by Bec McMaster
Belladonna traces a clawed fingernail down the phantom remnants of the wound, and I grit my teeth.
If I was free to be myself, I’d punch her in the face, but I’m not.
Sweet, innocent Merisel would never confront a princess of the Blood Court.
She shoves me back, toward the pond. “Your innocent smile doesn’t fool me, you little wretch. I’ve questioned every princess who was at the Court of Dreams that night. Ismena said you were the only one unaccounted for the night my sister died and that you were friends with this Calliope. My sister could kill a fae from a hundred feet away. So how did a single madwoman manage to take her down?”
Another shove, and I feel my heeled slippers take in the edge of the pool.
I shoot the pond a wary look.
The foxfire lights in the blood lilies flicker with frenetic energy. A vine slithers through the water toward me as if it senses my shadow.
If I land in that water, I won’t be coming out again.
“Tell me the truth,” Belladonna snarls. “Look me in the eye and tell me you had nothing to do with my sister’s death. Tell me you didn’t see a chance to thin the competition and whisper Narcissa’s name in your friend’s ear.”
I grab a fistful of her gown. If I’m going in, she’s coming too. “I had nothing to do with her death! Calliope fooled me just as much as she fooled the others! I’ll bet our dearest Ismena forgot to mention what happened the night Calliope tried to kill her? I was the one who saved her. And when Ismena bolted for safety, Calliope tried to shove me in the damned wall too. Does that sound like I was involved?”
“Oh, she mentioned what happened.” Belladonna’s hands capture my wrists. “You came out of nowhere, she said. You appeared as if you’d leapt out of thin air and drove them both to the ground.”
I still.
I’d Sifted and attacked Calliope from behind. Ismena had been so panicked, I’d hoped she’d been confused enough in the rush for her to think I’d run at them.
“I know you were there last night,” Belladonna whispers, pushing me backward until I’m arching over the pond. A hungry tendril reaches for me. “And I know what you can do. It was you last night in Anissa’s rooms, wound or no wound. Admit it.”
I panic as my heel slips on the edge.
The only way out of this is to Sift—which will prove her point.
“If you truly thought me involved,” I try to bluff, “then you wouldn’t be questioning me. You’d have simply pushed me in the pond by now. So what do you truly want from me?”
There’s a moment where we stare at each other.
And I see it in her eyes. I guessed right.
She sets her sharp fingernails to my chest, right over my heart. A sudden pain spears through me, leaving my head spinning.
Suddenly, the pond is the least of the possible dangers here.
“I don’t know how you turned yourself invisible last night.” She leans closer, her lips whispering against my ear. “And I don’t care. Kill my future husband, Merisel, and all is forgiven. Kill him and bring me his heart, and I won’t snap shut the curse I just twined around your heart. But do it soon. Before this fiasco of a wedding ceremony is completed.”
I make it back to my rooms after Belladonna sets me free, the hem of my gown sodden and my heart racing.
An idiot.
I was an idiot.
Slamming the doors to my rooms shut, I cross to the mirror and jerk my gown apart. There’s a bruise mottling my skin, right over my heart. It’s in the shape of a knot of thorns. A blood curse. Fuck. What am I going to do?
I was complacent. I truly didn’t think she could hurt me, not after everyone had seen us very visibly enter the maze together. I allowed the protection of Keir’s claim on me to dull my senses. I’m in the middle of the cursed Blood Court, and I blithely followed its princess somewhere private, assuming she didn’t dare hurt me.
Why would she demand I kill the Lord of Mistmark? I’d tried to protest that I was no killer, but she simply tossed me on the grass and told me to find a way since I was so resourceful.
What in the Wild Hunt is going on here?
If Mistmark dies before the wedding, then there will be no tithe. He’s not a fool—judging from his conversation today he hasn’t handed the horn over to Malechus already, and probably won’t until the wedding is done. No, it will be a deal of some sorts—if you kill me, then you’ll never get your hands on it….
Does Belladonna even know what she might cost her cousin?
Or does she simply not care?
A sharp rap comes at the door.
I jerk my hands from my gown just as Keir abruptly enters, shutting the door behind him.
“Come in,” I call, eyeing him challengingly. “It’s not as though I’m naked.”
“I knocked.”
“It’s usually polite to wait for an answer.”
At that, his gaze slides down me somewhat possessively. The last I saw of him, he was draped in naiads. It’s the role he’s meant to play—to draw attention and leave me in the shadows—but I’m irritable enough with the entire situation that it only sharpens my fury.
Maybe he sees it on my face, for his eyebrow arches as he slips his cloak off and tosses it over a chair. “I tried to find you at the party, but you didn’t come back from the maze.”
“You didn’t notice,” I correct sharply. “You had a blonde on each knee.”
His eyelids lower lazily, thick lashes concealing his thoughts. “I would have noticed if you’d returned. Blondes or no blondes. What happened? Belladonna was practically smirking at me.”
“A few playful threats. Some name-calling. An attempt to drown me in a pond full of blood lilies. You know how these princesses are.”
He takes a sharp step toward me before he pauses, clenching one fist. “You’re all right? I hated watching you enter that maze with her.”
“She knew I was in Anissa’s rooms last night. She’s been questioning Ismena about her sister’s death and seems to think I can glamor myself invisible.”
“How did you get away?”
“I didn’t. She cursed me,” I grind out. “She wants me to kill the Lord of Mistmark, or she’ll unravel the curse and let it eat my heart.”
Keir strides toward me, fury etching hard lines in his face. “She did what?”
I repeat myself, but if anything, he only grows angrier.
“Show me.”
This time it’s my turn to arch a brow. “Is that what you say to all the girls?”
Keir rests both hands on the vanity on either side of my hips, and for the first time I realize I must have backed against it. “Show me.”
The words are soft with menace, and yet they still somehow steal my breath. Because his anger isn’t directed at me.
And maybe I do need his assistance, though the asking of it is impossible.
“I need help.”
I turn and lift my hair out of the way. The catch of my dress is at the back, and it’s complicated enough that I don’t bother with it myself.
There’s a moment of hesitation, and then Keir’s fingertips brush another lock of my hair out of the way. He works at the clasp of the collar, and the silence is suddenly warm and intimate. It feels as though the room is closing in on us.
He’s barely touching me.
Just the dress.
But I can feel his breath stirring over the back of my neck, and my nipples go hard. Heat emanates from his body. I can feel the wall of it against my back.
I want it.
I want to drown myself in that heat. I want to lick it from his skin and taste it on his mouth. I want it inside me. I would kill to get those hands on my skin.
A soft gasp escapes me.
His hands still.
He knows.
It’s like all my shame pools within my abdomen, leaving me slick and molten.
“I shouldn’t have let you enter the maze with her.” His fingers fumble with my gown.
&nb
sp; “You’re not ‘letting’ me do anything,” I point out. “This is what I do, Keir. This is how I’m going to find your horn for you.”
I catch a glimpse of his jaw as I turn. The look on his face says, “fuck the horn.” But I can’t be reading that right, because the only reason we’re here is to get our hands on it.
Goddess, he’s getting to me even now, because I want him to care more about me than the horn, and now I’m conjuring it in every interaction.
Taking a piece of fabric in each hand, I part the gown until I’m barely shielding my breasts. The curse is written large against my skin. It looks almost black now. A tangled knot twined around my heart.
Keir doesn’t look down. Instead, he peers straight into my eyes, almost as if he can see right through me.
“The curse,” I growl.
I can’t read the expression on his face as he glances down. He splays featherlight fingertips against my skin, as if he’s trying to untangle the knot of it. Heat shivers through me. It’s a honey-slide of sensation, and it warms me from within.
His magic is a dangerous drug.
Then his gaze shutters. “I can’t undo it. She’s set it to activate the second anyone tries.”
Instantly, the heat is gone. A sick feeling pervades me. “I didn’t expect you to.” Cauldron’s piss. I am bound to the princess’s will.
Killing Mistmark is no answer—even if I had the instincts for it, which I never did. If I harm a single hair on his head, I’m dealing with Malechus—the Prince of Knives himself—who is infinitely more dangerous than both Belladonna and Mistmark combined.
How do I get myself into these messes?
“Well,” I manage to drawl as I retie the dress behind my neck. “At least you’re going to be free of your betrothal if this all goes wrong.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
Keir is a dragon. A protective dragon. I’m still thinking of him as a fae prince, callous and toying with the whims of others, but I know the deaths of Narcissa and Lady Altrea affected him. They were under his demesne when they were murdered. And now he thinks I’m part of his party.
Snapping his fingers causes his cloak to fly across the room and alight on his shoulders. “Let me deal with the so-called Princess of the Blood.”
Alarm floods through me. I Sift into shadows and reappear in front of the door just as he reaches for the handle. Our bodies collide, but I manage to get a fistful of his cloak. “Don’t you dare. If you go down there and drag the bride out of her rooms for daring to curse me, you’ll ruin our little ruse! They’ll know we’re working together!”
Hard hands clamp around my waist, and Keir shoves me back against the door. “Let them,” he breathes, but some part of his power must catch on the words, because I shiver as they etch themselves in my ears. “I can tear this fucking court apart stone by stone if I will it.”
“Because she threatened me? Believe it or not, my prince, it’s not the first time I’ve had my back against the wall. It won’t be the last.”
“Because she dared curse you,” he spits. “You. My bride. Under my protection. It’s a threat against you, it’s a mockery of me, and it will not be tolerated.”
Ah, now I understand.
A male’s oath of protection is like his cock. You do not mock the size of it, you do not suggest it can’t handle itself, and you certainly don’t laugh in the face of it.
Belladonna just did all three, metaphorically. By cursing me, she’s suggesting she doesn’t find Keir’s power and status threatening.
Which is possibly a huge mistake, I note, as the muscles in his forearms flex.
“If you kill her, then we lose our chance at the horn,” I warn.
“Fuck. The. Horn,” he enunciates very clearly, a strange light in his eyes.
Heat bleeds out of me. I can’t lose this chance. I can’t. If Keir ruins this entire situation because of some sort of overweening fae arrogance, then I’m dead.
“Don’t you dare.” I grab another fistful of his cloak and realize I’ve got it all bunched around his throat. “Stop thinking with your pride. Whoever gets the horn has the power to find the cauldron. I know she insulted you, but—”
“Insulted me?”
It’s like trying to wrestle a runaway carriage that outweighs me by a thousand pounds. “Yes,” I hiss. “I’m the one with the curse looming over their head. So you can take your territorial foot stomping and put a fucking leash on it.”
He freezes.
It’s not, as immediately suspected, an improvement in the situation.
Keir captures my chin in one hand. “Let me be perfectly clear since you seem to be leaping to the wrong conclusions. I don’t give a fuck about the insult, or my pride, or any of this so-called territorial foot stomping. If she snaps that curse shut then you are dead. And I will not have that.”
I suffer a moment where I have no fucking idea what that means.
And then it comes crashing down on me.
He’s… angry because he thinks I’m going to get hurt.
“Because you won’t be able to find the horn,” I whisper, trying to reel in all my conflicting feelings.
His thumb strokes the curve of my neck. “Oh, Zemira. The lies you tell yourself…. Yes,” he hisses, pressing closer. “Because I need you to find the horn. Because if she steals you from my side, she’s insulting me. Because this is a game, and all I care about are the whims of foolish little fae princes. Do any of them feel like the truth?”
I can’t look away from him. His eyes blaze and I realize I have a furious dragon by the collar, and I don’t know how to defuse the situation, because I truly don’t know why he’s so angry.
He must see it in my eyes. “I will kill her because this is not the first time she’s dared attack you. Last night can be forgiven—she didn’t know who you were. But now she has no excuse. I will kill her because you are mine and she hurt you. I will kill her because I promised myself I would protect you. No matter what the cost.”
Kill her? My eyes widen. Mine? What is this?
“Stay here,” he says, trying to push me aside. “I will be back.”
He’s going to ruin everything and in so doing, cast me to the wolves. Or, to be more precise, my father’s lack of mercy.
There’s only one thing to do—
I kiss him.
There’s a moment of stillness as if I caught him by surprise. Hands lock around my forearms as if he seeks something to steady him.
And then, it’s as though he surrenders utterly to the sensation. Keir kisses me hard, shoving me back against the door, his soft mouth claiming me. His tongue lashes against mine, the stone wall of his chest pressed firmly against me.
I knew his body was carved of pure marble by some long-ago artisan who conjured him into flesh, but the sensation of it…. All that muscular flesh pressing me into the door, grinding me there until we’re practically struggling for breath and surrender, steals my wits.
Maybe we aren’t the ones fighting—maybe we were fighting our own desires—because it feels as though desperation twines itself through my body.
I need to kiss him.
I need his hands on my skin.
His tongue in my mouth.
I need this like I need air. Or water.
He kissed me once, his oath biting into my lips and drawing blood. At the time I was frightened and reeling, and though the memory of that kiss has replayed itself a thousand times over in my head, it wasn’t entirely something enjoyable.
But now I’m not thinking about pain, or oaths, or stopping him.
Now all I can taste is his mouth.
That hard, relentless mouth that tastes like all manner of sin. I can taste apples on his tongue, tart and sweet, and his hands slide down my hips, capturing my ass in both hands as he hauls me up, driving into the welcoming embrace of my hips.
A gasp tears loose from my ragged throat. I should stop this right now. This is dangerous, like throwing oil on a fire, but I c
an’t. Just a second more. Another second. I’m stealing seconds and drowning in the passion of his claim.
Keir doesn’t just kiss me.
He steals my breath, my thoughts, my tremulous heart… and if I’d had my soul, I think he’d be engraving his name permanently on that too. His magic runs through my veins like molten honey—or slow-acting poison. It slides through every inch of me, igniting something within me that I’ve never felt before.
A hand cups the back of my neck, fisting in my hair.
“Zemira.” My name is a gasp on his lips, and then he’s no longer being kind and gentle. Instead, he claims me with some sort of desperate growl, stirring a beating hunger within me. It feels like we’re eating at each other, as if I’m inhaling some sort of primal essence from him and breathing it into my lungs.
It’s too much.
I break away, shuddering for breath as I rest my forehead against his. The slam of my heart against my ribs feels like a mule kicking its stall walls. I don’t know what just happened. Except whatever did occur, I can still feel it, like lightning dancing through my veins.
Our eyes meet. I see the storm within him, dark clouds bubbling on a distant horizon. This is the primordial darkness within him. The conqueror. The prince. And he wants to claim every inch of me until he owns me.
Oh no.
I think I’ve roused the dragon.
“Put me down,” I whisper, heart racing like a carriage out of control.
He turns and strides toward the bed, carrying me in his arms. “Good idea.”
“Not like this—"
My back hits the mattress and Keir kneels between my thighs. Reaching down, he tries to capture my mouth again, but if he does all is lost.
Because I won’t let him out of this bed again.
I shove his shoulder, and we roll, me ending up astride him.
I don’t know who’s more shocked. Him, to find himself flat on his back, with my thighs straddling his lean waist, or me, to discover that the position, whilst the dominant one, seats me right where I shouldn’t want to be.
I freeze, fingers curling in his shirt.
Someone’s happy with the situation. And if what I can feel grinding into my ass is any indication, I do not want to unleash that battering ram for fear it will conquer me as surely as any castle.
