My head turns, and instead of finding Damien a small space away like his friend, I realize he’s wrapped around me like a vice. His big arm is tucked beneath his friend’s wing. My hand skims up the length of his hard muscle and the defined veins along his forearm. He shifts against me, and it feels good to be held.
A nagging little voice at the back of my mind tells me to be careful with these men. They’re demons, after all, and demons and fae don’t mix.
That’s what my father and brother told me over and over again my entire life.
Or maybe you could pull your head out of your faehole and make some friends every now and then, a different, more obnoxious cunt-like voice chirps.
Morning, Catherine.
Oh, do tell. How does it feel to wake up without a hangover? Refreshing? Delightful? Amazing?
Awful. If you must know, I answer, my fingers still trailing up and down Damien’s arm until a soft sigh slips from his full lips.
I hate how much I like lying here between them.
I don’t belong here. I belong in the center of the kingdom I grew up in. I belong around my own people.
And this morning, I’m going to go there.
With tense effort, I slide Ryke’s wing back and peel Damien’s heavy arm off my chest. With even more effort, I stumble toward the center platform, hike my leg up, crawl desperately off of the net of doom.
An exhausted breath pushes from my lungs.
Why would anyone do that every single morning? I shake my head and instead of chancing my luck and crawling across the netting again to get to the stairs, my wings spread wide and I’m soaring away in an instant.
It’s a much more dignified method of travel.
I fly over the elaborate treehouse. For a moment, it feels nice to have the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, the—
“Going somewhere, Crow?”
I dip abruptly like I’ve been shot down from midair. It takes my heartbeat and my brain a moment to realize it’s just a cocky demon.
Just a demon.
How comforting.
Ryke’s big wings are nearly the same shade of black as my own, but they move differently across the breeze. His seem to catch the wind better, and he glides more than I do. He makes it look effortless.
I swallow. For a moment, I consider lying to him, but I don’t really know why.
I have nothing to hide.
“I need to speak with the King. I’m going to the Kingdom of Roses.”
“Everything here’s all named after flowers and daisies and shit,” he grumbles.
I can’t help but smile lightly. He’s not wrong.
“Why are you going to the Kingdom? Corva says the King and the Prince are assholes. Doesn’t like demons unless they’re servants, and the King doesn’t treat his own children much better.”
I nod at that incredibly accurate description.
But there seems to be a vital part of that story that my sweet conniving sister left out.
“I’m going to speak to the King because he’s my father, Ryke.”
It’s his turn to lose the weight of the wind. He staggers back and nearly drops right out of the sky. It takes him a few seconds to catch up.
“You’re—you’re a princess?” he asks, and I feel his burning gaze against my face.
“I am.”
“And . . . do you share the same views as your father?”
I glide through the breeze and with a little help of my magic, I slip beneath him, upside down as he flies, and I drift along with him. My wings don’t even move as I lie suspended beneath his flight. My body is inches from his, and I have to admit I like this angle. I could get used to this spot underneath him. I study him the entire time; the strong angle of his jaw, the scruff of his beard, the smooth curves of his muscles that are hidden beneath scaring lines of runes.
I’ve been warned away from demons and their destruction my entire life. And the demons who do linger around me, they die fairly fast . . .
It took years. It takes life and experience to realize that not everything your parents say is a fact.
Some of it is flat out racist and inaccurate.
“No. My father and I are nothing alike. Which is part of the reason why I was exiled.”
He peers down at me, wind blowing his short dark hair. A little smile carves his lips, and I think he likes being above me like this. I like it, too.
Too much.
I swoop away as he reaches out to me. I soar faster and faster, and I don’t look back at that demon who’s too alluring for my own good.
Over the thick tree, jagged rooftops like broken glass slip into sight, and my stomach drops at the thought of stepping foot in that castle again after three long years. I swallow the uneasiness clawing up my chest, and I take a single deep breath before I lower myself to the ground. My bare feet settle on the soft grass as though I am a delicate angel.
Heavy boots slam down next to me like demon shit hailing down vengefully from the sky.
My neck turns to glare over at my handsome stalker.
“Thought you might want some company.” Ryke’s smile is distracting, but I’m not falling for it.
“You thought wrong. Go back to the house. I’ll be there soon.” I take a step, and he mirrors my pace.
“Well, I’d love to, Crow, but on the off chance that you ditch us, I’m not going to spend my Fridays searching for a whining baby sister again.”
I am not whining! Why are they all so damn rude?
“Well, I don’t need a demonic babysitter today. I’ll meet you back at the house.”
“You’re sneaking into the castle at dawn before anyone’s awake, and you expect me to believe you’re coming back?” Ryke grips my arm hard. His scorching heat sears into my skin. My jaw clenches even harder.
I pull inside myself, and I copy down what his magic feels like. I focus on it so intently that he jerks his hand away with a groan. He looks from me to his palm and then back again.
“What the fuck did you just do? Did you burn me?”
“I didn’t do anything. I’m powerful enough to glamour supernaturals the way most fae glamour mere humans. I just gave you a taste of your own medicine. Hurts, doesn’t it?”
“So you fucked with my mind? Fucking women and their mind games,” he says with a growl.
Huh. And here I thought I liked him.
He points an angry finger in my face.
“Don’t get in my head again,” he warns.
I give him a bored look, and then shake my head rapidly back and forth until the pretty silver locks turn crimson red. My feathers ruffle hard, and as if I’m shaking out the inky color, they fade into a deep color like blood staining my wings. It takes time. A few blinks of my eyes to turn them from gray to emerald. A hand slips down my face to morph the features into a look of serene wisdom. A stretch of my limbs to turn the curves of my body into a slender, willowy frame.
And then I look at him, almost at eye level, as a completely different person.
As my mother.
“What. The. Fuck.” His wide eyes dance along my flesh, and I feel like myself. Sort of. I’m myself in different skin. Not a big deal.
“What part of ‘Don’t fuck with my mind,’ don’t you understand?” he says.
“You know what I am? Do you understand what a dark fae is? I’m cruel, Ryke. I can make you believe you’re eating the finest food you’ve ever tasted, all the while starving you for days on end until you rot away to skin and bones. I can make you believe no one sees you, no one loves you, and no one wants you. I can!”