Chapter 8
I HEAR THE gathering before I see it. The halls are empty, but the sound of a haunting, twisting tune dances through them, making the shadows gathered in the corners seem thicker. It feels like someone trails us, but when I turn, there’s no one there. I edge closer to Min.
She doesn’t respond until we reach a large set of doors that hum. “Just remember what I told you.” Briefly, she fusses with my hair, then she nods and the doors swing wide.
The noise hits me first. A hundred conversations. Raucous laughter. Wild music I can’t make sense of. It all whips together like a physical force—a breeze that winds around us and tugs us inside.
As if trying to keep up with the odd rhythm of the music, my heart pounds. I press my palm to the belladonna bottle I’ve tucked into my underwear. Still there.
Near the door, someone’s laughing so hard they start coughing, and against the wall, a couple are lost in each other’s arms… though I swear I count six hands sliding under velvet clothing.
I’ve never seen so much velvet, in fact, nor so much satin and chiffon, all made of lustrous silk.
Dark jewels glisten and glitter on hems and at throats.
Shells gleam with iridescence, presented on bracelets and in hairpieces with as much pride as the gemstones.
Pearls and, I realize with a sudden flush of cold, the ivory tone of bones and teeth adorn ears and collars alongside leaves that shimmer with unnatural light.
It takes a moment to register the strangeness of that light in this huge hall. Scintillating from gold to pink to violet to turquoise, the colors merge together and change from one corner of the room to another. They catch in the rafters that arch overhead, leaving shadows that twist and creep.
I’m blinking from them to the kaleidoscope of people before me when the crowd begins to turn. Eyes fix on me. Sharp. Small. Bright. Large. Pale and dark. So many, so different from one another. They prick my skin like the needles some old fraud of a doctor used to let my blood.
One woman with her hair in fine braids and shimmering scales across her cheek and collarbones leans toward her neighbor. “A human? Perhaps His Majesty has reconsidered his position on having them fight to the death.”
The man at her side eyes me, his slitted pupils almost making me stop in my tracks. He scoffs a brief, dismissive laugh. “Well, I won’t be placing any bets on that one.”
Ouch. I bite my lip against the urge to wince. They must know they’re close enough that I can hear. Yet they don’t care. Still, this seems to confirm it’s Min being a bit too nice rather than the king being unusually dickish for the unseelie.
I push a polite smile on my mouth and continue into the crowd of fae.
They undulate around me, never quite touching, but never opening a clear path, either.
I can only ever see a few feet ahead as the fae move like shifting sands.
At one point, I stop mid-step, as before me is a huge, craggy face, its chin at the floor, its hairline somewhere above my head.
My mouth drops open, the careful smile falling away.
How big is this being if that’s just its head?
But as I stare, it moves, expands—the creases around the mouth open up, the heavy brow lifts and the whole thing unfolds, until I’m left blinking at the back of a tall fae who wears a suede cape the same light beige as what I thought was a face.
Was that a trick of the light or true magic? I’ve read hundreds of stories of fae magic and glamour, their illusion and tricks.
Now I walk among them. And my only weapon is a vial of powdered belladonna that I need to keep myself conscious most days.
The king’s diatribe of warnings suddenly makes a lot more sense.
I turn to my side, expecting to find Min, but she’s gone. I wish I could just disappear. The back of my neck prickles, and I remember my false smile.
With that in place, I continue on, my neck twisting this way and that, attention caught by something I’ve never seen before with every turn.
Acrobats balance, barely. Laughing, they tumble and teeter on each other’s shoulders and heads, carrying towers of glasses filled to the brim.
When word of my presence spreads and the audience turns to me rather than the entertainment, they screech with frustration.
Drinks splash. Glasses shatter. No one seems to care.
I push on, not wanting to get into trouble, and find myself near a wall where shadow puppets act out a story.
Except, there’s no sign of a sheet or puppeteer—or any puppets.
The audience is enthralled as a shadow dragon spreads its wings and breathes shadow flame, destroying a town.
Meanwhile, more shadows creep across the stone floor, formless as they feel their way around the audience’s ankles.
As I back away, I meet the gaze of a woman who’s so exquisitely beautiful, I stop in my tracks.
She’s the definition of arresting. Full, red lips.
Crystal-blue eyes. Black hair as rich and shiny as a crow’s wing.
Her pale complexion almost seems to glow with radiance.
Slowly, she smiles, and before I see her canines, the predatory patience of her expression reminds me of just how dangerous she and every other fae in this room is.
I swallow, avert my gaze and press into the crowd. This is meant to be my presentation. I suppose I’m meant to find the king, but how the hells am I meant to find anything in this chaos?
Blood-red hair catches my eye. A group of fae stand together, all tall and perhaps the most beautiful of those gathered, which is saying something.
I once read a story that claimed red hair was rare among the fae, so it’s considered appealing to them. Perhaps the author was mistaken. I count thirteen with that same color—in a room of a few hundred people that doesn’t seem so unusual.
Around them, smaller groups of fae knot together and they’re the few who don’t look in my direction—their gazes keep flitting to the red-haired beauties with distinct looks of admiration. So at least that part must be true.
Taking mental note, I turn in the opposite direction. And that’s when I spot him.
Eyes half-closed, gaze off to one side, ankle resting on his knee, the king looks bored. With a casual flick of his wrist, he swirls the deep berry-red drink so it almost reaches the top of the glass.
I feel it when his attention snaps to me. A subtle shifting of the air, like the press on your ears when you plunge underwater. My pulse speeds—it understands the truth of the fae king. For all he’s pretty to look at, he is just as dangerous as the others.
He takes his time looking me up and down, then flows to his feet.
Gods, I envy the ease of his every move.
The casual grace as he steps down from the dais.
The assurance with which he enters the crowd and knows—just knows it’s going to part for him.
He doesn’t slow for even a second, he simply trusts they will move. And they do.
And they… change.
As he comes closer, eyes never leaving me, the fae’s wild energy calms. Their laughter softens.
Their frenetic, undulating dances shift to something more courtly, with hands pressed together and steps carefully measured as the music finds a steadier beat.
They bend their heads together and murmur, glancing from me to him and back again as if wondering what their king will do when he finds a human in their midst.
My feet have fallen still, I finally realize, and I’m holding my breath. The air prickles with anticipation.
With arms raised, dancers cross the path between us and I lose sight of the king. Just for an instant, but that’s all it takes—once they’re gone, so is he.
The held breath huffs from me, and I search the crowd, but there’s no sign of Drystan. He’s toying with me. He could be an illusion, for all I know.
“Not bad.” A voice in my ear, low and familiar, warm breath tickling.
A gasp tears through me as I spin around and find myself toe-to-toe with the king. “How did you…?”
Slowly, one side of his mouth curls. “Remind me to give Min a raise. She’s outdone herself.”
Despite hating him, I find myself briefly, foolishly soaring. It’s been a long time since anyone complimented my appearance, and although it’s backhanded at best, part of me still enjoys it.
But I can’t help noticing how perfect everyone here is—him included.
My hair is shinier than it was, but it’s still dull compared to theirs.
Only his is a flat black, like it sucks all light from existence.
Even the pallor of his complexion is unearthly and beautiful, like he’s carved from marble rather than made from anything so mundane as flesh and blood.
And yet when he steps into place at my side and slides a hand under the chains to the small of my back, it’s warm and not nearly as hard as stone. “Come.”
My breath catches at the unexpected touch, but I let him lead me through the room as fae melt from our path. Whispers carry on the air, though I can’t see anyone’s lips moving. Their voices layer, so I only catch the odd word or phrase. Unusual. Human… she’s here for… Odd little thing.
“You don’t want me to touch you,” Drystan states softly enough that it’s for my ears only.
Is that true? I don’t like him, no, but like the compliment, it’s been a long while since I’ve been treated as anything more than a daughter, a sister, a patient.
And in this room full of fae all looking at me with varying degrees of curiosity, surprise and spite, a warm hand on my bare skin is not the worst thing.
“I wasn’t expecting it.”
He makes a low, thoughtful sound as we reach the center of the room and he draws us to a halt. “Friends and fiends.” His voice raises above the music and hubbub, and the hall falls quiet. “Meet my future bride and your future queen.”
Where the room was quiet a moment ago, now it’s so absolutely silent it’s deafening.