His eyelids fall to half-mast, his claws flexing at his sides. “Yes.”
I gather another breath while one denial after another skids across my mind. But they’re all slippery and half-formed, not solid enough to close my fingers around, much less shape into words.
It’s those teeth of his. Or his mind-boggling size, or his intensity, or the way part of myself curves toward him, despite my efforts to claw it back. But maybe that’s how this works—if we’re mates, then we resonate on some level, regardless of whether I want that or not.
The thought unnerves me, and I rock back on my heels. I won’t let this goblin—thismateof mine—corrupt my thinking. I won’t linger in this place a moment longer than necessary. “This conversation is over. I’m not staying in Velindra, and I just want to go to dinner now. Please.”
The Shadow’s jaw works in silence. After half an eternity, he breaks away from the window. “Fine,” he says. “It’s this way.”
The moment he departs my personal space, my lungs re-expand. I cobble together a semblance of composure and force myself to follow him, one foot after the other.
Still, the exchange stays with me, burrowing into my awareness.I'll catch you. Claim you. Keep you here forever.
I can’t let that happen. Iwon’t. I curl my hand around my pendant, squeezing until the crescent moon’s points dig into my palm. I latch on to the pain, let it ground me.
I’ll go into the Wildwood, survive it, and go home.
Simple.
The king’s Shadow leads me through hallway after hallway. Mossy walls pulse with gentle light as we descend a long, narrow stairway. Raucous laughter drifts up from below.
At the bottom, we emerge into a great hall. I stop, the room stealing what little breath I have left.
The space is enormous, the ceiling fashioned from a canopy of leaves that sparkle with trapped starlight. A long table dominates the center, carved from a single massive piece of wood, its surface polished to a mirror shine. The same delegates that attended the Claiming now sit clustered around it, their cheekbones reflecting the green-and-pink glow that saturatesthis place.
Like Amriel, they’ve shed their armor, and now wear jewel-toned velvets and gossamer silks—rich, luxuriant fabrics that cling to their bodies. The pink-eyed delegate has unbuttoned his doublet and now lounges among brethren who are clearly no more interested in the concept of modesty than he is.
At the head of the table sits Amriel.
My stomach hitches. The others have made daring enough wardrobe choices, but Amriel’s are downright scandalous. The neckline of his black shirt plunges so low it bares his chest to the navel. Carved muscle shows through the vee, along with acres of golden skin, and Ishanna help me, I’ve never seen anything so…so…
I swallow hard. Soshameless. The fae king flaunts himself without a shred of decency, and I tear my gaze away, my face flaming.
“Princess,” Amriel says, when he sees us. His voice carries through the hall, and all conversation stops. Every fae eye turns toward me. “It seems you’ve remembered how to walk.”
A low growl emanates from the Shadow’s chest. “You can either be nice to her, or you can be quiet.”
I frown. He doesn’t seem to mind sharing his claim on me, but there’s clearly no love lost between these brothers, either.
Amriel rolls his eyes, a gesture completely unbefitting of a monarch. Yet something in him seems to have eased, a shard of his anger bleeding away. A metal goblet sits on the table before him, flanked by a half-empty pitcher of wine, and I wager that has everything to do with his improved mood.
“Just bring her here, will you?” Amriel waves a hand. “No need to take yourself so seriously.”
The Shadow grunts. “Ialwaystake myself seriously.”
“I’m aware. And it’s boring, so unless you’re going to come over here and shut me up yourself, you can deliver the princess and go. I promise I’ll take good care of her.”
The Shadow doesn’t seem to care for his brother’s flippancy, because his growl returns. He takes a heavy step, his hand twitching toward his dagger.
A gleam kindles in Amriel’s eyes. “Oh.Areyou going to come over here and shut me up yourself? Because if you’ve changed your mind, myShadow, I’m ready for you at any moment.” He tilts his chair back, pulling his barely-there shirt aside to bare one dusky nipple. “Go on. Sink your knife right here. Make it fast, but make ithurt. You know how I like pain.”
My gaze volleys back and forth between them. What is Amriel talking about? Is he trying to convince his brother to…killhim?
Their glares clash. The quiet stretches, and I wonder. Can they speak mind to mind? It almost seems so, because a silent conversation passes between them, an entire argument playing out in silence. Eventually, the Shadow sniffs and curls his lip.
“Enough,” he says, his hand falling from his dagger. “You know I won’t do it.”
Amriel’s expression shutters. His chair thunks to the floor again, his shirt snapping back into place. “Then I have no need for you, other than to leave the princess and go.”
