Then, as suddenly as it began, it stops.
The light vanishes. The heat disappears. The pain is gone, as if it never existed in the first place.
I hang there in the silks, gasping, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. My body trembles. Sweat drips down my face, stinging my eyes.
Slowly, carefully, I look down at myself.
I expect to see burns and scorched fabric. But there’s nothing. My costume is intact, the sequins still catching the light. My skin is unmarked. I feel…fine.
What just happened?
I untangle myself from the silks, sliding down to the ground on shaking legs. My silk shoes hit the dirt. I stagger, catching myself before I fall.
More screams erupt from the crowd.
But they’re not looking at me.
Every head is turned toward the seating area. People are pointing, shouting, backing away in a wave of movement.
I turn to look.
A fae stands in the middle of the wooden benches. He’s surrounded by empty space as people scramble to get away from him. His tunic is ripped open, torn straight down the middle.
And there, on his bare chest, is a marking. I take a step closer and then another, narrowing my eyes.
I gasp.
It’s an eclipse.
The design is intricate and stunning. A perfect circle of a bright golden sun surrounded by swirling darkness that seems to move beneath his skin like a living shadow. The light and dark intertwine, creating a pattern that’s both beautiful and terrifying.
I’ve heard of this marking. Everyone has.
The fae himself is taller than any man I’ve ever seen, including Rider, our strongman. His shoulders are impossibly broad, his build powerful. His hair is dark, falling past his shoulders in waves. Even from this distance, even in my shocked state, I can see that he’s…beautiful. Striking in a way that makes it hard to stop staring.
He looks stunned. He keeps blinking, looking around like he just woke from a dream. His hands move to his chest, touching the marking there as if he can’t quite believe it’s real. Then they move to his pointed ears. He is frowning heavily. He shakes his head.
“It’s the Shadowfae King!” someone shouts.
“It can’t be,” a lady yells.
“ItisSebastian!” another voice cries out.
“His Majesty the king!”
“The king has returned!”
The words ripple through the crowd like wildfire.
My mind reels. One of the Lost Kings. Here. Now. How?
Even as I think it, I know it’s true. I can feel it. Through that haze of pain, I felt him. I connected with him. I know that I somehow made this happen…or was used…or…
Before I can process any of it, guards pour into the tent. They’re all wearing the dark armor of the Shadowfae. They form a perimeter around the Shadowfae King.
I’m so busy watching them grab him that I don’t even see the guards approaching me as well. More than one from each side.
Two of them grab me by my arms.
