“Sariah, the mood killer. That should go on my tombstone as well,” she says with a strained laugh.
Her joke doesn’t land as intended, and silence stretches between us for a moment.
“I will not let you die. Neither of you,” I say in a solemn whisper. I’m unsure whether it’s a promise I can uphold, but I would rather sacrifice myself than let anything befall them.
“Right, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Nella says, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “Wouldn’t want to let those vampires wait for you much longer, or who knows what havoc they would wreak around the castle, and I really do not desire to be on cleaning duty on my night off.”
“Those vampires, you say? Look at your lack of etiquette, Nella!” I say in wonder. “I’ve never heard you address Killian in any other way than King before. Sariah must be really rubbing off on you.”
“Oh, Gods, please don’t tell him.” Nella covers her eyes in mortification, just as a bloody mist swirls into existence in the middle of the room.
“Tell me what?” Killian asks with feigned curiosity, as if he hadn’t overheard us. He steps out of his shadows, all polished darkness and lethal beauty. My heart stutters in my chest, against my better judgement.
How can he wear the same variation of an outfit all the time and yet look increasingly sinful?
“What’s with you and knocking?” I ask with raised eyebrows. “You seem to avoid it like the Fae plague. What if I were naked?”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before, little umbra,” Killian says with a grin plastered on his stupidly handsome face. “You seem to forget my nature. Your little plague would have no effect on me.”
“What ifIwere naked then?“ Sariah quips, making Blaise stumble through the bedroom door in the next second. His eyes scan the room hastily before his shoulders slouch and he huffs, “Tease,” under his breath.
“Shall we?” Killian asks with a mock bow, keeping his eyes trained on me, scorching a path along my exposed cleavage with his intense gaze.
Drovillan, dressed in festive colors, is a sight to behold. If I found it breathtaking the first—and only—time I was here, now it slithers under my skin like a thief in the night and steals not only my breath, but my last working brain cells.
I stare dumbfounded, mouth agape, at the gothic spires draped in garlands of crimson dahlias, the bloody red lanterns lighting up the night sky, and the fountains spilling faerie wine from the top instead of water.
The whole city is bathed in an eerie blood moon, casting its menacing glow in waves, as if moonlight is chasing the darkness, not to cast it off, but to embrace it in a lover’s sensual kiss. I watch it glide along the cobblestones, reflect from the shiny surface of the river winding its way through the middle of the city, and caress each human or vampire that walks the boisterous streets.
And Fae.
Thanks to Sariah’s Dark Umbras, Drovillan’s alleys are also filled to the brim with awestruck Fae, taking in the beauty and the promise of sin.
“I never thought I’d see the day…” Killian whispers in my ear as he steps behind me, pressing his chest against my back. I feel the strong ridges of his torso through the layers of clothing between us, and an ice-cold heat seeps into my skin wherever our bodies touch.
I’m rooted to the spot, unsure whether to put some distance between us or revel in the mind-boggling sensation and sink into his embrace instead. Caught between such jarring choices, all I can do is glance his way, at how the reddish moonlight unravels those tightly controlled emotions he keeps hidden behind his obsidian eyes.
“You’ve made this possible, Killian. Surely you know that,” I murmur, lost in the softening edges of his demeanor. There’s a subtle vulnerability in his expression right now that reminds me of another Killian from weeks ago, the one that swore his undying love, the one that was ready to burn the world to ashes in my vindication, the one I single-handedly killed with my lies.
Something shifted between us in those dunes of Reweroth, as much as I’d like to pretend it didn’t. He doesn’t seem to hate me as much anymore, and I almost wish I could trust his change of heart.
“Are you lovebirds going to just sit there and stare at each other all night, or what?” Blaise hollers from a few feet in front, already grabbing a goblet of bloodwine and downing it in one go, followed by a giggling Sariah.
I break into a sprint after them, laughing and twirling to the same imaginary tune as everybody else.
Children are running through the crowds, wearing crimson flower crowns and mock-fighting with wooden swords. Lovers are swirling on the edges, sneaking into back alleys, drunk on faerie wine and lust.
We reach the central square, where the main festivities seem to take place. A large wooden platform occupies the center of the square, and people flock around it, watching the actors on stage.
A human man dressed in black head-to-toe and wearing fake fangs fights against an enemy army; other humans painted completely in crimson surround him like a devious halo.
Killian and his shadows.
He wins the fight and gains his crown, crowds cheering him on as he places the crown askew on his head and proceeds to kiss several maidens one after another.
Then another fight breaks out, another win, another string of meaningless conquests.
They show Ayana and Silvestrus; they show her losing her mind over him and killing herself; the Fae war; all in a slightly obnoxious, cartoonish representation.
