How to Claim A Shadow King (Wilder Oak Woods #1)

Chapter 1

AVELINE

Knowing something to be true doesn’t mean you have to like it.

For instance, I know that the guard sitting across from me isn’t happy about any of this. Scowling, he stares out the window at the endless rain and expanse of forest like they personally offended his honor.

He’s been assigned to keep me complacent in the back of the carriage, and though he doesn’t particularly like that I’m being sent to the Wild Oak Woods, away from my home of Stormspire, where I’ve lived my entire twenty-seven years as the last royal duchess, he isn’t acting on it.

Knowing he is distraught about where we’re going doesn’t mean I’m pleased with him.

Furthermore, I have always known my spouse would be chosen for me.

It was drilled into me as a small child, then as a willing to please girl of thirteen, but as balls came and went and suitors were rejected by my stepfather en masse… it became clear that whoever I was to wed was not among the usual landed gentry.

I trace my fingernail across the window of the carriage, following the path of the raindrops beading outside as I traipse down the well-trodden path of my thoughts yet again.

All my thoughts lead to one lingering question, one that’s been at the back of my mind nearly my whole life, but now consumes nearly all of my worries.

Who is it that I’m being married off to?

“There are no landed nobles in the Wild Oak Woods?” I ask out loud.

“No, my Lady,” the guard says.

He’s not very good company.

I decide I don’t have to be good company either and slouch in my seat, tugging at the creamy white fabric of my dress.

“We could turn around,” I tell him. “Make a run for it, somewhere my stepfather won’t know—”

“No.” The guard’s reply is curt, and I raise an eyebrow at him, sick to death of the little social-nicety-scripts I’ve been forced to rehearse aloud nearly my whole life.

“Why not?”

“Because my wife is with child and I need the payment from your stepfather.”

“Oh,” I say, because that does, in fact, make perfect sense, then I narrow my eyes at him. “And if I could double it?”

“You can’t.” He shifts in his seat, finally making eye contact with me instead of the endless expanse of wet greenery outside. “Your stepfather has taken my wife to be your mother’s lady’s maid. You cannot offer my family a position, I fear.”

I smile, wishing, not for the first time, that I had something sharper than my teeth to bare. “How thoughtful of him.”

“He’s a right bastard,” the guard grumbles.

A laugh bursts out of me in spite of myself, but I haven’t heard anyone curse in front of me knowingly in years.

“Apologies, my Lady,” the guard says, looking stricken as he realizes he’s called the man who’s been in charge of my life for most of it a bastard.

“Don’t apologize for telling the truth,” I say. It comes out grim, though, because this truth is grim.

“Tell me.” I lean forward on my seat, and the guard fidgets, looking away. “Who is it that I am supposed to marry in the Wild Oak Woods?”

“I don’t know,” the man says, and he looks so upset that I take pity on him and sit back against the bouncing carriage seat.

Which is stupid, because I am the one sent like cattle to a union I know nothing about, in some backwater I know barely more about.

Outside, the forest continues to roll on, and on, and on, the rain a ceaseless patter on the roof and windows.

The hair raises on the back of my neck the longer I stare out the window, my thoughts as troubled and snarled as the brambles tangling up the trees.

I cannot shake the feeling that something is watching us.

Watching me.

And I watch right back, though nothing but green and brown and wet show itself outside.

No sooner have my eyelids begun to feel heavy—the constant swaying of the carriage and the stress pressing on me taking its toll—than the coachman yells out for the horses to stop, the carriage lurching to a stop, nearly tossing me onto the floor.

I suck in a breath and brace my gloved hands against the edge of the seat, blinking away sleep and trying to slow my stampeding heart all at once.

“We’re here,” my guard says unceremoniously, grimacing as he takes me in. He pulls out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, motioning to his mouth before handing it to me.

Oh.

I flush, dabbing it along my own mouth, which is crusted with drool.

Apparently I did manage to fall asleep there at the end.

“I should have left it,” I tell him conversationally, offering the handkerchief back to him. “The spit, I mean. Maybe that would dissuade my betrothed from taking me as a spouse.”

“My Lady, may I speak bluntly?” The guard shakes his head, and I tuck the kerchief into a small leather pouch on my belt.

“Please.”

“You are better off here than you were in Stormspire.”

“I—”

“Your stepfather meant to depose you as soon as your mother’s son came of age.”

“Depose?” I repeat, my nose crinkling.

“By any means necessary.”

My hand goes to the string of pearls around my neck. “He wouldn’t. That absolute rat bas—” I cut off the curse and smooth my hands down my skirt again.

They’re shaking slightly.

The guard gives me a curt nod. “Exactly.”

I heave a sigh, lamenting the hand the fates have dealt me, and then some, as I take in the bustling town all around me.

The rain has stopped, giving way to a sunny day with a few pouty grey clouds low in the sky. It’s picturesque, really, and I perk up slightly at the realization.

“Why haven’t I been here before?” I muse.

The shops that line the street are in mint condition, with expensive glass windows showcasing a world of wares that defied all my expectations for what I assumed was a backwater town.

There’s a bookshop with the adorable name of “The Listening Page,” what looks to be a luxurious jewelry store on the far end of the street, a pastry shop with an adorable striped awning, and quaint lampposts lining the cobblestone streets.

“Ooh,” I say, my eyes widening as a minotaur—no two minotaurs!—trot past, arguing loudly. A green-skinned sylph-like woman flits in between the crowds, and I catch a glimpse of purple as well.

“There are more than humans here?” I murmur, then snap my mouth shut, grateful no one heard the stupid question, because it’s quite obvious there are more than humans here.

My guard’s already opened the door and is standing beside it, waiting for me to descend.

I forgo his proffered hand and hold the heavy cream satin skirts up and make my way out of the carriage myself, then simply stand and take in the village.

The Wild Oak Woods.

Pennants fly overhead in a bevy of colors and patterns, and music drifts across the late afternoon and early evening air.

It feels different here, and I’m caught between hope at the realization that this town is much lovelier than I anticipated and despair that the reason I’m here is to be married off to some stranger.

Lowering my skirts, I stride past the pastry shop window and peek inside. A glass counter dominates one side of the shop, overflowing with pastel confections and tiny iced cakes, and a sign on the door reads that they’re closed for the festival.

“A festival?” I ask, casting a side long glance at my guard. Guards, now, considering the two who rode outside the coach are now following along in my wake.

“Up ahead,” one manages, tilting his head at where the music does indeed seem to be emanating from.

“On with ye,” another says, gesturing for me to keep walking.

I want to glare at him, because I truly hate being told what to do, and it’s obvious that if I want answers about who it is I’m marrying today that I should probably head to where the whole town seems to have coalesced.

“Right,” I say, attempting for cheer and landing on brittle instead. “Why not?”

I shrug a shoulder, and the guards just close ranks around me.

It’s not comforting.

And still, I cannot seem to shake the feeling that someone is watching me—

“Oh!” I gasp. A red fox darts out around the alleyway, disappearing into the crowd ahead. I follow its progress, squinting in the gloaming dark as lanterns flicker on around us.

As we approach, massive tents in a myriad of fall colors loom over the streets, and it’s easy to see many, many hours of work have been put into this day.

Tables overflow with all sorts of food, pies, and roast meats and platters of vegetables. One table is simply cakes of every color and shape imaginable, and a three-tier fountain burbles as people dip ladles into it, filling their cups.

Not just people, either, but creatures of all kinds, creatures that I’ve never laid eyes on in my life, despite my time in the cities near Stormspire.

Minotaurs and sprites and sylphs and tall, elegant human-looking creatures with gently tinted skin and pointed ears that scream of their Fae lineage.

“Elves,” one of my guards mutters, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

A cluster of younger women catch my attention, all speaking rapidly and excitedly, and I can make out their laughter over the sound of the string quartet playing in the corner.

One woman’s her chestnut hair makes her bright eyes all the more intense, and next to her, a male of massive proportions, green skin and muscled beyond all comprehension.

A thrill of surprise and delight makes me shiver.

“Orc,” grates the guard next to me. “Be on your guard, men, we must make sure the duchess is wed this eve—”

“This eve?!” I turn on him, my hands on my hips, and the haughtiest stare I can manage to paste on my face. “Whatever do you mean, this eve? Surely this isn’t my wedding—”

I can’t get the next words out. I clutch at my throat, my eyes wide.

The music stops.

“You have summoned us, and we come to collect,” a voice booms out.

My skin crawls, power—magic, unheard of in my lands—washing over me in an immense and unearthly wave.

I turn, slowly, and it’s like fighting through molasses, to where the voice is coming from.

Three huge figures stand on the dance floor, in front of the clearly terrified musicians. Long black cloaks hide their bodies and faces from view, and an unspeakable horror fills me as the first of them raises a hand.

“It has been a long, long time since mortals have summoned the likes of my brothers and I,” the middle specter’s voice is deep, bell like.

It is not human, not at all, and I swallow as he tugs his hood off.

Antlers jut from his head, arching back.

His eyes are the deep green of primeval forests, mist-covered and ancient.

He straightens, his gaze beyond me, at one of the women who I’d envied for their easy friendship. She pales, stricken, then straightens.

“You request our power, our assistance, at the autumn solstice,” the horned being continues, looking through the crowd like sifting sand. “You call us forth with charms—” his eyes cut back to the woman. “—and the promise of new life.”

He pauses, and the being furthest to the right pulls his hood back, showcasing by far the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—until his face shifts, turning into a desiccated skull.

“With the promise of new life and protection, a pact is drawn. We give our power as the Elder Gods of the Elder Forest—”

“In return for the Witch Brides of Wild Oak Woods.” The third figure pulls his hood down, revealing a swirling maelstrom, a mass of shadows and storms, violent and unpredictable as nature itself.

Eyes like burning embers in a face that constantly shifts.

My breath catches, because under that cloud of smoke, of shadows—I see his face, and I realize I was wrong. This one is the most beautiful of all three. I take a step forward, and time feels sticky as it grabs at me.

“You must prepare your chosen witch brides, or the wild magic of the Elder Forest will overrun Wild Oak Woods,” he continues.

He doesn’t see me.

He should see me.

I can see him. Under that swirling, terrifying facade, that veil of pure darkness, I see his face.

The creature, this Elder God, he finally lifts his gaze past the turmoil of the shadows around him, and our eyes meet.

I know him. The words ring through my skull like a bell I can’t unhear.

“I am promised to the Elder Forest.” The words slip out of my mouth so quietly, so sure, that I hardly remember saying them.

The Elder God raises a hand, and time speeds up, a band stretched too tight.

I’m at his side between one blink and the next.

A strong, muscled arm wraps around my waist. He leans down, and I catch the scent of the forest after the rain, of pine and wet soil and night. “So you are. And you are mine.”

The words are soft, warm against my ear, where no breath has ever been.

He presses me close to his body, and the shadows around him expand.

“Do not let go,” he commands, and I realize belatedly my fingers have curled, unladylike, unbidden, into the strange material of his cloak.

Then I see nothing at all as the world goes dark around us.