Several fae start chanting, and the stones light up again.
The magic rushes through me like a million ants skittering over my skin. Then the prince is staggering forward through the gush of light and power, his boots finding solid ground on the other side.
When the light finally dies, I manage to lift my head from his shoulder. We stand in a second Hallow, the stones cold and gray and lifeless again, as if the magic has been sucked from them. They’ll need at least an hour to recharge, but for now, nobody will be able to follow us.
“It’s clear,” a hard voice says, and apparently, we’re still in my nightmares, for it’s Eris. She keeps a hand on her sword as she sweeps the circle of stones until she’s satisfied. The others must have stayed behind to find the assassin.
Beyond the stones stretches a labyrinthine city—or the ruins of one. We’re on a hill in the direct center, where an ancient palace still stands, draped in snowy skirts.
City of the Dead, it is.
They say Valerian was the jewel of the north once, and as I stare upwards, I see it. The palace takes my breath away. It’s carved completely of white marble that gleams beneath the soft wash of moonlight like alabaster—or bone. Graceful arches beckon and lithe bridges arch into nowhere, their ends sheared off.
It would have been beautiful when it was whole. A palace built to grace the near-constant night that exists so far north.
But the war with the Unseelie ravaged its soul and stole a piece of its heart. As my eyes see past its immediate beauty, I notice the blank holes where windows once stood. They look like soulless pits watching the night. Thorns of the night-blooming Sorrow plant grow up its towers, but no blooms open to the moon.
“There’s no one here except my servants,” the prince murmurs, as if he’s realized where I’m looking. “We’ll be alone. It’s safe.”
Alone.
With the enemy.
“I see.” I don’t consider that safe at all. “And do I get my own rooms, or a tower cell?”
“We could just throw you off the top,” Eris mutters under her breath.
“Considering she just saved my life, I consider that rather ungracious,” the prince replies, shooting her a sharp look.
“I can stand,” I tell him, pushing at his restraining arm.
His arms tighten around me. “You can also fall flat on your face, but let’s not take the chance. Eris, make sure our way is clear.”
She shoots me an expressionless glance, then strides down the hill, her hips swinging and her hand never leaving the hilt of her sword. “As you wish, my prince.”
And then the bastard carries me all the way to the ruins of the palace.
6
The prince eases both doors to his bedchamber shut and leans against them with a sleepy look in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I just took a knife for you,” I point out, wobbling a little, though I’ll be damned if I show it. Surviving my mother’s court gives me a good grounding to face him like this. It doesn’t matter how much blood you’ve lost, you don’t dare faint in front of my mother or her people.
Especially not when I’m standing in front of the monstrous bed he just set me down in front of.
“And I’m grateful, but shouting a warning would have been just as effective.” His eyes hood, and thankfully he stays by the doors.
“I’ll consider that next time.” Along with simply standing aside and letting the assassin complete their task.
An enormous thronelike chair reclines by the fireplace, and thick, woven rugs are scattered across the stone floors. Everything’s been made on a scale to both impress and threaten, though there’s a sense of luxuriousness I hadn’t expected. Silk sheets on the bed. Luscious velvet throws in a dark mulberry color. The silvery ruff of fur just begging me to lie upon it.
A pair of sconces linger by the bed, and a sheer curtain is tied to the wall. Thiago moves to light the candles in the sconces, becoming little more than a shadow behind the gauze, his cloak flaring behind him like a pair of wings. I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself as I examine every inch of the room.
That bed is big enough for ten.
Unfortunately, there’s no sign of another.
“Not what you expected?” The prince blows out the taper he used to light the candles, and a ring of smoke curls toward the ceiling. He watches me through it.
It’s exactly what I expected.
One bed.
The two of us.
“Where are all the skulls?” I joke, instead. “The bodies of your vanquished enemies?”
“Under the bed,” he purrs. “Care to take a closer look?”
There it is. The suggestion we’ve both been dancing around. “And if I don’t care to?” I turn around, steeling my spine. The treaty only requires that I spend the three months in his court. Not that I serve as concubine.
The prince shrugs, slipping the cloak free of his shoulders. It pools around his ankles like a swathe of pure night, then he crosses to the decanter to pour two goblets of wine. “Your loss, Your Highness.”
My loss?
I stare into the wine he gives me. “Let us establish some rules.”
The prince sinks into his thronelike chair, rubbing forefinger and thumb thoughtfully over the base of his goblet. “Rules, Princess?” A wicked smile crosses his mouth. “I don’t play by the rules.”
I ignore him. “What do you want of me?”
It catches him by surprise. “What do you mean?”
I’ve spent years playing word games in my mother’s court. “Come now. Let’s not pretend you made this request because you’re interested in the pleasure of my company—”
“You might be surprised.”
“You want something from me. What?”
“What would you give?”
Nothing. But without anything to offer, I have little to bargain with. “A kiss.”
His eyes darken as he considers his wine. “A high price to pay.” Draining the goblet, he leans forward. “Once a day.”
Once a week would be preferable—or never—but I nod slowly. “Once a day.”
“And given freely.”
“If you keep your hands off me.”
“A kiss once a day, for the next three months. No more, no less, unless you initiate it.” He repeats it twice more. “Spoken thrice, my oath upon it.”
“My oath upon it,” I agree, and feel the magic bind us together. The oath tingles along my skin before slowly evaporating. “And if thus broken, let the bearer’s ass erupt in boils. Painful boils.”
That steals a startled smile from him. He has no need to agree to my additional terms—the oath is spoken. But he does. “So shall it be.” Then he laughs. “Hoping I’ll break it?”
“That wouldn’t be very kind of me, would it?”
“I do like a challenge. Getting you into bed will be deliciously satisfying, all the more so, when you come willingly.”
He’s got to be joking. “You think I would invite you into my bed?”
Another dangerous smile. “Stranger things have happened.”
“You’d have better luck with my mother.”