He tried to hurt me with his words, but I turned them back on him. If I’m to be his consort, then he needs to get used to it. He should’ve picked Lysetta if he wanted an easy time of it. I shrug internally.
“She is paid, my lord.” Brock strides past and gives me a hard look.
“Let’s go.” Solano gestures toward the carriage.
I’m happy to oblige, given the way I’m feeling. If I stay in his scowl much longer, there’s a very real chance I might do something I’ll regret. Even though he’s tense, he helps me into the carriage, his warm hand on mine. But then he slams the door harder than necessary and strides away.
A temperamental king. No surprise there. The high fae enjoy feeling superior, and I suppose they think their emotions take precedence over all others.
I throw a deep emerald pillow against the carriage ceiling.
At least I’ll be protected from that oppressive orb in the sky. I settle as the carriage begins to rock again. I think nasty thoughts at his kingliness, but then I consider the fact that he didn’t have to hire the witch to cast a protection ward over me. I’ve heard plenty of tales about past kings who took changelings to the day realm and let them die. We always assumed those were just stories, but now that I’ve spoken with Grimelda, I realize they’re true. Without a ward, the day realm would be the end of me.
My anger fades as I realize Solano just saved my life. But I keep it on a low simmer. After all, he did steal me from my home to make me his sex slave. That’s definitely not getting him any points with me. But I’ve had worse. All changelings have.
The carriage continues on, the cobblestones making the ride noisier. When we reach the barrier, a thrill of excitement runs through me, though the edges are darkened with dread. Will the sun still burn me, turn my eyes to ash, and bleach my bones?
After a moment, we start moving again, and the odd magic of the barrier rushes through me like I’d just touched one of the shimmering will o’ the wisps.
I close my eyes against the sensation, and the horses around me nicker as they feel it, too. When the sensation begins to fade, some of my tension eases.
Then, I open my eyes and gasp at what I see.
8
Solano
Emma’s leaning so far out of the carriage that I ride closer to make sure she doesn’t tumble down. The day realm’s power flows through me, and I can feel every bit of my magic humming in my veins. As the king of the Daylands, my power grows exponentially when I’m within the realm.
“It’s so colorful.” Her eyes are open wide, taking in every blade of grass, each leaf, each bit of sky. “We don’t have this in the night realm. I mean, we have colors, but they’re all so soft. These are—” She squints as she stares at a bright orange solar flower as we pass. “So intense.”
“Do you like it?” I don’t know why I ask it. It’s not like it matters what she does or doesn’t like. She’s mine now, my consort to do with as I please.
“I can’t tell.”
That’s not the answer I was hoping for.
“I mean, it’s beautiful. But it’s also overwhelming.” She closes her eyes and breathes in. “And so warm here.”
“Not always, the snows to the east grow thick and deep.”
“It snows?” She quirks her head like that doesn’t seem quite right.
“We have clouds just like the night realm. The sun always shines, but we can’t always see it, and some regions are frigid, the sun notwithstanding.” I love watching her, the way she lives and breathes this new discovery. Each look or gasp or sigh amuses me far more than it should. I’m taking pleasure in her pleasure.
“I had no idea.” She shakes her head. “Mama is never going to believe this.” At that, her face falls a bit, and she eases back inside the carriage.
If I were a better, kinder fae, I’d release her from her vow and send her back to her own people. But I’m not. Besides, Brock might rupture something if I broke the agreement with the night realm any further.
“My lord,” Brock calls from behind me. I slow my pace, letting the procession continue up the grassy hill and into the farmlands on the other side.
“How is he?” I match Brock’s pace and look over at Vigel. He’s pale and asleep, the soldier he’s riding with the only thing that keeps him from falling off the horse.
“I fear he’s turning.” Brock grimaces as Vigel groans and turns his head, showing the black poison spreading to his eyes, all the way to his hairline.
“Looks like it.” I sigh. This decision is on me now. The poison has taken hold too deeply, and Vigel won’t wake. He’ll either die or turn and then die. The Daylands are fatal to the seekers, the sun withering them to bone and dust within minutes. They’ve been a scourge on the Nightlands for as long as anyone knows, but their numbers wax and wane. My spies in the Nightlands make frequent reports on them.
“My lord?” Brock’s tone takes on an urgency, one bred from hundreds of years of experience. “He’s turning.”
