He knows Things
I turn to look at the darkening sky outside, and another bolt of lightning
spears the clouds.
Hugging myself, I remember what Darius said all those months ago. I’d
suspected it for a while, and I’d seen it when we’d fought the basilisk.
There are rumors that Talan can not only control dreams, but the weather.
I cock my head. “Tell me, Talan. Why would anyone keep a primal
power a secret? Everyone thinks they’re gone from the world, but you
control the weather, don’t you?”
A flicker of surprise crosses his features. “The weather responds to my
magic. I wouldn’t say I have much control, and if I did, I would most
certainly keep it a secret, just like you tried to hide yours from me.”
“Right, because we both know what happened when you discovered
mine. Now, I’m your plaything.”
His eyes glitter like dark jewels, and his gaze sweeps down my body,
then up again. The dark, velvety feel of his magic wraps around me, making
my pulse race. “Not nearly as much as I’d like you to be.”
I stare up at him. “You and I don’t exactly go together.”
“And yet here we are, the only two people in the world with primal
powers. And I think you like me more than you let on. Even if you know
I’m evil down to my bones, some part of you wants a taste of my poison.
Underneath your pretty little uptight farm girl exterior, you hunger for
chaos. You crave adventure. You want the freedom to make bad decisions.”
His voice drops low, and a dangerous edge slides through his words. “And
what’s a worse decision than me?”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the resonance of his words. After years
of trying to balance my mom’s bank account and make enough rent money
for both of us, sometimes I wanted to break everything. Burn it all down.
“And what led you to that conclusion?”
“You always had to be the
The Bassilix Hunt
Somewhere in the depths of the forest, the basilisk is already hunting us.
Or rather, hunting me.
On his own, Talan would have no problem escaping this creature, but I
keep getting winded, my lungs wheezing. I can fight and throw daggers and
control people’s minds. What I cannot do is run like a Fey. I stopped
sprinting after about ten minutes.
I’m behind Talan. I walk quickly through the dark woods, twigs
snapping under my feet, and try to keep up with the Dream Stalker.
Armed with a bow, Talan prowls with a tiger’s grace. He’s all silence
and shadows, a quiet breeze between the trunks. When he catches my eye,
he doesn’t give the slightest hint of concern about the primordial monster
hunting us.
The fuck have I gotten myself into?
The snow crunches beneath my boots, and the chill seeps through to my
toes. Every breath of frozen air sears my lungs, and my heartbeat pounds in
my ears.
Barren and gnarled tree branches arch toward each other, a twisted, icy
cathedral above our heads. Apart from the sounds of our footfalls, quiet
blankets the forest. The silence is more menacing than noise, and fear
crawls under my skin.
Am I a spy or a prisoner who’s completely lost control of my mission?
As an undercover agent, I should be a manipulator, a puppeteer, influencing
those around me to work for my agenda. Instead, I’m fleeing from a fucking
basilisk so I can marry a man I’ve kissed once, a man I’m also trying to kill.
Worst game of Kiss, Marry, Kill ever.
The cold air pierces my lungs and stings my cheeks.
Part of me wonders if Talan already knows the truth about me. Maybe
this is all a slow torture plan—a punishment to take me apart one piece at a
time until I’m left defenseless before him and confess everything.
My lungs burn, the airways tightening. Of course, I don’t have
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Last stand of a bride who does not want to be married
“Right, then.” Griflet hands us each a hot, steaming mug of tea. “A
royal wedding. Customarily, the gods demand a sacrifice of a dozen wild
boars and the release of five hundred white pigeons. I don’t have any of
those on hand.” He drops down into a wooden chair across from us. Next to
him stands a rough-hewn table strewn with papers.
Talan leans back, utterly relaxed, and drapes one arm over the back of
the sofa. Even seated, his powerful presence dominates the room.
Sometimes, I get the sense that the whole world exists for his entertainment.
“We don’t have time for the boars and birds.” Talan’s deep voice thrums
over my skin. “My father means to arrange for my marriage tomorrow,
whether I’m there or not.”
I clear my throat. Here’s my chance for a delay. “On the other hand, we
can’t afford not to. If Auberon realizes we skipped the boars and the
pigeons, he could pronounce that we aren’t truly married. Surely we want to
follow the ancient traditions for members of the royal family.”
“Five hundred pigeons?” Talan narrows his eyes at me. “Do you have
any idea how long it would take to organize that?”
“Lady Nia is quite right,” Griflet says, gripping his little leather bag like
his life depends on it. “Of course, this is all quite symbolic. We could try to
perform the ritual with something symbolizing the pigeons and the wild
boars.”
“Like what?” Talan asks.
“Well, the intent is a sacrifice. We could, for example, sacrifice some
finely baked biscuits and release a chicken from my coop.”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
Griflet nods wildly. “Yes, yes. I’m always serious when it comes to the
gods. The ancient texts permit me some leeway. It’s about the intent, you
see.”
“Excellent.” Talan runs his tongue over one of his sharp canines. “Let’s
sacrifice the biscuits.”
Griflet
This is more than a mission
I didn’t bring any fresh clothes into the bathroom with me, so I’m
forced to step into the room in my towel. As I walk to the dresser, I can feel
his eyes upon me, though I assume an air of nonchalance. My wet hair drips
down my back and shoulders, dampening the towel, and I yank open a
drawer and grab the first pair of underwear and nightgown I can find. As I
head back to the bathroom, I see Talan pour himself some wine. He’s
making himself at home.
Closing the bathroom door behind me, I discover that I’ve grabbed a
sheer nightgown and a pair of skimpy underwear with black lace around the
waist. The nightgown is also black and utterly transparent, revealing my
nipples through the sheer fabric.
Scanty or not, when I walk out of here, I have to look totally relaxed
and at ease with everything on display. I take a deep breath and imagine that
I’m fully dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.
Opening the bathroom door, I find Talan sitting on my bed, shirtless.
I focus on keeping my shoulders relaxed, my expression serene. But it’s
not what I feel.
Here’s what they don’t teach you in Fey culture lessons when we
practice being at ease with our bodies. They don’t teach you how it will feel
to walk out half-naked in front of possibly the most powerful Fey in the
kingdom, a prince who strikes absolute terror into the hearts of everyone
around him. Or how hard it is to think straight when he’s half-naked, too,
with a body that is perfection itself. Because my brain knows that he’s a
monster, but my pulse is still reacting to the sinuous tattoos of willow
branches that stretch across his finely-cut muscles. I’ve never practiced how
it would feel to walk out like this before a heart-stoppingly beautiful man
whose eyes darken at the sight of me.
His jaw tightens, and that eerie Fey
What did you get into
The torchlight dances in his dark eyes as he stares down at me. “Let’s
start with your name.”
“I’m Severine.”
“No. Your real name.”
“That is my real name.”
He cocks his head, and a lock of ebony hair falls before one of his eyes.
“If I desire, I can wrap you in a dream, girl. And in that dream, you will feel
compelled to say your real name a thousand times. You will say it for days,
for weeks, until you starve half to death, until the word no longer has
meaning. So, let’s try this again. What’s your name?”
Thunder rumbles outside, rattling the diamond-shaped glass panes.
I feel it then, a touch of his velvety power, brushing at the edges of my
mind. Threatening to wrap around me, to envelop my reality. He really will
do it unless I act fast. The shield in my mind isn’t strong enough. There
wasn’t enough time to practice.
Lying works best when it is laced with truth. I can give this evil fucker a
crumb.
I narrow my eyes at him, jaw tightening.
I should be acting like a meek girl, intimidated by the crown prince. But
Raphael’s words still echo in my mind, and the state of his ravaged, tortured
body burns my thoughts like a brand.
“Fine, it’s Nia.” I spit out the words. “Vaillancourt.” My words come
out sharper than they should, while my mind is whirring, making up a story
that would work, that would convince him I’m not worth his time.
“So, Nia. What are you doing here?” His voice is so uncannily familiar,
and the sound of his deep, velvety voice as he speaks my name sends a
strange rush of heat through my blood.
My pulse is racing out of control. Some Fey can hear a heartbeat while
standing nearby. I wonder if he’s one of them.
I lift my chin. “My family and I are tenants on farmland we don’t own.
Raphael
I flip through his thoughts, searching deeper. The prisoner. Does he
know anything about a beautiful, silver-eyed demi-Fey?
The prisoner has been here for some time. Captured in the war with the
humans, but they didn’t put him with the rest of the rabble. He’s too
valuable, for some reason. Doesn’t seem particularly valuable to Cadoc.
Just another half-breed mongrel…
My heart skips a beat. Raphael.
I invade Cadoc’s every thought, sifting through ideas, memories,
everything he knows. I’m ravaging the inside of his skull, grasping the
threads, then pulling the strings to bend him to my will.
Now, Cadoc wonders if the prisoner is literally valuable.
Maybe he’s rich. In fact, he’s probably rich, or they’d leave him with the
rest, right? If Cadoc will just do this tiny thing, just unlock the door, the
prisoner might reward him handsomely. Yes. That’s what he should do.
Odelia will fall back in love with him, and his father will get his job back in
the stables. Cadoc absolutely shouldn’t question this drunk lady more
because she’s a distraction from what’s really important. She’s just a tiny
woman, a drunken musician, not worthy of his notice.
When I withdraw from his mind, he stares at me, dazed. Then, without a
word, he pulls a skeleton key from his belt and opens a door into yet
another torchlit stairwell.
I follow him down a flight of stairs, the air growing staler, like wet earth
and mushrooms.
My heart is pounding as he leads me to another wooden door. He slides
a second key into a rusty lock, turns it twice, and pushes the door open.
I can hardly breathe.
“You,” he says into the darkness. “Get up.”
I step inside, trying to see in the dark.
In the corner of a grimy stone cell sits a shirtless man. For a second, I
almost don’t recognize him. Dirt smears his body, and