OF ALL THE PEOPLE,demons, whatever he is, to be stuck in close proximity with, he’s the last I’d choose. All I see when I look at him is my father’s necklace disappearing into the shadows. The weight of the day snaps something in me.
I bend down, yank my boot off, and chuck it straight at his stupid head.
It’s something I never would have dared do to the Lord of Westfall. But I’m done scraping and bowing and kowtowing. I left that version of me behind to burn.
Clearly, Prince Draven wasn’t expecting it, but he’s on his feet impossibly fast. I barely register the blaze of golden light in the air, a tarot card of a skull-faced grim reaper flashing, and my boot disappears into shadows. My fury doubles, my vision reddens as I realize I’ve just thrown the last thing my mother gave me away.
I grasp a glass vase off a sideboard just as a portal opens above my head, the boot colliding into my temple. I stagger, clutching the wound in shock.
“You demonic little asshole!” I growl.
He warns, “Don’t!”
I hurl the vase at him anyway. He merely twists his hips, the glass launching past him and shattering in the fireplace. He turns to me with a snarl on his full lips, his mouth open in outrage, as if he hasn’t earned a lick of this fury. He’s earned the whole damn platter.
I grab the next thing I see, a penknife, and this time, when I throw it, he doesn’t try to avoid it. A flash of a card and it turns into a salamander. He brushes it off, where it skitters across the wood floors and jumps happily into the fire.
“I liked that pen knife,” he says humorlessly.
“Then go fetch your new pet,” I snarl.
“That’s not how magic works,” he mocks.
As my fangs slide down, his come out to match, wings spreading high. He truly looks like a beast now. I back into the sideboard, a second vase toppling into my hand.
Draven grits his teeth. “Oh, come on.”
I chuck it at his head, but the vase pauses as if trapped in time. He moves around it, yanking it from thin air, and bears down on me. I’m frozen like a fossil in amber glass.Hedid this to me. I try to break from it, throwing my might behind each movement but I’m stuck in place; panic rises.
He thuds the vase back onto the buffet, his hands moving in constant, furious motions, drawing a combination of cards I can’t make out. My body jerks into motion as if on strings, walking forward like some puppet, plopping into an armchair, a blanket unraveling into ropes that strap me down.
He levels a glare at me. “First rule of starting a fight in another kingdom: don’t start shit until you understand how things work.” He holds up a tarot card of a man hanging upside down, his hand glowing crimson red before he flicks the back of the card. The color dissipates and movement slowly returns to my body. I jerk forward, as if everything I’ve tried to do catches up at the same time.
But he doesn’t release the ropes. He holds up another card, this one of a grim reaper. “Second rule of instigating: use your head.” Shadows open above me. I flinch as my boot drops into my lap.
He stops walking, dropping back onto the couch, his hair less perfect than moments ago, his face a little red. “Then maybe you’d have thought to … I don’t know? Learn how to use the magic we’ve promised to teach youbeforeattempting to murder me for no gods damned reason.”
“No reason? You stole something from me!” I slam against the bonds, but they won’t budge.
“What’re you … oh. Is this all because of that trinket?” Draven’s clearly flummoxed, his head rolling back. He twists his hand, and the shadows reappear, the pendant along with it, cord looped around his deft fingers. “Is this what you want?”
My mouth curls as I look him over, his smug face half cast in shadow, lips lifting in a daring smirk. He’s not in the armor he wore to the Selection, but instead wears a black buttoned shirt, the top undone. Hints of tattoos peek out, including two entangled serpents, one white, one dark.
“That’s mine,” I growl.
He stands, coming around my back. Every part of me seizes, preparing to fight as he leans over me. My necklace is strung between his hands, his breaths coiling at my nape, a caress against my ear. “All you have to say is please.”
I turn to take more of him in, but we’re too close, our breaths sharing the same space.
“Please give it to me.” I meet his eyes. “And I won’t break your pretty fucking nose.”
Draven scoffs, tongue tracing a sharp canine, and I can tell he’s caught between amusement and annoyance. Chewing his lip and whatever retort he looks primed to fling at me, he laces the necklace back in place, drawing it flush against my skin. He crosses to the couch, scooping up his tarot cards he left on the coffee table.
He huffs out a sigh, lazing confidently, arm resting across the back. My glower fades—but only slightly.
“Why didn’t you just let me have it back there?” I ask, eyes narrowed.
“Because you’re not allowed to keep …” He looks me over, and I swear I hear the amendment in whatever he was going to say, his tone adjusting. I’m sure to him a bone pendant necklace is the epitome of peasantry—the very threads along his collar and every button tracing his chest shine in molten gold. He clears his throat. “You can’t hold on to anything that ties you to your past. Whoever you were before means nothing now.”
