“What do you want for the girl?”
As if I’m property to be bought and sold. My seller the one who hates me the most. But however deep the insult of my worth burns, I’ll endure it to be with my father. Hesitantly I meet Draven’s gaze and to my surprise his fangs have slid down completely, crowding his mouth. His nostrils flare, back straightening, those eyes of his brightening as he looks me up and down. Why does he seem so angry? This should be a win for him. Stomping out whatever delicious thing he was smoking, he walks to my side.
“Rune has been chosen by the World. The only one besides myself blessed with this power.” A muscle feathers in Draven’s jaw as he looks down on Princess Reva, her eyes hardening. What is he doing? “Her cost is too steep for even your deep pockets, princess.”
Are you kidding me?
“Stop your games. Just name your price.” She rolls her eyes.
My father squeezes my shoulder more tightly and my breaths fall short. Draven’s eyes linger on me, and time stands still.
Let me go.
“A life for a life. You want her? You’ll have to take your claws out of me. End our betrothal. It’s the only price worthy of such a loss for our people.” His eyes are as dark as the bottom of a coal shaft, and he won’t look at me any longer.
I cannot believe he’s leveraging my return to my father, possibly my only surviving family member, all for his own greed.Pretentious, privileged prick.Tension charges between us. I swear I want to slip poison into his little imported aioli.
Arrogantly he lifts his chin, running a tongue along those canines as he adds, “Take the terms to your father. He has until Autumn Equinox to decide if he cares more about this betrothal neither of us wants or keeping his promise to his second-in-command.”
“You’re truly a cruel bastard.” Reva’s lip curls.
“It’s a win for both of us.” Draven folds his arms, strong muscles bulging beneath the thin shirt he wears. Reva stomps away, and my father squeezes my arm once, pulling me close.
“I will fix this. Hold on, baby girl.”
My heart shatters at the nickname. He kisses me on the forehead and trails after the seraph princess, the other guards following his lead like a pack of wolves.
The rest of the hall picks up in volume at the seraphs’ disappearance, and it’s only Draven and me in this pocket of the sparring hall, though his guards still linger, separating us from the rest of the space.
I turn on Draven, the corner of his lip curling at the livid look on my face. I want to shove him into the wall at his back, but Iknow that doing so would land me a night in the Boiler. Instead I step toe to toe with him, my finger nearly in his face. From this vantage point, I have a glorious view of the vulnerable slope of his neck, and the smell of vetiver and cedarwood washes over me. His long, silken black hair begs to be grasped, and when his eyes find mine, they spark in violent joy at my fury, slowly churning as if a fire lies in the depths of that indigo.
Commander Soto clears his throat and steps closer to us, but Draven just holds up a hand to halt his interference. “It’s fine—”
“No, it isn’t. Why didn’t you let me go! I’m worth nothing to you,” I whisper furiously.
“I meant what I said. You hold unmatched value in this kingdom. And there is no way in Hells Below my father would ever allowbothusers of the World to leave this kingdom for theirs. The only wayhewould approve it is if I leveraged you in my stead. And your oath of loyalty lies with him, so you will need his approval anyway.” He leans forward, voice curling against the nape of my neck, coiling in my ear, and making me heady. “Curse me if you want, but I just guaranteed you getting what you desire, whether you or your father are capable of seeing that. After all, if there’s one thing the seraph princess despises, it’s being told no. She’ll argue on your behalf, and your father will be even more convincing, wanting to save you from me.”
“You are such an arrogant—”
A sickening crack snatches our attention, and the hall goes silent. Draven pushes through his guards and I slip out after him. Four mats over, a changeling boy with emerald, forest-cursed hair twitches across the ground. My heart catches in my throat as he goes still. Mira stands, dusting off her fighting leggings, blood staining her hands, and she looks around the hall, taking in all the eyes on her.
“Sorry.” She looks to Draven, clearly for approval. From the nonchalant shrug of her shoulders there’s not an apologetic bone in her body. “He was weak. It just happened.”
I can’t stare at his lifeless body anymore or take in the absence of emotion in those pale, open eyes. Prince Draven leaves my side and marches across the room toward Mira, the only movement in the vast hall. She goes white, stepping aside. Draven reaches her, face curled into furious anger, and he swoops down, wings hunched on his back as his hand hovers over the body. His other palm cups the tarot cards holstered to his thigh, and several rise, a golden, spider-webbed orb spanning all around him, Mira, and the dead changeling.
The entire hall holds its breath. I find myself following the path he created, feet soft on the marble floor as if it’s the frozen pond near our old house, my boots soundless like the skates I once wore. Draven continues to pull on the magic of more cards as I draw nearer. I’m mesmerized as the Four of Swords moves to the forefront, the Empress behind it, then Judgment reversed, and finally the World, controlling the rest. His eyes sparkle like the night sky, a wash of deep purples and blacks and golden flecks like stars. The air warps around him, crackling with energy.
The Four of Swords drops to the floor, the outline of the card burning and smoking, and a moment later, the Empress follows, the fiery silhouette of the healer card seared into my eyes. All that’s left is a green acidic smog around them.
The boy’s head turns, and he whispers something to Draven. Chills lace up my spine, sending goose bumps across my skin at his lifeless eyes. This must be dark, twisted magic. A few gasp, relieved, but this close I can tell something’s wrong. He moves like a puppet on strings, not naturally. I cringe when I notice hisneck still bulges with a break. Draven nods, and the boy drops his head back, motionless again. Draven scoops up his cards, his hands flexing at his sides as he stands over the changeling.
Then Draven turns on Mira, growling something into her ear that makes her eyes water. Now, regret seems to be the foundation of her bones. His attention no longer desired. She starts begging, but he just holds up a hand to silence her and leaves.
I’m left in momentary shock, my fists clenching tight enough to leave half-moon cuts along my palms. Action flows into me. I follow Draven out, ignoring the stunned crowd of onlookers.
“Hey! I said hey!” I shout at his muscular back as he throws the doors open wide, exiting into a small courtyard between the sparring gym and dining hall.
The sun is close to setting, and smoke from the volcano casts it in red hues, the sky a wash of amethysts and tangerines. He turns, his brows knitting together as I march right at him.
