Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
The hardest part about managing this entire scenario is a certain handsome dragon.
I keep my thoughts close to my chest all day, dressing for the final ball, my skirts whispering around my ankles. Tomorrow is the wedding. It will all be over then.
Keir catches sight of me as I walk out into our shared antechamber. The sight of those hungry, hungry eyes makes my stomach drop. I pleaded a headache this morning, but I know he can sense something is wrong.
“How are you feeling?” he murmurs, his gaze sliding slowly over me.
It’s not real.
It can’t be real.
I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Steal the horn. Break the curse. Betray…. My thoughts eddy away into pathetic little undercurrents. It was so much easier when I hadn’t come to know him.
I like him. Too much.
I could love him, if I let myself.
“Nervous,” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Tomorrow is the day we have to kill Mistmark, or else—”
“We’ll break the curse,” he growls, taking my hands between his and warming them. His silky lashes shield his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about Belladonna. You’re right. I can’t kill her. And we can’t kill Mistmark—”
“Somewhat of a conundrum,” I point out.
“But we don’t have to,” he says slowly. “We just have to make it look like he dies.”
My heart goes still.
There’s a ringing silence in my ears.
“What do you mean?” I breathe the words out.
“I’m the Prince of Dreams. I can craft illusions so beautifully they almost seem real. Tomorrow, I’ll simply make it look like Mistmark dies, right in front of everyone. The second Belladonna breaks the curse she’s woven around you, the truth can be revealed.”
I tug my hands free. “Are you going to let Mistmark in on this secret? Or Falion?”
His jaw tightens and he gives an imperceptible shake of his head. “I cannot. They cannot know what sort of powers I have.”
And for him to wield them in front of the entire court is a huge risk.
“What if someone sees?” I hiss. “What if someone guesses what you are?”
“I’ll deal with that if the matter arises.”
“Keir, no. It’s too great a risk.”
“We don’t have another choice,” he says bluntly.
My mouth drops open, but… he’s right. The only other option is to kill Mistmark and—
Kill Mistmark. That’s it.
My stomach falls to my feet. Keir’s right. We just need it to look like Mistmark dies. And I need…. “Fine,” I force the word past my lips. “We’ll play it your way. An illusion to make it look like Mistmark is dead. Break the curse. And then we steal the horn.”
Keir gives a clipped nod and then offers me his arm. “One last ball. Are you ready?”
“For this to all be over.” I rest my hand on the muscled flex of his arm. “Yes.”
And no.
Because once this is over, I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.
* * *
The skies open up as we make our way toward the enormous orangery that stands in the heart of the maze. There are guards along our path, all of them carrying torches. One or two servants have disappeared during the maze this week, and I think Malechus is taking no precautions.
Of course, he’s probably not aware there’s a questing beast lurking within it.
The glasshouse is where the final ball will be taking place, though Malechus hasn’t counted on the weather obeying his commands.
“Under here,” Keir says, tugging me beneath an enormous oak as the winds whip at my skirts.
In the distance, lights gleam within the orangery. Malechus will be there. Mistmark. Belladonna. All of them playing one last game….
Keir peers out to check the skies, as if to see if they’re going to let up long enough for us to make a run across the last stretch of grass. My silvery skirts are already spattered dark gray in patches, and though he shielded me with his coat as we ran, my hair is a mess.
I press a hand to his chest. His heart is beating steadily, but the look he gives me is anything but steady.
And I can’t stop myself from asking, “Why do you want the cauldron so badly?” It can’t be power. He was born a dragon king. According to the stories, he gave most of his power up, gifting it to the cauldron in order to bring peace between the fae and dragonkind.
Keir gave the clearing a savage look, his answer clear. Not here. Not where there were so many listening ears.
“The folly,” I say, tilting my head.
Away from the glasshouse.
Away from the ball.
Away from the politicking and backstabbing, and the tremulous threads of betrayal sweeping me toward a final, treacherous conclusion.
Keir tugs me out from under cover. We run through the rain, my heels sinking into the lawn and rain slicking my gown to my skin. I can’t stop myself from laughing breathlessly.
“This way,” Keir yells, hauling me to the left.
There’s a folly there.
One crafted of scrolled iron and glass. Several fae lanterns hang in the rafters, and wisteria curls its way around the iron. The firefly flicker of light hovers around several bunches of its flowers; Will O’ the Wisps humming like fat bumblebees in the night as they steal nectar from the flowers.
The night is still and humid around us. All the other guests seem to have fled in the direction of the orangery.
We’re alone. In the dark.
Alone and somehow, I’ve never felt more vulnerable.
Rain glides down the glass ceiling above us. A Will O’ the Wisp drifts past Keir’s shoulder, highlighting the stark planes of his cheekbones and those hungry eyes. His black lashes are clumped together with the wet, and the effect only makes those amber pupils more hypnotic.
Hunger darkens his eyes.
He traces the glyphs marked into my arm with his magic, and as his finger strokes down my clammy skin I shiver. Each rune is the promise of a single day that I owe him. A year and a day of service. Every morning I wake there’s one less rune.
And maybe I’m a fool, because there’s a little part of me that mourns their loss.
Once they’re gone, he’ll be out of my life.
A complication I never wanted.
A dream I don’t dare dream.
As though it has a mind of its own, my hand lifts to his cheek, palm scraping over the roughened stubble of his jaw. His hyphen mouth rarely shows softness, but as his lips part I’m caught in the yearning that fills his gaze.
Neither of us dares exhale.
“Tell me what you’re hiding from.” His voice roughens. “Tell me why you won’t give yourself to me fully. I know you want me. I can feel it in every breath you take, in every look you give me…. But something holds you back. Who? What?”
The words shatter the spell he wove.
Here I was, thinking about how that mouth would taste and his entire focus is upon unearthing my secret.
You’re such a fucking fool for him….
I turn away, scraping the wet hair from my temples. “I told you….”
“Nothing,” he grates out, stalking after me. “You’ve told me nothing. All I know is that you were working for the Wraith King, and you’re still working for him.” His face darkens. “You have no intention of leaving his court, do you?”
It’s not as simple as that. My soul…. “I’m not fae, Keir.” I hold up my hands, letting the faint illumination spill through me. Suddenly I’m the firefly in the night, a pearlescent glow. “I don’t belong here. I’ll never belong here and you—”
“You belong with me.” There’s a dangerous edge to his expression as he steps closer. Every inch of his shirt clings to his skin, lovingly caressing the hard muscles of his chest. “You are mine, Mira. You said you were mine.”
Those words…. They do their own sort of damage. And the worst thing is, for a second I want it. I want to lean into him, let him claim me.
But if I do that, then I’m nothing more than another pawn.
He will own me, the same way my father does.
“Did you ever think that maybe I want to belong to myself?” I snap, shoving at his chest. He doesn’t move an inch, and it feels like slamming up against a stone wall.
Inexorable. I push against his chest again.
Again. Until he captures my wrists and shackles them there, forcing my fingers wide.
A shiver runs through me. “I’ve never had true freedom.
” I look up, into shockingly bright eyes.
“Even now, I can’t escape you until you allow me to. ”
A hand locks around my nape and then he’s hauling me toward him. I spin into his arms as his mouth locks over mine.
Claimed.
A gasp escapes me.
It’s a kiss forged of desperation and fury.
A kiss designed to punish. I can taste his anger and his unspoken demand in the heated lash of his tongue, in the bruising crush of his mouth.
Mine. The sheer possession inherit in the way he cups my skull speaks its own language, and for a second, just one second, every inch of me yearns to submit to him.
All I want is bare skin under my hands, even if it will cost me.
Even if this one night of bliss will only chew me up and spit me back out into a world where I’m fighting to find my feet again.
Because it will.
This doesn’t exist beyond tomorrow. Soraya’s setting everything in place. She and I have been over the plan so many fucking times that it’s imprinted into my brain.
There’s just this one last fucking obstacle—and that’s the stupid, wretched weakness in my chest. The way my heart skips a beat when his palms skate up my flanks.
Once more, I promise myself. Just one more time. He’ll never forgive me, but maybe I can give him this. Maybe I can steal just a moment of happiness for myself. No pros. No cons. Just pleasure.
The moment his tongue strokes against mine, all of the defiance melts out of me.
Fuck the gods. Fuck my father. Fuck this entire bloody situation.
I just want him.
“Mira.” It’s a breath. A curse. A plea. And I can’t help thinking that maybe he’s as trapped in this moment as I am. “Mira, what do you want?”
“You.” I kiss him hard. “Everything.” And then I’m laughing against his mouth. A bitter, wretched sound that cleaves my heart in two. “Everything that I can’t have.”