric of my skirt. “No bathroom?”
All graceful beauty, he directs my attention to an ajar door across from the massive black bed outside the cage in this bleak room. “The bathroom.”
I blink at the slice of ebony counter that is visible. Beyond the bars. Of this cage. I say, “I know you’re blindfolded, but please tell me you see the problem here.”
“Should you have use of the facilities, I will escort you.”
My life has gone majestically from bad to worse, hasn’t it?
Sure, my mother wouldn’t let me keep my toothbrush in the hall bathroom because of the clutter and what will guests think, but at least she let me use the toilet without a chaperone.
Pressing my lips together, I take in a shallow breath, let it out slowly, and get into a more proper kneeling position.
Helplessness has always felt a constant companion, but it has never tasted quite this bitter before. Even while my mother was planning my wedding to that horrible, horrible man…I had options. Not great options, sure. Pretty scary and world up-ending options, actually.
But, still, I used them.
I left everything behind because—for once in my life—the horrors of the familiar were scheduled to twist into something that was worse than the horrors of leaving. I chose the possibility of terrible things over the assurance they were but one wedding away.
Now look where that’s gotten me.
Right here—in a cage with a magic key, in a land disconnected from the reality I have always known, in front of a man whose power radiates off him like a source of heat in the dead of winter—hopeless has an entirely new meaning.
“What do you expect to gain from this?” I ask, hoping the breathless strangle in my words doesn’t pass for a weakness he’ll further exploit or, worse, find amusing.
Manifesting my worries, he drops himself to a knee, reaches between the slender bars of my cage, and latches his hand around my chin. He draws me in with effortless strength, stretching my body toward him, then oh-so-casually, he replies to my question, “You.”
“Me?”
His chin dips in a nod.
What…in the world does that mean?
I am almost too scared to ask.
A chill works its way from his cold hand down my spine. I prompt, “Would you mind elaborating?”
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs.
I am very worried, actually.
His thumb slips across my jaw—tender. “I’ve done my research.”
His…research? On what? Kidnapping people?
Letting me go, he rises, turns his face, and addresses Frelsi on the other side of the room where she’s skipping across his things with an abandon that somewhat stings. “Hatchling, don’t play with what you do not understand. Some of those spells are not entirely stable.”
Notoriously distractable, Frelsi appears to have forgotten I’m going through a crisis. She stops poking around on this man’s dresser and has the audacity to look sheepish when she dives through the bars of this cage to hide in my hair.
I release a sigh as I attempt to scrub off the sensation of the man’s grip on my face with the back of my hand.
All things considered, there are worse casual touches. And having a cage between us right now at least means…
I swallow. Hard.
My attention peruses this blindfolded faerie man, from one broad shoulder to the next.
Cautious, I take in the sharp angles of his face around the thin strip of cloth that protects me from his deadly eyes.
I take in the dignified length of his elven ears and the flowing moon-pale strands of his long hair.
He’s lovely. Like a daydream. Like a misty, starlit night.
If I must be trapped under someone’s whim, there are worse wardens and worse threats than being turned to stone.
As it stands, this faerie man’s blindfold spares me from a lewd gaze similar to the one Rodrick always bestowed upon me.
Just being in the same room as my former betrothed put me on edge, like at any moment he’d snap and hurt me if I turned down his advances.
His hands were always sweaty, hot, and roaming.
In contrast, at least this man’s hands are cool?
Compared to the sickening fear I have known, right now I am numb.
Maybe I’m just tired.
After all, I have been on the run for two weeks, finding the dangerous balance between mooching off people and not getting in trouble. Or recognized. Or found.
Here, wherever here is, my mother can’t reach me.
If my destiny must include belonging to a man I don’t know, maybe this isn’t actually the worst option.
Because, no matter what happens here, there is some solace to be found in the knowledge that at least I’ll not be beneath the thumb of both a man…and my mother.