by Bec McMaster
"No?"
I clamp my teeth shut.
His eyes narrow. "A thief then. And considering your sister stole the pretty charm around my throat, I assume you were after that."
"Shouldn't you be going after my sister?" I ask in exasperation. "She's the one who stole your relic, and with every second that passes she'll be getting closer to escaping for good!"
"The portal's closed. It has been ever since you arrived." Muscle flexes in his powerful forearms as he leans closer, the chair tipping onto two legs. "The only way anyone gets in or out… is if I let them."
"You don't know my sister. She has a turnkey portal she stole from a blood-witch years ago. She'll be able to steal her way home, without having to use your portal. How do you think she got out of this room?"
"How did you get in? You appeared out of nowhere."
"Magic," I whisper.
Keir eases out of the chair, his bare feet padding toward me. Every inch of me is alight. There's no hiding it as he tips my chin up, the knife still curled in his left hand. "A very rare, ancient magic I haven't seen in thousands of years. I knew a male once who could walk the shadows." He tips my face from side to side. "And yet you glow with the Forbidden's curse. An intriguing conundrum, for you're far too pretty to be wraith-born, yet you're not entirely fae, are you?"
"Why the fascination with me?" I snap. "You might have paid me lip service in the past, but don't pretend it was more than that."
"When you simpered and flattered me and skirted the truth like a court princess sweeping her train out of a pile of vomit?"
"Sorry," I drawl. "I was trying not to capture your attention."
"You nearly succeeded." His golden eyes are strangely cloaked. I can't read the expression on his face. "But you did. I would have made you my mate."
I close my eyes. "I think you wanted to be fooled."
"And I think the only time you weren't lying to me was when you told me you liked me."
"It was just a ploy." I make a sound of exasperation, because it's better than letting the conversation venture into such dangerous waters. "Anyone would think you didn't give a damn that you just lost a powerful relic."
"But did I?" His smile turns dangerous. "What makes you think your sister managed to steal the real Dragon's Heart?"
My gaze jerks to his. "What do you mean?"
"The real Dragon's Heart has the power to create an Other World. The power to destroy the real world. Do you not think I would have given chase if what she stole was more than mere gold?"
"It wasn't in the treasury."
"No." Again, another smile. His eyes seem to glow from within. "Nor hanging around my neck. Guess again, little thief."
Calliope's words bite through me again. Her absolute insistence she needed to eat the prince's heart to transform.
I'd thought her mad.
I'd thought her stories were just that.
But it suddenly occurs to me: What is the best place to hide a relic of such immense power?
You twist the tale. Change the story. The Dragon's Heart. It's been right there in front of me the entire time.
Nobody knows what truly happened to the dragons—the stories are lost to history—but I know they slowly faded from the world. Some say they turned to stone, some say they sought the stars, and some say….
"What are you?" I whisper.
Again, a faint mocking smile. "You're not the one asking the questions."
But his eyes glint gold—dragon gold—and I can't help remembering the other part of the stories. Dragons are invulnerable. Nobody knows how the ancient fae defeated them.
But what if the stories lie?
What if there was no defeat?
What if Calliope was telling the truth?
My gaze slips to his open shirt and the hard planes of his chest. He admitted he created this Other World himself, and I assumed he used the relic to do it, but if I'm right, then he would have the power of such creation at his fingertips.
Mother of Mercy.
I try to scramble backward and the chair scrapes on the tiles, but Keir merely clenches his fist.
My chair squeals as I'm hauled directly in front of him.
Keir grabs me by the wrists, his long fingers locking around the cuffs there. Heat spills through me as his magic slides across my skin like a caress. "I've heard what you've had to say. Now it's my turn. You owe me. I will offer you a deal. Your life, your freedom, in exchange for a year and a day of service."
Service? It sounds like a trap. "What do you want me to do?"
"Something similar to what you do now. I may ask you to fetch me something. I may ask for information. I may ask you to betray your precious king. And when I do, you'll give it to me."
"I won't kill for you."
"Agreed."
"And you won't hurt me? You won't allow me to be hurt?"
His eyes seem shadowed in thought. "Not by me or mine. I cannot stop someone else from putting an arrow through your back."
It's the best I'm going to get.
I consider the cuffs.
A year and a day of service, as according to the old laws. In return, my head remains on my shoulders. I've been offered worse terms before.
"I'm not saying no," I mutter. "But there's a slight complication. I owe a similar debt to the Wraith King. I can't deny him outright."
"I'm not certain this is my problem."
Of course not. Typical fae prince. "Then I'm dead and of no use to you."
Our gazes lock.
He considers it. "Then I will allow you to work around the debt you owe your king."
"Agreed," I whisper.
The cuffs fall free.
I'm halfway to my feet before I realize there's no escape. Keir looms in front of me, shadows darkening half of his face. I force my feet to still, even though my body quivers as I fight my natural instincts.
But there's no point running.
He never confirmed it, but he rules this world with a thought. He could crush me with a single swat of his hand.
Besides, I have nowhere to run.
I can outthink this. I can escape. All I need is a little time.
Capturing my face in both hands, he tilts my chin up.
"A year and day of service," he whispers, and then lowers his face to mine.
The kiss breathes across my lips, and I can feel his magic stealing through me. My heart suddenly flutters like a horde of butterflies set loose inside me, a restless, liquid heat stealing through my veins, and setting me ablaze. He kisses as if he means to consume me, but the bite of his magic leaves the taste of blood in my mouth.
And suddenly it's no longer pleasurable.
Fire blazes beneath my skin, a searing kind of magic that steals every thought from my mind. A scream escapes me as it brands itself up my arms, golden light spilling through sudden glyphs that appear on my skin. I don't need to count them. I can feel them igniting inside me. All four hundred and thirteen marks.
A year and a day.
By the time it's done, I'm shaking in his arms, my knees boneless and my fists curled in his shirt.
And worse. I can feel his heart pounding beneath my hand, beating in sync with mine.
"What d-did you do to me?"
"I have marked you as my own. There is no escape now." He doesn't have to sound so thrilled about it. "You belong to me, my little thief," he purrs. "Mind you don't forget it."
The portal buzzes behind me.
Freedom's so close I can almost taste it, and yet it remains a taunt. The golden glyphs on my arms have faded, but I can still feel them settled beneath my skin, as if tattooed into my very bones.
Within seconds, I'll be back in my own world.
Back within my father's grasp and under his command.
But this time, I'm at the mercy of another male, and Keir's forbidden me to tell anyone of the deal we made.
I'm getting rather tired of being someone else's pawn. But for now, there's little choice in the m
atter.
"Go home, little thief." Keir looms in front of me, dressed in a doublet of black velvet that caresses the hard planes of his chest. He sets the tip of a finger beneath my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Say nothing of what occurred here. When I have a task for you, I'll contact you."
"How?"
He smiles. "You'll know."
"What do I tell the king?" Soraya will have beaten me home, and he'll hear this tale from her lips first.
"I'm sure you'll think of something. Let us not pretend you're averse to lies."
The glyphs on my arms pulse as if he's stroked his finger down my skin. I can't help a shiver.
I step through the waterfall and stare over the stone ledge into the circular well as thousands of pounds of water sluice down its sides. Mist curls up through its hollow core, but far below, I catch the golden gleam of glyphs that herald a portal.
"How do I get through the portal?" I call, teeth gritted against the chill as water splashes me.
"Jump," Prince Keir suggests.
Oh, yes. He's still angry. I miss the tender way he touched my face. The way he kissed my forehead as if I were precious.
But I always knew it would end this way.
Closing my eyes, I step onto the ledge.
Somehow I don't feel safe.
I feel like I've just made a deal with the dragon itself.
But the only choice I have is to trust him.
And jump.
BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE COURT OF DREAMS WORLD
Dear Reader,
* * *
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed Thief of Dreams, then keep an eye out for the Thief of Souls release!
After failing to return with the Dragon’s Heart, Zemira is sent by her father to infiltrate the Court of Blood, in search of the mythical cauldron that contains the power of the long-lost dragon kings.
* * *
But her deal with Prince Keir bears dangerous consequences—for Keir is determined to gain the cauldron himself. Caught between two deadly enemies, can Zemira save herself? And will Keir ever forgive her for the deception she played upon him?
Make sure you sign up to my newsletter to be the first to know when Thief of Souls is available.
* * *
Here are some other ways to stay updated:
* Follow me on Bookbub
* Visit my website at becmcmaster.com
*Or join my Facebook Fan Group for all the exclusive stuff!
* * *
I hope we meet again between the pages of another book!
* * *
Cheers,
Bec McMaster
* * *
P.S Want more fantasy romance? Read on for a preview of Promise of Darkness, a fairy tale twist on the Hades and Persephone myth.
Princess. Tribute. Sacrifice. Is she the one prophesied to unite two warring Fae courts? Or the one bound to destroy them?
* * *
In a realm ruled by magic, the ruthless Queen of Thorns is determined to destroy her nemesis, the cursed Prince of Evernight.
* * *
With war brewing between the bitter enemies, the prince forces Queen Adaia to uphold an ancient treaty: she will send one of her daughters to his court as a political hostage for three months.
* * *
The queen insists it’s the perfect opportunity for Princess Iskvien to end the war before it begins. But one look into Thiago’s smouldering eyes and Vi knows she’s no assassin.
* * *
The more secrets she uncovers about the prince and his court, the more she begins to question her mother’s motives.
* * *
Who is the true enemy? The dark prince who threatens her heart? Or the ruthless queen who will stop at nothing to destroy him?
* * *
And when the curse threatens to shatter both courts, is she strong enough to break it?
* * *
A fairytale twist inspired by the Hades and Persephone myth.
* * *
READ NOW
EXCERPT
Two dresses hang in the closet in front of me, both gauzy and overflowing with far too much fabric. Neither are my preferred style, but that’s not the point.
Tonight is Lammastide and appearances have to be met.
Tonight I’m not Iskvien, second daughter of a merciless queen. Tonight I’m an Asturian princess, ruthless in her own right, invulnerable to those who might seek to bring down my mother’s court. It might only be silk, but it’s armor of a kind, though I’d far prefer a chain mail vest.
“Wear the red,” says a clipped voice from the doorway. “It will accentuate your dark hair and olive skin.”
My fingers still on the fabric. “Mother. What a pleasant surprise.”
It is neither.
She wasn’t here when we returned from the hunt. It’s been three days. And I know my sister, Andraste, made her report.
I’ve been waiting for the queen to make an appearance, and point out all the ways in which I fail her. Queen Adaia is not the type to strike immediately. She likes to let her opponents wait. And each day she hesitates is one more hint of her displeasure, one more sign it’s going to be fatal.
Three days…. Not quite a storm of rage that could threaten to tear the palace apart, but a quiet, deadly chill, I suspect. Like the breath of winter down your spine.
I turn as the queen sweeps inside the room, her heavy silver gown dragging over the marble tiles with a rasp. We’re as different as night and day, and I see Andraste in the queen’s features, which is simply another reminder of whom the favorite daughter is. They share the same stubborn chin and full mouth, high-swept cheekbones highlighting the vaguely feline shape of their blue eyes.
But Mother’s hair is wheaten gold, drawn up into a coronet of braids upon which rests her sharp-pointed crown. And she’s taller, slightly thinner. More dangerous.
Anyone looking at the two of us might wonder if we shared any blood at all.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Mother?” It’s the edge of impertinence, which is all she will allow. “Won’t we be late to the Queensmoot?”
“They’ll wait.”
“You expect an attack?” Lammastide is the one night of the year when all five surviving kingdoms of the Seelie Alliance come together to bring in the new year. Drinking, dancing, bloodshed, and assassinations are all to be expected.
Because allied we may be, but it’s only against a common enemy. If my mother could destroy the other rulers of the alliance, she wouldn’t hesitate.
In some part of her mind, she sees herself sitting on a throne that rules over the entire southern half of the continent.
“Sit,” she says.
The only option is to obey.
“No attack.” She slinks behind me as I take a seat at the vanity. “Or nothing beyond the usual. The Prince of Evernight will be there, after all. He craves my downfall.”
Someone’s projecting.
“I thought the Unseelie delegation would be the greater danger?”
Five hundred years ago we defeated them in the Wars of Light and Shadow, but the peace has always been tenuous. This recent treaty between Seelie and Unseelie courts is a relatively new development, and if I were my mother’s daughter, I wouldn’t trust it.
The three witch queens of the Unseelie court are bloodthirsty, vicious, and powerful. If my mother has delusions of grandeur, then they’re nothing compared to the Unseelie, who want to cast us all into chains.
The queen lifts the heavy strands of my hair from my shoulders and runs her jeweled claws through it. “Queen Angharad is still bleeding from that last skirmish, and some say she doesn’t have the full support of her sister queens any more. She’s trying to fight a war on two fronts, so she won’t have the courage to cause trouble for us. Focus on the real danger, Iskvien. Those at your back. Those with a knife to your throat.” Her claws caress my collarbone. “Those who were never meant to rule the earth beneath their feet.”
&
nbsp; She’s speaking of the two Seelie princes who forced their way onto the thrones of their own kingdoms. The Seelie kingdoms have been matrilineal for centuries—queens are tied to the lands, and the earth beneath them flourishes from the bond. Any kings that sought to elevate themselves were slowly and mercilessly destroyed. My mother considers Prince Thiago and Prince Kyrian’s claims to be unnatural, and she’s been working on ruining them ever since they proclaimed themselves.
Prince Kyrian never attends the Lammastide rites in person. Mother once mocked him for the loss of the woman he loved, and he swore an oath that if he ever set eyes upon her again, he’d have her head. To uphold the peace, he sends an envoy to the rites in his stead.
So she’s talking of Evernight.
Always Evernight.
My thoughts stray to the forest and the bane. The creature who knew me.
And the Prince of Evernight, who rules the dark kingdom.
“What should I expect?” I’ve never met the prince. These are the first Lammastide rites my mother’s allowed me to attend. “Will the Prince of Evernight avoid us?”
“Unfortunately, not. He considers me responsible for the loss of his wife, and I daresay he’s still determined to have his revenge upon me. In fact, he’s the reason I’m here.”
Here it is. I still, like prey catching scent of a dangerous predator as she moves to the side, considering the array of scents and powders on my vanity.
“What does he have to do with me?”
“You’re not coming home with us tonight, Iskvien,” my mother says, lifting the stopper of my perfume vial and sniffing delicately at the scent within. Her nose wrinkles.
