by Bec McMaster
I push away from her, the hem of my silk wrap brushing against my calves. “Murder, Mother. I’m the first person they’ll point the finger at. Who do you think they’ll blame? If I kill the prince, then his people will execute me immediately, and their armies will rise against you.”
“Not if it’s self-defense,” she points out.
So now I’m to frame an assassination as an assault by the prince.
“Thiago has no heir,” she continues. “Without him, his generals will fight for control of his armies. It will be chaos, and I will crush them.”
I notice she doesn’t address the part where I lose my head.
“Take the dagger.”
It’s not a suggestion.
I pick it up, feeling the weight of it. Accepting it doesn’t mean I have to go through with anything.
“I’ll consider it.” I catch a glimpse of my mother’s dangerous smile in the reflection as the queen backs away. It wouldn’t surprise me if she made this bargain with this end in mind.
“You have an hour. Get dressed and meet us in the courtyard. We ride for the Hallow. Wear the red.”
Then she’s gone.
Leaving me trembling.
I can’t believe she gave me no warning. Or maybe that was deliberate: With a hint of what was to come, I might have been able to flee or outmaneuver this treaty. Now, I don’t have a choice. The stamp of the guard’s feet as they settle outside my door is jarringly loud, and my mother expects me in the courtyard within an hour.
This isn’t merely hesitating to strike a killing blow against a monster.
This is politics, and she will brook no refusal.
But who would I rather face? My mother or a volatile, dangerous prince who might think me a plaything?
My resolve firms. If he thinks he’s getting a trinket to toy with, then he had best think again.
The prince of the Kingdom of Evernight is Unseelie to his bones, despite the fact he claims to be Seelie. I can’t afford to show him even a hint of my weak underbelly.
And curse my mother, but I’ll be damned to the Underworld if I’ll let her think me her puppet.
I fling the wardrobe open, both the red and the white gowns tumbling in a frothy mess to the floor. Inside the wardrobe, right at the back, is the dress.
It’s like a piece of pure midnight was carved from the sky, diamond stars glittering down its silken length. I don’t know what urged me to have it made. Mother’s right: vibrant colors suit me best. And yet, I’d been unable to think of anything else the moment I saw the material.
Red would be a sign of groveling.
The white is probably what she intended me to wear all along.
But this…. Time to show her I refuse to bow to her whims. This princess has claws. And she’s not afraid to use them.
Chapter 3
The guards are on edge as we take the portal from Hawthorne Castle to the Hallow that lies by the grassy plains of the Queensmoot, where the Seelie Alliance will meet for the Lammastide rites.
It’s the only Hallow in the area, which means every queen—and prince—will be using it. Despite their vigilance, there’s no sign of danger as we step through the circle of standing stones that guards the portal. Power hums through the ley line it’s set upon, setting my teeth on edge, but the night is quiet and dark.
And probably full of surprises.
In the distance, enormous bonfires glow like a necklet of starfire gems draped around the throat of the nearby mountains. The moment takes my breath away. I’ve heard the court bard speak of the unbroken chain of Lammastide fires that ward against the thinning of the Veil. It’s said the fires protect the realm from the Others who occasionally slip through the portals from the Underworld on nights like these, when both worlds pass each other so closely they almost touch.
“If I was an assassin, you’d be dead right now.” My sister materializes out of the shadows, tearing my gaze from the mountains.
“The only thing you’ve killed of late, appears to be a flock of ravens,” I point out. “Does mother approve? Where’s your pretty gown?”
She wears black leather from head to toe, with a ruff of raven’s feathers around her throat. That moonlight hair is braided back fiercely, and silver moons drip from her ears. No dress for her. She’s a warrior princess, prepared to hold a sword at someone’s throat if needed.
“I’m not here to play nice with the other nobles.”
No, I’m the one dressed up like a gift, though the black silk cape I wear hides my starlight dress. I’m not quite prepared to reveal it just yet.
Curse it. I feel like a peacock, displayed on a platter on the dining table.
“You didn’t tell her about the bane.”
My sister doesn’t flinch.
And a thought occurs. “You knew.”
Andraste didn’t need to tell mother about my failure. She’s already won. I’m to be sent as tribute to another kingdom, a sacrifice to peace. The path to being named heir is clear for her without so much as a hint of bloodshed.
It’s so well done, I’d almost clap, if I wasn’t about to be sacrificed.
“It’s not like that,” she finally says. “I—”
“It sounds exactly like that. You’ve won. You barely even had to lift a finger. All that talk about finding another court….”
“Vi—”
“Don’t.” We both know anything that comes from her mouth next is insincere. She can afford to be gracious. “You’re Mother’s heir. That’s all that matters.”
My mouth tastes like ash. What am I going to do? When I return in three months’ time—if I return—what am I coming back to?
It’s unwise for a princess of the blood to remain in another’s court. It creates too many opportunities for politicking nobles. Too many pathways to dissent. I’ll always be a knife held to my sister’s throat unless….
Unless I disappear.
“Vi, there are things you don’t know.” She finally looks at me.
More cursed secrets. I’m starting to realize how peripheral I am to Mother’s court.
“All these little secrets,” I murmur, twitching at my cloak. “It’s starting to make the skin between my shoulder blades tickle.”
“You’ll understand, one day.”
“Oh, I think I understand now.”
Andraste’s gaze drops to the hem of my skirt, and her eyebrows hit her hairline. “You’re not wearing the dress Mother had made for you.”
My fingers brush against the midnight-dark silk that caresses my legs. Tiny pinprick diamonds are woven throughout the fabric, so it seems as though a cloak of pure night clings to my body. “I thought the white lace seemed a touch too virgin sacrifice. This suits me better.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Find it?” Andraste spends most of her time in hunting leathers. I’d have thought fashion would have been the last thing my sister would ever willingly discuss. “I had it made on a whim several weeks ago. It seemed a little more fitting for the night.”
The faintest of smiles plays about Andraste’s lips. “Has Mother seen it?”
“Not yet.”
I can’t explain why I withheld the dress. Only a gnawing sense the queen will not approve.
Andraste laughs. “Oh, I can’t wait to see her face when she does. Wait until the last moment to reveal it, or she’ll strip you to your skin.”
The precise thought I’d had. For a second, some of the old camaraderie we’d once shared whispers in the night.
Of course, she’s happy. You won’t be around to block her path to being named princess-heir.
My smile dies on my lips.
Only three minutes separate the pair of us, and from the moment we were birthed into the world, we were inseparable. I remember rolling in the grass as children, chasing demi-fey through the trees, stealing into Mother’s chambers and trying on her jewelry and her crowns….
I don’t know where it all went wrong.
I can�
�t remember a single fight or betrayal that tore us apart. It was a slow creep of realization, I suppose. Leaving childhood behind and realizing my sister was now my competitor.
It was one of my tutors who pointed out the future to me. I’d never wanted the crown. Andraste could have it for all I cared, but my hob tutor had slapped his cane on the desk in front of me one day when I wasn’t paying attention and snapped that if I didn’t focus on my lessons, then my future was bound to be short and inconsequential.
She’d never hurt me, I protested.
But every ball, I’d see the pair of us on display. Nobles would circle around us, and I realized Andraste was making her own little court.
It soon became clear she was the favorite. The one who began to be seated at Mother’s right hand on the dais. The one who was asked for advice in Mother’s Round Chamber. The doors would close in my face, and I’d see my sister through them, shooting me a sad, apologetic look.
It’s been years since I’ve seen that expression.
The sister I knew is gone, replaced by this hard, implacable woman. Though she wears no crown, the circlet of braids reminds me of a coronet every time I see it.
“You should make the most of it,” she finally says.
“My three months in Evernight?”
“Yes.”
I give an incredulous laugh. “I think you’ve been drinking too much elderberry wine, sister.”
“Perhaps it won’t be so bad.”
Won’t be so bad? “Which part?” My voice roughens. “The part where I’m handed over to a monster? The part where I have to bargain for my safety?”
For a moment, Andraste looks like she wants to tell me something.
Then the queen stalks toward us, surrounded by her advisors and guard. The moment’s lost.
“Are you ready?” she demands of both of us, though I know she’s looking at me.
I can’t help myself.
Some part of me always has to challenge her.
So I step forward and brush the cloak from my shoulders, where it falls in a spill around my skirts.
The queen’s face hardens when she sees the dress. For a second, rage ignites her magic, and glints of pure gold streak through her irises.
Defiance is her least favorite attribute.
But it’s too late now.
I arch a brow in her direction. “I don’t want him thinking how nice the red dress looks against my skin, and the white gives the impression I’m some pure little dove ripe for the plucking. Considering I don’t have any chain mail in my wardrobe, I settled on the least offensive option.”
“Oh, Iskvien.” Her jeweled claws capture my chin, the heat of her magic banking in her eyes. “Why must you always defy me?”
“Because I want to make my own destiny, Mother.”
“You’ve already made it,” she whispers, the claws biting into my skin. “And now, you can lie in your bed and bear the consequences.”
“Mother,” Andraste murmurs.
They share a look, and I hate the fact they’re clearly communicating something I don’t understand.
“Let Vi wear what she likes,” Andraste says. “There are too many witnesses.”
There’s no time for the queen to punish me for the transgression. Trumpets blare, and a malicious whispering wind suddenly springs through the trees, announcing the arrival of another court.
The queen lets me go, her spine straightening. It’s one thing to punish defiance, quite another to have it witnessed by the enemy.
I breathe a sigh of relief and glance at my sister. It irks to have to say it but… “Thank you,” I mouth.
Andraste gives me a sad little smile.
Time to throw the dice and play the game of my life.
I don’t join the dancing.
There’s nothing to celebrate.
And I can’t stand to remain with my mother’s delegation, watching as she introduces Andraste to envoys and foreign nobles from other courts.
Instead, I grab two glasses of elderberry wine, drain one, and then sip the other as I weave through the gathering.
There has to be some way to escape this trap, though I’m aware that two of my mother’s guards stalk me circumspectively. Running is clearly not an option.
Perhaps the Queen of Aska will take mercy on me and welcome me into her court in exchange for every little secret I know about my mother? Unlikely, though, and my mother would make it her life’s duty to have me assassinated.
Painfully.
I’m running out of options when a shiver trickles down my spine; a sense of trepidation hovering in the air, like the lingering portent of a lightning strike about to detonate.
I turn.
For a second, there’s nothing there but myriad dancing fae.
Then shadows melt together, forming into a tall, masked figure that stalks through the crowd as if it doesn’t exist. It’s as if Kato, the god of death, walks among us. But this is no god, slumbering now in the memories of the fae. This male is carved out of hard, heated flesh and practically poured into black leather. Despite my anxiety, I can’t help noticing the breadth of those shoulders and the powerful flex of his thighs.
The fae of mother’s court flee before him like deer scattering before an approaching predator.
Because that’s exactly what he is.
Even I feel it.
Piercing eyes meet mine through the eyeholes of the mask he wears; a feathered raven’s beak cascading over his brow. Though no crown graces his temples, power drips from him, leaving me with no doubt of whom I face.
Thiago, Prince of Evernight.
Lord of Whispers and Lies. Master of Darkness.
I hadn’t expected the sheer boiling power contained within him, or the shock of anticipation—the feeling I’d somehow spent my entire life drifting toward this single moment. The sensation punches the breath out of my lungs and sets my heart racing.
I’ve never been afraid of man or immortal, but I suffer a moment of trepidation as I realize the black cloak eddying behind him isn’t fabric, but a pair of black wings that hint at his impure heritage. He calls himself Seelie, but my mother claims he has impure blood. And the wings betray him, for no Seelie bears the features of a beast.
I blink, and the wings vanish. There’s only a man before me, draped in a black cloak.
But I swear I saw them.
“Princess,” he says. The way he looks at me makes me feel as though nothing else exists. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
All night, I’m sure.
I force my spine to straighten. To become steel. You are an Asturian princess, and you will not yield to the Prince of Evernight. “Prince Thiago, you honor us with your presence.”
His gaze drops, the faintest flicker of—is it disappointment?—marring those dangerous eyes. “The pleasure is mine.”
Why, then, do I feel as if I’ve somehow failed some test?
Perhaps he thought I’d be more welcoming.
If so, then he’s a fool.
“I don’t believe pleasure has anything to do with it.”
His eyes sparkle as he lifts my hand to his mouth, his lips ghosting over the back of it. “Yet.”
Oh, so that’s the way he means to play.
I tear my hand free, though I can’t deny a shiver runs down my spine, and the sensation of his caress lingers. “Ever.”
“Did your mother not warn you? I’ve never met a challenge I’ve failed to surmount.”
“But you’ve never met me before.”
“Haven’t I?” Another mysterious smile. “We’re to spend the next three months together. Be careful with your challenges. I always play to win.”
“Ah, but what precisely are we playing for?”
“Hearts, perhaps.”
It steals a laugh from me. Oh, he’s so polished, he’s practically gleaming. “You think to steal my heart?”
“I don’t think that at all. I think you’ll give it to me.”
“Never i
n a thousand years.”
The prince leans closer. “There you go again, Princess. Opposing me. Daring me. I think I’m going to enjoy the next three months. Very much so.”
Of course, he will. He’s the one with the power. “Perhaps. You might regret them instead.”
“Regret meeting you? Never. Dance with me,” he says.
I press my hand to his chest. “But you didn’t say please.”
The faintest of smiles graces his hard mouth. “I never say please.”
I’ve heard that about him too—I can see it in the flex of his jaw, as if a part of him yearns to reach out and take my arm. He’s not the sort of male you deny. A warlord, a conqueror, a prince who stole his kingdom from its rightful heirs.
Time to prove I’m no mere pushover. “Sorry. You don’t own me just yet.”
And then I whirl away into the watching crowd, leaving him staring after me.
Want to know more about the Prince of Evernight?
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Also by Bec McMaster
DARK COURT RISING
Promise of Darkness
Crown of Darkness
Curse of Darkness
Novellas in same series:
Seduced By Darkness
LEGENDS OF THE STORM SERIES
Heart Of Fire
Storm of Desire
Clash of Storms
Storm of Fury
Master of Storms
Queen of Lightning
Legends of the Storm Boxset 1-3
COURT OF DREAMS SAGA
Thief of Dreams
Thief of Souls
Thief of Hearts
LONDON STEAMPUNK SERIES
Kiss Of Steel
Heart Of Iron
My Lady Quicksilver
Forged By Desire
Of Silk And Steam
Novellas in same series:
Tarnished Knight
The Clockwork Menace
LONDON STEAMPUNK: THE BLUE BLOOD CONSPIRACY
Mission: Improper
The Mech Who Loved Me
You Only Love Twice
To Catch A Rogue
Dukes Are Forever
