I scrunch my nose up at anything with a face, but the fat red berries look especially tempting. Daed notices my interest.
“Eat them,” he says.
I look around for silverware but can not find a single one. “With my hands?” I ask.
“You could try your toes, but it feels a little unseemly for a princess, don’t you think?”
It doesn’t happen often, but when Daed is content, his eyes soften, and the stone gray changes to swirls of silver clouds. A dramatic change from the black-eyed beast whose hands roamed over every inch of my body last night.
I give half a smile as I snatch up a berry and pop it into my waiting mouth. When my teeth break through the firm flesh, the juice bursts in waves of flavour that have my eyes rolling with bliss.
Daed’s teeth graze his bottom lip as he watches me react. “Good, is it?”
I nod as I chew, reaching for another, and that is when Daed takes note of my hand.
“Your bandage,” he says. “It’s gone.” He flips it over, dragging his thumb along where the cut once was, sending a shiver through me. “How is this possible? Not even a scar?”
I want to tell him about the dream—to ask if what happened in his tower was real, or just another trick of my imagination. But before I can speak, his pointed ears prick, his head snapping toward the doorway just as the massive doors swing open. A sudden commotion follows, the air thick with cursing and the scuffle of bodies as the banquet’s latest arrivals force their way through the crowd. Their brashness is jarring amidst the elegance of the gathering, their movements disruptive until they come to an abrupt halt. Their eyes lock onto Daed and me at the table, and the entire room seems to hold its breath.
This house is a ragged lot, their clothes a haphazard mix of worn leather, threadbare linen, and tattered cloaks, all in dark, muted colors. Their hair is wild and unkempt, some having braids that have long since frayed, while others wear loose, tangled waves framing faces marked by scars.
There is a raw, menacing energy about them, an air of barely restrained violence. Their weapons, crude and wicked, hang at their sides and as the Fae male at the head of the group stares at us in silence, I feel the tension rising. His long coat, probably once a rich crimson, is now faded and worn, patched with scraps of dark leather. The coat flares out as he moves, revealing a belt bristling with daggers. It is hard to make out the color of his eyes beneath his unkempt curtain of wavy, dark hair, but I know for certain he is watching me.
Daed does not acknowledge him, instead he pinches a berry between his fingers and tosses it into his mouth.
“Prince Daedalus,” the Fae says, his voice low and gravelly. “Is it true?”
“Is what true, Modok?” Daed sighs, eating another berry.
I feel Modok’s empty eyes burn through me.
“That thisthingis your wife,” he spits with venom.
Daed releases a long, heavy breath and rolls his shoulders. “I would not say such things if I were you.”
He reaches for another berry, but this time Modok grabs him by the wrist. The surrounding guests gasp and fall back a safe distance, as if knowing the consequences of such an action against the Prince of the Sundered Kingdoms.
Daed’s composure shocks me. I already expect Modok’s decapitated head to be rocking side to side beside the sugared yams, but Daed has not moved a muscle, which is even more unnerving.
“House Merrin of Mor’Thravar can not abide such… perversion.”
I notice Daed’s other hand twitch under the table, his fingers writhing as he summons wisps of smoke to work his will. I remember Death Singer, the share size of it, and now I take a step back in case the sword suddenly appears.
“Enough!” Kaelus yells as he descends the dais with Lanneth at his side. “You will release your prince, Modok!”
The Fae from his house swaps glances, and I wonder if they’re weighing up their odds of escaping this dining hall alive if they do not obey the king.
“Now, Modok,” Kaelus repeats, his teeth bared.
Modok grunts and pulls back his hand.
Daed’s jaw clenches as he rubs the skin around his wrist, the smoke he commands slowly fading to nothing. “I have killed for less than that,” he snarls.
Modok glances in my direction, his face twisted with disgust. “This is not right. Mor’Thravar will not fight for a human.”
Kaelus grits his teeth. “Bring your people, Modok. We will discuss this in private.” He taps Daed’s shoulder. “You too.”
Kaelus cuts a path through the guests, his arm linked with Lanneth as they lead Modok and his cronies through the archway of an adjoining room. Daed lingers behind.
