The sight made me claustrophobic. Next to me, Kyla let out a growl so low it was almost soundless, but the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
“Keep your shit together,” I hissed, and the growl cut off suddenly as she took a deep breath and nodded.
There were probably five or six hundred people in the room, and they quieted as we walked down the long aisle. Halfway down, my eyes met the gaze of seelie guy I’d seen around Meredith’s bar a few times. “I know you,” he purred, his gaze falling to my arm. “The bondmate of Samael himself.”
The rest of the room went silent at that, and I ground my teeth.
But the reminder helped. I could get through this. Iwouldget through this, and I’d be a step closer to making sure Samael woke up.
Aubrey had instructed us to keep our gazes down, and it went against all of my instincts as we made it to the throne, both of us dropping into deep curtsies.
It had seemed ridiculous when Enslie had instructed us to practice, and we’d broken into howls of laughter as we learned.
Neither of us was laughing now. The room was silent, and we waited, stuck with our legs bent as the king took us in.
He didn’t say a word, letting us stay in the subservient position. If he thought this would be enough to make us uncomfortable, he’d miscalculated. The werewolf next to me could likely stay in the awkward almost-squat all day, and I worked out enough that I probably had a couple of hours in me.
“Rise,” he ordered.
I lifted my head and stared at the seelie king.
I’d never seen him before. Unlike Finvarra—the unseelie king—who seemed to have plenty of his own plans in our world, Taraghlan kept to himself.
His hair was the color of moonlight. There was no other way to describe it. It wasn’t the white-blonde of Mariam’s, or the silver of Aubrey’s. It was a color so unique that I couldn’t help but stare as it seemed to glow in the sunlight pouring through the windows to our right.
His eyes were so light they seemed almost pearl-colored themselves, and I shivered at the look in them as his gaze swept over Kyla, finally finding my face, where it stayed.
He wore a long white robe embellished with silver and gold, and the crown on his head looked like it was made entirely of crystal—or diamond. Likely, it was a gem unique to the seelie realm. The king leaned back on his throne and watched us coolly.
“Danica Amana,” he said. The silence in the room was so thick I could have hacked at it with my Nim Cub. “And who is your friend?”
“Kyla Hill, Your Majesty.”
Taraghlan gave no indication that he’d even heard her, his eerie eyes still on my face. Distantly, a warning siren sounded up in my mind. He was powerful enough to keep us here as hostages if he wanted. Samael couldn’t do anything about it, and I doubted Ag would march the demons through the portal, ready to wage war against the seelie.
“What is it that you want?” he asked, his body so still he could have been made of ice.
I took a deep, steadying breath. “By now you know what has happened to Samael.”
Silence.
I continued anyway. “I’m aware of the rumors that you have a counter spell for the Spell of Three.”
The tiniest hint of a smile curled one corner of his mouth. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” he said.
Oh, you bastard.
Next to me, Kyla stiffened. We’d already discussed what would happen if this all turned to shit. She’d shift into her wolf form and run like hell. I needed her to get back to the demons, tell them what had happened, and find another way to save Samael.
Fine. While I’d hoped the king would at least admit he had the cure, I wasn’t surprised he was refusing to negotiate with me. I was just the half-demon sleeping with Samael.
So I gave him my sweetest smile. “I heard you’ve been searching for a particular sword,” I murmured.
“Leave,” he said.
I frowned, but movement behind me made me turn. His court was silently filing out of the room, without a single word spoken. Taraghlan’s eyes lingered on someone behind us. “Cellen, you stay.”
A single male wandered over to us, positioning himself next to the king’s throne. He studied me out of cold eyes, and I studied him right back, noting the sword at his hip and the smooth way he’d moved.
