“May I?” he asks, his eyes suddenly darker. I nod and cast an apologetic gaze on Gale, who stands there, his hands balled into fists, knuckles white. His lips are drawn into a polite smile, but there is tension in his posture as if he’s restraining himself not to do something foolish. Completely oblivious or uncaring about the distress he has just caused, Aeidas hand lands on the small of my back and pulls me in closely, a gesture so rough and claiming that it draws murmurs from the spectators. Butterflies flutter in my stomach; no, those are no butterflies—those are moths with thick black wings, threatening to tear my guts apart.
It is the wine.
It is the wine, not him.
“I’ve seen the little scene you made,” he says softly, tucking some loose strands behind my ear. “Are some of my courtiers giving you trouble?” There it is again, that snarl in his voice, making the hairs on my nape rise.
“Nothing I cannot handle,” I answer carelessly, grateful for the conversation that provides some distraction to the reactions of my insidious body to his proximity. My palm rests on his pecs, close to where Sorcia’s fingers lingered just a minute ago.
“I see you’re not shy to display our Ancestral mark, Your Majesty,” I say bitterly, suddenly irritated by the memory of the arrogant female.
“It’s a reminder of what is lost, Talysse. A reminder of what needs to be done,” he answers cryptically.
“You speak as if you regret the Hex,” our hips are so close that heavy, sleek warmth is crawling down my spine, “yet the Unseelie are the ones who profit the most from it. You are the undisputed rulers of this world, and everyone depends on your mages to protect them.” He slides his thigh between mine and guides my body to a graceful arch. The feeling of his hard leg muscles, clad in soft velvet against my already slick center, nearly draws a moan.
“I will not deny it.” He takes my fingers and swirls me, then pulls me in, my backside firmly pressed against him. “The Hex gives us control, yet there might be some among us who seek change.”
“And yet you’re participating in these Trials, hunting down humans with magic? Humans who could protect cities and trading caravans?” His hands are on my waist, and he lifts me, swirling me around, then lets me slowly glide down the rugged plane of his body.
“The reasons to participate in the Trials are my own, Talysse, and I’d watch my tongue if I were you,” he rumbles.
“Sure, I should not forget whom I’m speaking to.” Another swirl, and he’s leaning me over his thigh again, and it’s so damn hard to resist the urge to shamelessly rub myself against him in front of his whole Atos damned court. The crowd of courtiers, watching our dance with curiosity, will be delighted.
“You better not do that,” he breathes in my neck, and suddenly, I think he can read minds.
“Do what?” I ask, drawing some intrigued gazes from the nobles standing around.
“Forget whom you’re speaking to.” The unspoken warning is subtle but stings like a whip. The crowd around us grows, and they’re all listening, eyes shimmering, fangs flashing. Suddenly, it all gets too much. Is it the sweet venom of his presence, the incense smoke burning my eyes, or all the malevolence of this court, but the room starts spinning.
I’m tired and confused. Exhausted of hearing lies and being followed by malevolent eyes all the time.
Elders, I need to get out.
“Aeidas,” the poisonous voice of Sorcia echoes behind me when I stumble away, “care for a dance?”
How convenient that this viper appears now.
Applause erupts when I curtsy and flee the dance floor. There—a door and the shimmer of the Blessed light beyond it. It leads to a wide balcony. The night sky is veiled by the golden glow of protective magic, casting an otherworldly hue over the city at my feet. Below, the Fae capital sprawls across the hillside in a series of terraces, each layer a symphony of gothic spires and domes of black granite, intricately carved and adorned with gold filigree.
The quiet streets meandering between the buildings are glimmering in the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. Winding staircases and arched bridges connect countless terraces, their paths lined with lush flora, the night breeze washing its tender perfume over the city. The gentle hum of arcane energy permeates the air, mingling with the distant sounds of nocturnal life.
Far below, the inhabitants of the city move like shadows, their elegant forms barely discernible in the dim light. I hate to admit it, but the entire town is a mesmerizing blend of shadow and light, of untamed magic and ancient power, an addictive mystery, just like its prince.
The fresh air does its soothing magic, and the light dizziness of the Fae wine is gone. Time to go back or—
Heavy steps echo over the checkered floor, startling me. Looking back, I expect to see Gale or even Aeidas. Instead, steely fingers close around my neck, lifting me clean off my feet.
“You owe me an apology, human,” the courtier I spilled wine on growls. I dig my nails into his fingers, my feet kicking in the air. The lights of the crystal chandeliers of the ballroom—so near and yet too far, spin before my eyes.
Stay calm, Talysse.
Panic has never saved a life.
He’s too far for a kick in the crotch, so Myrtle’s golden move, which has saved me countless times before, is out of the question. The only other option at my hands is my magic.
Get him away from me, I demand from the silvery lake inside me. And it instantly obliges. My fingers shoot out a sweep of arcane force. The Fae prick releases me, landing heavily on his back and sliding on the smooth tiles. Dazzled, he’s shaking his head while I straighten my dress and prepare to go back inside.
“Hopefully, I haven’t caused much of an inconvenience, but I’m afraid you might wish to change again,” I snap when skirting him, but the bastard is fast. He reaches out and grabs my ankle, pulling me down. My skull hits the floor hard, and lights flash before my eyes. In an instant, he’s straddling me, his hands closing around my throat.
