by Bec McMaster
"But never their asses." She smiles as she pours me wine. "I used to leave that to you."
"I missed you," I admit, resting back on my hands. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought? Maybe I nearly died. "I missed this."
Both of us working together, instead of at odds as it has been for the past ten years.
Soraya pauses, her dark eyes locking on me as I reach for the goblet in her hand. She resists slightly, but I arch a brow and take it from her with a smile.
"If only we didn't have to go back to Father," I muse, sipping the wine. "Do you ever think of what it would be like to live in another court? To be free of him?"
"All the time," she whispers, but she still hasn't moved. Her face hardens. "This place is turning your head. Court of Dreams. Ha. There is no escape. Father owns us, body and soul."
I capture her hand, knowing she speaks of the past and what she suffered when she returned from her failed attempt to assassinate the Lord of Mistmark. King Raesh does not suffer failure lightly, but there'd been more to it, I was sure.
Especially when word came of the Lord of Mistmark's betrothal to a foreign princess last month. Soraya has been brooding ever since, though perhaps I’m the only one who can see it.
"He hasn't married her yet. There's still hope."
She tears her hand from mine. "I don't know what you speak of."
A lie, but perhaps our new truce doesn't extend so far.
"I think you do. You don't fail." I breathe the words into the air. "Father might believe you missed your mark, but I know you better. If you failed to kill the Lord of Mistmark, then there was a reason."
I know the girl who forged herself in the brutal training camps we'd endured in the Shadowfangs. The only way to survive was to be the best, and despite my efforts, not even I could come close to beating her at the games and bouts. There was a strength of will inside her that forged my sister into a cold, hard blade without mercy.
Soraya stares at me stonily.
"You won't speak his name," I continue, taking another drink of wine. "But you flinch when Father does. And you bore your punishment without a fight. You've never tolerated Father's abuse, but this time you did. I think we both know why. You didn't want Father to look too closely at why you failed. Did you love him?"
What does that feel like?
A flash of rage crosses her face, and she smashes the goblet from my hand. Wine soaks across the carpets, but I don't move. Not even when she strides to the window, glaring through it. "A half-born wraith bastard? I would not have dared."
"You should have dared."
After tonight, it's becoming more than clear that life is worth grasping by the hands. All those things I've never done, and I came close tonight to never having that chance again.
"And have Father crush my soul-trap in his fist?" She shoots me an angry look. "This is why you could never beat me. This is why I was the best. You hope. You dream. You have trust where there is none. You are weak. We must stand alone in this world or we will fall."
I push to my feet in protest... and somehow lose my balance.
Capturing myself against the bed, I try to shake off the sudden weakness in my knees. Must have been sitting too long. Maybe I'm still concussed. "Is it weak to dream of more?"
"Like what?" She turns on me, raking a disdainful look down me. "Like the handsome prince following you around like a fool? You think he's your answer? You think he would risk it all for you if he knew the truth of your ancestry? You think he would choose you?" A bitter laugh escapes her. "Gods, you're so trusting. You don't even truly know why Father sent me, do you? To be your maid?"
Once again I'm reminded we're not truly allies, no matter how much I try. The room swims before my eyes, her words sounding as if they come from a great distance. This is no concussion.
"What did you do?" The wine looks like blood splashed across the floor, a sudden, ominous omen. Gods, my head is swimming. What was in the wine? "What did you give me?"
Soraya draws her knife. "It's not poison. You'll wake with the dawn, though you might regret it for a while. Night’s Bloom has that effect, I'm told."
My feet go out from under me, pain slamming through my knees as I hit the ground. Curse her. No!
"You had your chance," Soraya continues, her voice echoing hollowly in my ears. "You failed to steal the charm. So I will, now you've told me where it is. No matter what I must do." There's a faint pause. "Love is a weakness. There is no place for it in this world. I loved you once, but we both would have died if I'd let it trap me."
And then she's gone.
Panic sweeps through me, like the wings of a swarm of moths.
My sister's deadly at the best of times. And she's no thief. She'll try and take the Heart by force, not misdirection. Prince Keir might be powerful, but he won't be expecting it.
I have to stop her.
Stumbling to the chamber pot, I thrust both fingers down my throat, forcing my gorge to rise. The wine comes up with a splash, in great, gasping heaves. Hopefully, it won't be too late.
When it's done, I fell to my hands and knees on the carpets, shaking all over and calling her every vile name under the sun.
I think of the prince and his story of betrayal. It's such a bitter fruit to taste, all the more so because only one you trust can strike so true.
He'll never forgive me for this, and the thought is enough to force me to my feet.
I stagger like a drunk fresh from a tavern.
Soraya is gone.
And so is the gown I was wearing.
11
Night’s Bloom races through my veins as I stagger between shadows, desperate to make it toward Keir's chambers.
The enormous gilded doors are locked. Of course. Slamming my fists against them, I try to snatch at the wisp of shadows that lurk beneath them, but there's nothing there. Only a spill of light, as if someone's set a lantern near the door.
Soraya has accounted for my strengths.
But the bitch doesn't know me well enough.
It's been ten years since we fought each other in the training camps, and the girl she knew wasn't ruthless enough to face her sister and win at all costs. Something always held me back. Something always stopped me from striking a mortal blow that could have won me the title of champion and cost me a sister.
But there's nothing more inspiring than betrayal.
She wants to fight?
Fine.
Filmy curtains drift in the hallways, chased by the skitter of wind through the arched windows. I haul myself through one of them and look down. The famous gardens are far below and the ledge beneath my feet barely wide enough for my boot, but this isn't my first time in a precarious position.
Just not when I'm half-drugged with Night’s Bloom.
I can see the balcony that juts out from the prince's chambers. Ignoring the drop, I slip along the ledge like a cat and leap onto the balcony. I nearly miss the landing, muscles straining as I misjudge it. Muscle memory saves the day, and somehow I hook my leg over the balcony, even as the stone tiles loom far below.
Cauldron’s piss, that was close. Sweat drips down my spine as I take a second to catch my breath. I swear I am going to wring my bloody sister's neck when I get my hands on her.
Hauling myself over the edge of the balcony, I crouch behind the gauzy curtains, knees trembling.
The sight that greets me shakes me to the core.
A woman straddles the prince, the violet sweep of her skirts—my skirts—sliding up her bare thigh.
A woman wearing my face.
The arts of glamour are gifted to all fae. You can't entirely change your appearance, but you can embellish it.
And Soraya and I look similar enough that one could almost be forgiven for the mistake, even without the heavy lashing of glamour she's applied.
Keir kisses his way up Soraya's throat, hands sliding up the silk covering her back as she arches her head back in a simulation of pleasure. Or, at least, what I hope
is a fucking simulation. Because someone is moaning, and it damned well better not be her.
Then her hand slides into her skirts, lantern light glinting off the flash of a golden hilt strapped to her thigh.
And I am done.
Night’s Bloom or no Night’s Bloom, rage ignites within me, like a starved furnace granted oxygen.
I offered her a truce. But once again she's spat in my face.
And whatever I might have begun to feel for the prince—forbidden or not, hopeless or not—she has no right to try and take that from me.
Twisting through the shadows, I slam onto the bed, sending her sprawling off him. Half-shadow, half-flesh, I draw back my fist and punch her right in the mouth as she screams.
The knife makes a loud clatter as it hits the floor, but my rage knows nothing else.
Soraya grabs for my throat, but we're both scrambling for balance on the treacherous bed. Silk fucking sheets slither like snakes beneath us. I can't get a decent grip on her, but neither can she. We both hit the floor as a snarl erupts behind us, and suddenly I lose my grip on the Sift.
The shadows drain from the room around me as I physically manifest, rolling across the cold, marble tiles.
Keir's on his hands and knees, the glints of gold in his eye practically spitting sparks. And then he sees both of us facing each other and freezes. "What in the Cauldron's name is going on?"
I watch as his gaze locks on the discarded dagger. The claw that hung around his neck is beside it, as if she ripped it from his throat when I slammed into her. It's as if the veil is swept from his eyes. No more confusion. He understands this.
And curse it all, I can hear his voice speaking of trust. Of betrayal.
"Sorry, Your Highness," I gasp, as Soraya gives a vicious scream and launches at me. "Family dispute."
I block her blow. And then the second. Rage glints like a trapped predator in her eyes as she realizes I'm not the girl I was.
"Do you know," I taunt, "I've never really wanted to hit you until now."
"And yet you still haven't managed to strike a blow."
Oh, that does it.
I launch forward.
We're a whirlwind of elbows and knees. Enough poison must have hit my system, for it's harder to breathe now. Harder to block the next punch. Heaviness seeps through my limbs, and the rage that fueled me is dying.
And then something smashes us apart, like a fist of pure air slamming into my ribs.
I hit the floor, hands and legs flying, tumbling head over heels until I hit the wall.
Ow.
It's so tempting to stay down, to give in.
But an icy wind sweeps through the chamber, bringing with it an air of menace. And suddenly I'm reminded of the true predator in the room.
"Enough." Prince Keir's golden skin glows internally, as if his body simply can't contain the magic radiating through him.
He makes a claw gesture with his hand, and a pair of glowing golden cuffs spring into being around my wrists.
I take one look at Soraya as similar cuffs snap around her wrists. Her lip curls in fury.
"Would love to stay, Your Highness." I push to my feet, reaching for the shadows. "But I think it's time to put this farce to an end. You chose me before you knew what I was, but it's better it ends this way." My voice softens. "Now no one will get hurt. Goodbye."
I hurl myself into the shadows—
Only to flicker back into being as something stops me from melding with them. Slamming back into my physical body is an agony I never expected, and I find myself gasping on the floor.
"Don't deny your charms," the prince growls out. "I've never been more intrigued by you."
Soraya is gone.
And with her, the Dragon's Heart.
I slap my palm to the floor. Merciless bitch must have had a turnkey portal on her somewhere. Which means I'm the sole recipient of the prince's hot-eyed stare. Damn it.
She won again.
12
The golden cuffs around my wrists bite against my skin.
Or more precisely, the magic within me.
It's a horrible sensation, somewhat akin to being dumped in a swamp absolutely teeming with midges, and try as I might, I can't Sift.
"Are you done?" asks a cool, demanding voice.
Slumping against the chair I'm bound to, I look up at the speaker.
Prince Keir paces in front of me, and he looks furious. If he had a tail, I'm fairly certain it would be lashing behind him.
"Nice chains." I shrug. "Chair's a bit hard though."
His golden eyes narrow to thin slits. There's no more pretense of hazel in them, and it makes me a little nervous, for he no longer looks entirely fae. It's like the glamour he wields can't quite hide what's stretching beneath his skin.
And whatever it is, it looks like a predator.
"You'd prefer it if I tied you to the bed?"
I glance at the mess of silk sheets and the knife still lying on the floor. A shiver runs through me. "No. No. Chair is fine."
"Good choice." This time his voice drops several octaves, practically humming with power. He lashes out with his fingers, and half a dozen rips suddenly appear in the sheets. "I dislike being played for a fool. Who are you?" he demands, in a silky, dangerous tone of voice. "Because I'm fairly certain you're not Merisel of Greenslieves."
Excellent guess, Your Highness.
"Not quite."
"And that was your… sister?"
Who has left me to the prince's mercy without a backward glance. "One would think we owned such familial ties, but I believe I got the lion's share of all the best traits."
"Honesty?" he purrs. "Loyalty? Compassion?"
"I did try to warn you."
If anything the words only seem to make him angrier.
"Is this a good time to remind you that I did just save your life?"
"Perhaps you'd be wiser to keep your damned mouth shut," Keir growls. "Considering your sister just tried to put her knife in my heart."
"Well, if you hadn't had your tongue halfway down her throat, I daresay she wouldn't have gotten close enough to try."
He pauses, looking momentarily interested in the bite in my tone. "Jealous?"
"Very." I snort. "Why wouldn't I want a male who's fool enough to fall for a simple glamour and a few pretty words, no doubt?"
His eyes narrow. "The low neckline might have had something to do with it. I was distracted. And her eyes were definitely saying yes. I thought you'd changed your mind."
"Even better. After everything I've said, you thought I'd finally fallen at your feet?"
There's a growl in his voice. "She was very convincing."
Males often want what they can't have. No doubt Soraya used it against him. A little resistance, and then she starts to soften. Starts to fall for his charms.
It's an old trick that's won me through many a locked door in the past. Show a man you simply can't resist him, and his ego does the rest.
I'm not sure why it bothers me so much.
Keir flips the blade and snatches it from the air. "Goblin-forged blade. I assume these runes down the steel mean it can cut through any ward?"
"Any ward," I say with a sigh. "Any armor. Any flesh."
"So she meant to kill me."
Admitting it will probably not go well for me.
I press my lips together.
"Ah, you think you can hold out. I can wait for the truth," he purrs, grabbing another chair and hauling it in front of me. He straddles it backward, resting his forearms on the chair back. "It won't take long for those cuffs to eat their way through your glamour. You can already feel it, can't you?"
I shift uneasily. The itch is definitely getting stronger.
Is that…? Shit. There's a faint, luminous glow to my hands.
And I'm not the only one who's noticed.
"Interesting," says the Prince of Dreams.
Only, this time I'm convinced I'm in a nightmare.
"You glow,
" he muses. "Very few creatures glow. I think the truth of your nature is not so far away, after all. You could simply tell me. I might feel more merciful."
There's no love lost between the Blessed and the Forbidden. If he realizes what I am, he'll have my head on the next pike.
"What if I make a deal?" I blurt.
"A deal? Go on," he purrs. "What could you possibly give me that I can't take?"
"Information. You want your relic back? I can tell you everything."
"And in exchange?"
"You can't kill me. You can't harm me. You will forbid your men or anyone in or at the court from harming me."
"Or I could wait," he replies, eyeing the faint glow creeping up my arms. "It looks like it won't take long now."
Sweat trickles down my spine. "I could get the Dragon's Heart back for you."
At this he pauses. His eyes meet mine. "What makes you think I can't get it back myself?"
"Because if you do so, it means war. You'll be challenging a dangerous court. A powerful king."
"Will I?" There's a distinct lack of concern in his voice. "It wouldn't be the first time. And it won't be the last, no doubt."
There has to be something he wants.
"A king," he muses. "There are very few kings in the realm. And few with the balls to challenge me. King Angmar is currently underwhelming. Something about a missing trident, according to his dear sister, Ismena. He needs this match, so he won't risk a direct confrontation. King Jor is tied to the seas. King Mordred might be ambitious enough, but he's crossed me before. The King of the Unblessed hasn't been seen in centuries. And every other king is controlled by a queen."
Do not react.
"But there's one king I'm forgetting, isn't there? The King of the Frozen North. The King Beyond the Shadowfangs. The Master of Bone and Death. They say wraiths glow in the night." He eyes my arms.
"They say they are monsters, too. What monster could hide itself in fae flesh?" I can't control the bitterness in my voice.
"That is the question." He flips the knife expertly in his fingers. "So the Wraith King sends a pair of assassins to my court."
"I'm not an assassin."
