“A warm and willing body in your bed tonight,” I say, voice calm, steady, dark with promise.
Let her believe she’s won.
Let her believe it’s real.
Marlayna bites her bottom lip, something fierce, something hungry flickering within her eyes. She craves me. That has never been in question. Long before this night, before the humans took up arms and burned her castle to ash, Marlayna wanted me with the same inevitability that winter longs for the first breath of spring. Had things been different, had fate bent to her will, I have no doubt she would have pursued me as a husband.
If not for two things.
Her Lord husband, Rourke, and the simple, unshakable truth that when I look upon her, I see nothing but a hollow, vapid shell of a female who, for all her vanity, I doubt even casts a reflection in a mirror.
Many believe our long lives to be a gift, but among their cruelties is this: for some of us, with every passing year, we become a little less. A little emptier. I have watched the light drain from the eyes of the immortal, turning them into these exquisite, soulless monsters. That is what I see when I look at Marlayna. A creature of devastating beauty, yes, enough to bring even the strongest of beings to their knees, to make them beg for the privilege of feeling her warmth beneath them.
But for all her flawlessness, all her charm, all her power, she could only ever dream, in a thousand lifetimes, of being even a glimmer of the companion Amara has become in just one.
Marlayna’s lips curl into a wicked smile. “Very well,” she says. “Follow me.” Her eyes flick to my company, her expression flattening with irritation. “And bring your friends before they cause another scene.”
She slips from my arms and turns, hips swaying with deliberate grace as she strides ahead. Her guards part the beaded curtain, heads bowed.
We pass through one by one, but when it’s Tamis’ turn, Marlayna’s guards block his path with a hard shove to the chest.
She glances over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing with disdain as they settle on him.
“This is the Fae who brought you here.”
It is not a question, but an accusation.
I exchange a glance with the others, then meet Tamis’ eyes. Wide, glassy, full of silent pleading.
I shake my head. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
Marlayna arches a brow. “That answer won’t work a second time. If I didn’t know better, Prince, I’d think you were trying to protect him.”
“Why would I?” I sigh, bored. “I don’t care what happens to him.”
“Good.”
She lifts her chin, and the beaded curtain stirs as if it’s alive. It weaves and twists, the strands writhing like serpents, then strikes, coiling around Tamis’ throat. He chokes, clutching at the beads, fighting to tear them free, but he’s powerless. The curtain lifts him into the air, feet kicking, eyes bulging, skin turning a bruised, awful shade of purple.
I move to step forward but I’m met by a wall of muscle, Taramethos guards barring my way.
“Now, now,” Marlayna purrs. “I thought you didn’t care.”
I force myself to look away, to shut out the ugly sounds clawing their way out of Tamis’ throat. It should be easy, once, it would have been. But now... now I feel something dangerously close to regret.
Even through her cruelty, I catch the slight arch of Zyphoro’s back, her eyes flicking between me and Tamis. She knows the cost. Just as well as I do. We’re here for the mirror. Everything else, especially Tamis’s life, is irrelevant.
I shrug and let out a long, exaggerated sigh.
“Do what you want,” I say, voice flat. “But can we speed it up? I’d rather not listen to him gurgle all night.”
Marlayna frowns. With a flick of her fingers, the beads snap back into their decorative form, dropping Tamis to the floor in a heap. He lands hard, coughing and gasping, but alive.
“Well, it’s no fun if I’m the only one enjoying it,” she says.
I force a grin to appease her and give her a slight nod.
She turns and climbs the stairs. But when she notices I haven’t followed, she glances back, her narrowed gaze a silent command.
