Chapter 23
Alora
Karag D?r brought her to an open balcony carved into the mountainside, high above the world.
Wind brushed against Alora’s skin, clean and cool.
A faint moon hung above, casting pale light over distant peaks and jagged valleys cloaked in silver.
It was night now, quiet and still. A veil of stars stretched wide overhead.
The sound of giggles and squealing laughter led her further past a short wall of potted shrubbery. And there he was.
Rune lounged on a velvet settee draped in dark furs, set beneath the shelter of the balcony’s overhang.
He wore a black battle-wrap draped low across his hips, the folds shifting like poured ink with every movement.
His bare chest gleamed beneath a collar of woven gold, heavy with crimson jewels glowing like coals.
Bracers girded his forearms, their gilded edges glinting faintly in the firelight.
A goblet of black stone rested in his hand, half-filled with wine that gleamed like blood.
Around him, beautiful she-demons clustered, draping themselves over his lap, offering him fruits with pale hands, pouring wine into his cup, their laughter sharp and lilting.
Most wore translucent cloth that barely passed for clothing, others were bared entirely in offering.
Their pale hands stroked his arms and chest, looking up at him with pouting red lips, eyes begging lustfully
Alora’s stomach twisted. He had delayed their talk for this? To be fawned over, fed like some indolent king while she sat in her room gnawed with questions?
Her fists clenched at her sides as anger rose to her face. Before she could leave, Karag D?r announced her presence with a low rumble. Rune’s eyes flicked toward her, already gleaming with amusement.
Her stomach sank with the sudden, infuriating realization:
He wanted her to see this.
The air along the balcony rippled and the flames in the braziers flared.
Rune briefly glanced at them then raised his goblet in a mock salute. “Ah, at last. I was beginning to think you would sulk in your chambers all night, wife.”
She gritted her teeth, swallowing the lump of fury in her throat. “We agreed to meet tonight, did we not, husband?”
He smiled, slow and wolfish. “Of course, forgive me.” Then he smacked a demoness sharply on her ass, making her squeal. “Go on, girls. I am done with you for the evening.”
They all whined dramatically, pouting. Every giggle that spilled from their painted mouths scraped her nerves raw. Alora laced her fingers together, fighting the urge to snatch his goblet and throw the wine in his face.
Rune’s gaze flickered to her clenched hands, his smirk deepening. “Leave us.”
This time the command was definite. His adoring flock gathered their belongings and scurried out, laughter echoing behind them like ghostly bells.
Rune patted his lap, grinning. “There, now I am all yours, songbird. There’s no reason to be jealous. Though I quite like the look on you.”
“Spare me the theatrics,” Alora said sharply, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m not jealous. I’m sickened by your rakish behavior and debauchery.”
Rune chuckled, rich and shameless. He rose and circled her slowly, shadows curling beneath his feet like affectionate beasts. “You were sickened, yet you lingered at the door. Maybe a little too long.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I was deciding whether to come in or let them finish feeding you like a spoiled hound.”
He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense, though amusement sparkled in his eyes. “I merely intended to give you time to grow accustomed to your new home. Or would you rather I spent all this restless energy with you?”
His gaze dipped in a way that made her flush.
“I came to discuss,” Alora replied, tone icy, “if you’ve learned anything more about the Sleeping Curse.”
Rune sighed dramatically and turned away, flopping back into the settee like a king exhausted by burdens he never bore.
“Straight to business. No wine? No pleasantries? No lingering glances of forbidden desire? Come now, Alora. Sit. Drink. Talk of curses and conspiracies can wait until after dessert.”
She groaned, rubbing her temples. “You are the most exhausting creature I’ve ever met.”
He laughed, low and dark, the sound curling like smoke. “Oh, you’ve no idea how exhausting I can be.”
Shadows whipped around her in a sudden rush, sweeping her across the balcony and depositing her on his lap. His claws traced her hip, keeping her there.
“One night with me, and you will beg for mercy,” he purred in her ear. “Then curse me when I grant it.”
Her breath caught at the sudden wave of warmth sinking down her neck. She pressed against his chest in an attempt to put space between them. His skin was scorching, muscles like carved stone beneath her palms, and it sent an unwanted tremor through her.
“Release me,” Alora hissed, though her voice faltered with his breath ghosting her ear. She tried to shove back, but his shadows tightened. “I truly cannot withstand you.”
Her pulse betrayed her, skittering fast and traitorous beneath his touch.
She hated that most of all.
Rune grinned, fangs flashing as he dipped closer. “And yet you cannot stay away.”
Alora’s scowl faltered. He had a point there.
She came looking for him first, several times.
The icy wind blew through the balcony, making her shiver. Braziers lit at the snap of his fingers, flames flickering to life with a hiss, casting a warm glow over them.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Now that the chaos had faded and the harem had dispersed, this was the first time they could truly see one another.
Really see.
Alora let her gaze roam over the God of Shadows. This strange, terrifying creature who had touched her, teased her, saved her. He looked unreal, veiled in smoke and silk, his red eyes reflecting the firelight like glowing cinders.
“I am going to ask you a question,” Alora said at last, her voice quiet, trembling at the edges. “And I want you to answer me honestly.”
Rune waited patiently, listening.
Her hands clenched in her skirts, her lungs catching with a held breath. “Did you kill my parents?”
His body stilled. The silence pressed, and her eyes burned with sudden tears.
Somewhere deep in the stone, something answered her grief with a low, aching hum.
“My mother… she went mad after she made a deal with the shadow in the mirror. That’s what she wrote in her journal. She said that the spindle was the key. And that was how I contacted you. So tell me…” Her voice wavered. “Did she break her bargain? Is that why you killed her?”
Rune reached, catching the tear trembling on her lashes. He brushed it free with his thumb, then, never breaking her gaze, lifted it to his lips.
“Alora,” he said softly, “I have made many bargains in my lifetime, and I remember each one. I did not bargain with your mother.”
Alora’s chest sank with painful relief, confusion rushing in its wake. If not Rune, then what had driven her mother to madness?
Perhaps it truly had been due to leaving the Midlands. Most fae needed the Essence found in nature’s magic the way humans needed food to survive. Without it…they died. But why would her mother remain in Argyle if returning home would have saved her?
Alora shook her head fiercely. “How do I know you’re not lying to me? How can I possibly trust you?”
Rune tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his touch uncharacteristically careful.
“My voice can bend will, if I choose. I could make you yield to me. I could make you believe everything I say blindly as you sit enamored at my feet. But I have never spoken such words to you, and I never shall. Every word I give you will be truth. Take this as my vow—sworn in shadow and bone.”
The air rippled.
A silvery sheen shimmered faintly between them, as though his promise itself had been etched into the night.
Her breath shuddered out, some tight part of her chest loosening. Then he had not killed her mother.
“Then what of my father?” she whispered. “At the keep, you looked at him as if you knew he would die.”
Rune’s expression grew wary, shadows flickering across his face. He turned his gaze outward, to the wide and pitiless night. “I am the King of the Netherworld, Alora. I can see when shadows linger over mortals when their time has come. And your father bore the shadow of Death.”
Her throat closed, tears threatening again. “Was it… because of me?”
“No,” he murmured, lifting her chin until she had no choice but to meet the depth of his crimson gaze. “Your father’s life had reached its end, regardless of what brought it.”
The words wrapped around her like a shroud. He hadn’t denied it. Simply shifted the blame to inevitability. Her stomach turned, her thoughts circling like vultures.
What brought his end?
The bargain. The wedding. Her.
Every step that had led her here pressed on her like a weight: her mother’s journal, the spindle, the song in the mirror, her father’s weary eyes when he promised her away. All the threads had bound her path to Rune’s shadow.
Her jaw trembled. Was she nothing more than the rope that had dragged her parents into the dark with her?
But Rune’s vow still carried in the air between them, humming faintly, undeniable. He had sworn he did not bargain with her mother. That much was truth. And yet… the rest was a blur of half-answers, omissions that tasted like smoke on her tongue.
“Rune, am I your prisoner?”
He chuckled. “You are my bride.”
She exhaled sharply. “A bride you keep confined in a dark cave. I need sunlight. I need air. Humans don’t live in the dark.”
“You forget,” Rune said, his voice low and smooth, “you wouldn’t be here if you had not sung my song.”
The words scraped something raw in her chest. She had sung to survive. To save Argyle. To claw hope out of the dark when no one else had listened. It had cost her soul, but she had never consented to spending the rest of her life with him.