Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The first chance I get, I steal away through the palace to scope the lay of the land.
It's oddly silent in the lamp lit hallways, and as I slip through them, I silently place myself on the mental map I have of the palace.
Throne room, audience chamber, the gallery, the promenade.
... There has to be a way to the lower floors where the treasury is sure to be. If anyone asks, I'll claim I'm lost.
Laughter echoes from above, startling me.
Apparently the prince is entertaining tonight.
Auditioning, I should say.
He's made it clear he expects to end this entire ruse with a pretty princess by his side, and the entire flock of them is awash with predatory intent.
They look like a herd of flamingoes in their finery, albeit flamingoes with sharp teeth and hidden claws.
Four of them have already formed some sort of alliance—Narcissa and Ismena among them—and they've made two girls cry.
If I had to listen to their whispered malice for the evening, I was going to do something rash.
Like stick a knife in someone.
If I were Prince Keir, I would lock my bedroom doors. One or two of those princesses look desperate to me. And desperate is dangerous.
Stairs beckon ahead of me, leading down into the gloom.
Yes. Here we are. Glancing along the hallway, I find myself alone.
Slipping from shadow to shadow—old habits die hard—I'm almost standing at the top of them when something moves behind me; a whisper of noise, like that of silk rasping over stone.
Spinning around, I stare along the hallway.
Lights flicker in their sconces. Two of them further down the hall have been extinguished, but there's no one there.
A hint of dread trickles inexplicably down my spine, but maybe it's naught more than the thrill of getting caught?
And then a shadow moves, huge and towering. It ripples along the hallway and it moves fast.
Damn it.
Hauling up a fistful of my skirts, I turn and bolt around one of the enormous columns that line the hallways, slamming directly into a firm, hard chest—
Hands immediately lock around my upper arms, and my weight shifts onto the balls of my feet, instinct preparing me to throw him.
And that's when I see his face, hard and implacable.
The perfect straight line of his nose. The cut of those hawkish cheekbones.
The prince himself.
"What are you doing here?" I gasp, because tossing the Lord of the Morning Star, the Master of Chaos, and Lord of Shadows—or was it Secrets?—onto his backside, is probably not the best idea.
One of those dark eyebrows lift. "I should say the same. This is my palace. I'll skulk behind columns if I wish to."
I can't help myself. A smile curves my lips. "Hiding from your flock of pursuers?"
"The question is: What are you doing here?"
I bat my lashes at him. "Hoping to ensnare a certain handsome fae in my web" —his smile widens— "only to have you stumble into it instead."
I make a sound of disgust, and the prince actually laughs.
He lets me go, one thumb stroking the tender inner skin of my elbow, but as his laughter fades, those dark eyes dart over me and I realize he's not fooled. I didn't answer his question, and he knows it.
"I was trying to find the rose gardens," I admit. "They say the palace is beautiful, but the gardens are... another thing entirely. After dinner, I felt the need for some fresh air."
Away from the syrupy sweet threats thrown my way, and the pathetic way some of the princesses have been trying to capture Prince Keir's attention. Calliope chose to stay. I think some part of her enjoys watching them pander to him.
"Then you are going the wrong way," he says.
"Was I?" Oh, the horror.
Prince Keir seems to make some sort of decision. With a dangerous smile, he holds out his hand. "Let me escort you."
This is... not ideal.
"Don't you have princesses to pursue?"
"Perhaps I'm pursuing one, right now?"
For some strange reason, it seems I've caught his attention. Of course. I almost close my eyes and slap my own forehead. I'm the one female not at the gathering tonight. The one female not trying to crawl into his lap.
And he's the typical predatory fae male.
They prefer to be the pursuer, not the pursued.
I just posted an enormous glowing dare above my head.
Perhaps I can scare him off?
"I would just love to explore the gardens with you," I say, in a voice dripping with sweetness, as I accept his arm. "What lady would not care for such delightful, exclusive company?"
It's clear he doesn't quite know what to make of this statement as he leads me toward the gardens. I burble a handful of answers to his vague questions on the way, careful to smile a little too widely, and bat my eyelashes whenever he looks at me.
I'll make him regret this little sojourn.
Fey lanterns glimmer through the trees. Leashed lightning, they call it, and it casts a soft blue glow over everything.
Once again, the shock of his appearance takes my breath.
He towers over me by a good five inches.
His eyes seem laced with silver tonight, instead of their usual gold. Lightning dances in those stormy depths, hinting at the turbulence within, as he watches me. "What do you think? Do the gardens hold up to your expectations?"
We're not talking about gardens.
"The gardens are everything I expected them to be."
"You seem disappointed."
"I'm not. The Court of Dreams is lovely.
" I turn to a rose, and brush my fingers over its satiny petals.
"It's just.... It doesn't feel real, in some way.
Everything's too perfect. There are no blemishes.
No slight imperfections. Did you notice every rose has the exact same number of petals?
And not a single thorn. This is a dreamscape, isn't it? You created this."
As if to prove my point, the golden medallion around his throat winks in the light. "Yes. You do not like it?"
"Of course I like it. It's perfection. But it's not real."
"You're not interested in illusions?" he asks, as he steps closer.
"I'm not interested in lies."
Reaching out, he brushes his hands over my eyes, and I close them. Thumbs caress my eyelids, but it's not merely a sensuous feeling. It feels like he's brushing cobwebs from my eyes.
"Open," he whispers, "and see the truth."
Color drains from the world around us as I blink.
The fine details smudge, the lines blur, and then.
... Then I'm looking at a world of imperfection.
The roses still nod and beckon, but they're no longer uniformly perfect.
Crushed petals roam underfoot. Vines snake up the cracked stone walls that enclose the garden.
It's wild and untamed, and still beautiful.
Perhaps, even more so, for its realness.
"Oh, my," I reply, taking two unsteady steps forward, and trailing my fingers over the petals. "How much of this place was created by you?"
"All of it," he replies, and there's something in his eyes as he looks across the gardens himself. "Haven't you realized why it's so difficult to get into the Court of Dreams? It's not real. It's a world within a world, and I rule it."
"Just as difficult to escape it, I presume?"
His smile holds an edge. "If I will it, yes. It is not merely dreams I can twist."
Nightmares, too.
Wraith's balls. I just walked into a trap. One that can snap closed at any moment.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I stride to the edge of the balcony that juts out from the mountainside. Lush shadowy lands stretch out below. Glittering lights from the town far below. "Am I even really here, or am I asleep in that glade? Is this all in my head?"
Are you in my head?
"Pinch yourself," he suggests.
It's ridiculous, but I do. A flare of pain skitters through my nerves. Real. Some of the tension leeches out of me. If it's real, then I can escape it.
"I've been here over three thousand years, Merisel.
The world has grown more real over time, imprinted with my every thought, my every desire.
" Which would explain the nubile serving girls.
"Even without me, it would still exist. The Court of Dreams has taken on substance over the years.
Weight. These lands are real now, though woven of magic, with pure Chaos as its bedrock. It's an Other World."
Other Worlds are the stuff of legends.
Spun into reality by the dreams of dragons, they're dangerous, alluring places. The dragons are all gone now. Slumbering forever in the stone of the earth. But the worlds remain.
You can reach them only by portal, and you must obey the laws that rule them. Dangerous lands. Dangerous courts. Entering one could cost you your life—or gift you with riches so powerful, you will forever live a blessed life.
And this one no less so, ruled by a prince so powerful he's managed to create it himself.
A shiver runs down my spine. The Dragon's Heart must be even more powerful than I imagined. No mere fae could create something like this.
"Are you trying to avoid me?" he murmurs suddenly. "I noticed you went out of your way to sit at the other end of the table at dinner."
It's the first time I've looked at him since he removed the glamour from my eyes.
Not a damned thing has changed about his face.
Ugh. It was not an illusion.
Why couldn't he have had something lopsided about his smile, or his eyes less luster? "I'm not avoiding you."
His smile stretches as if he senses my displeasure. "Then you have some issue with this face? You rarely look at me."
"No issue. You're definitely the prettiest in all the lands," I say, referencing the old story about a long-shattered court and a magic mirror.
He laughs. But it swiftly fades. "Prettiest?"
Oh, so someone doesn't like that?
"You would make an exceptionally handsome match with the Lady Altrea. Or perhaps, the Princess Ismena. Anyone beholding the pair of you would be blinded by your beauty."
If not by Ismena's venom.
"You do not count yourself among such ranks?"
"A lowly lady like myself does not dare dream."