by K. A. Linde
Wynter’s own dress was just as extravagant but dyed the color of Kerrigan’s lips. As if the dress were bleeding on her. Her white-blonde hair was up in a braided crown on the top of her head, and a diamond tiara had been placed in it. In fact, she was consummately festooned in glittering jewelry. A blood-red ruby at her throat, diamonds at her wrists, dripping diamonds at her ears, and a silver ear-covering atop one of her finely pointed Fae ears that dangled with rubies and diamonds. Comparatively, Kerrigan looked like a blank canvas.
“You’re sweet,” Wynter said. “Are you ready for this ball?”
“I’m always ready,” she lied.
Wynter grinned, her teeth gleaming. “Ah, I see now.”
“See?”
“I wondered why my brother would choose you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“He wasn’t a proponent for human and half-Fae rights. He wasn’t that stupid,” she said, slowly stalking around Kerrigan, as if she were a predator trapping her prey. Of course, Wynter didn’t know that Kerrigan wouldn’t be easy prey. “But he never took a lover from either kind. In fact, he used it as a shield. As if he wouldn’t sully himself. And now, he’s shown up with you …”
Ah, Kerrigan saw where she was going with this. “Do you have a problem with him taking a half-Fae lover?”
Wynter laughed, a throaty thing. “Hardly. I just couldn’t figure out why he’d do it now.”
“Maybe he came to his senses,” she said with a look of carefree ease. She couldn’t be caught off guard or seen to have anger about how half-Fae were treated here. It certainly wouldn’t win her any points.
“Perhaps,” Wynter said with a twinkle in her eye. “Shall we?”
“I believe so.”
Benton held the door open for them, keeping her eyes down. Kerrigan touched her hand as she passed, a thanks, and then followed Wynter toward the ball, where she would have to bury her true self so completely that not even Fordham would recognize her.
The walk to the ballroom was shorter than Kerrigan had thought it would be. She had a matter of minutes to steel herself for what she was about to do, and then they were there. She could hear the music on the other side of the door. It was surprisingly comforting to have something so familiar. She’d been to dozens of balls just like this one. She’d be fine.
“There you are,” a voice said.
Wynter and Kerrigan turned as one to find Fordham standing before them. Two other people flanked him. Their distaste for Wynter was plain on their faces. One was a well-built Fae male with similar features to Fordham—black hair, high cheekbones, and a cutting look. But the blue eyes were different, and the bounce in his step matched his quick smile. The female was equally raven-haired with a lush, curvy figure and Fordham’s stern countenance.
“Brother,” Wynter said sweetly. “So, you have come out of hiding? I ran into Kerrigan in the halls, and we have been getting acquainted.”
“I have been in meetings,” he said stiffly. “You’d know that if you bothered to follow court protocol.”
Wynter’s hand clenched at her side was the only indication that Fordham’s barb had struck true. “And why would I bother with that when your pretty face is back to do it for me?”
“You weren’t saying that when he was gone,” the male said.
“Oh, dear Prescott,” Wynter cooed. “Has Fordham let you off your leash?”
“Enough, Wynter,” the female said, cocking her head. “Must we always play these games?”
“What games?”
Fordham’s jaw tensed. “It is good to see you.”
“As it is to see you, brother.” Wynter’s eyes flicked to Kerrigan. “And to see that you have come to your senses.”
Then, Wynter flounced away, and all of them heard, “Her Royal Highness, Princess Wynter Ollivier.”
Prescott breathed a sigh of relief at her absence. “Gods, she’s such a bitch.”
“Pres!” the female said, smacking his arm. “She’s merely misguided.”
“Kerrigan, these are my cousins, Prescott and Arbor York,” Fordham said.
“Pleased to meet you,” Kerrigan said. She dipped a full curtsy for the both of them.
Arbor laughed and put her hand to Kerrigan’s arm. “Dear gods, no. Please, we’re not even titled.”
“You are titled,” Fordham said.
“Not hereditary titles,” Arbor continued. “Which is all that matters here. Technically, because Fordham’s mother was our aunt, I am a lady, but you will just call me Arbor.”
“All right,” Kerrigan said.
“And we’re sorry about stealing him away,” Prescott said, slinging a casual arm across Kerrigan’s shoulders. “See, we were plotting, and he didn’t want us to meet you.”
“That is not what I said,” Fordham interjected.
“Wants to keep you all to himself,” Prescott said.
“Pres, you’re upsetting him,” Arbor said.
“How can you tell?”
“Are you both finished?” Fordham growled.
“Definitely not,” Arbor said. “But we’ll give you some time since you did abandon her, and now, she has to face your father and Viviana.” Arbor shuddered. “Good luck, sweets.” Then, she kissed Kerrigan on the cheek and vanished with Prescott.
“They’re a pair,” Kerrigan said lightly.
“Indeed.” Fordham took a deep breath. “So, you met my sister?”
“Yes, the one I didn’t know you had.”
“My home is complicated. And when I brought you here, I believed that I could control the narrative. If I could speak to my father first and explain our appearance …” He looked away. “That didn’t happen, and now, you are … I don’t know how to explain it to you.”
“I’ve had it explained. Tonight, I belong to you,” Kerrigan said with her chin lifted.
His eyes smoldered at the insinuation in the words. And for a second, her breath caught at the thought of what it would really mean to belong to him. Not in the sense of him owning her as a half-Fae, which was barbaric and absurd. But owning her in the way that made him look at her like that. Like she could melt into a puddle at his feet with the calm, sure dominance of just one look.
“Yes. Tonight, you are mine.” He stepped forward, bridging the small distance between them. “You don’t seem upset by this.”
She swallowed, staring up into those swirling gray eyes. This was an act, but belonging to Fordham was something that she could pretend very easily. It was everything else that upset her. So, for a second, she let him see the window into her heart. The place where she kept all of that rage for how her people were treated. He inhaled sharply, as if realizing it.
“I have no place for anger tonight,” she said. “Tomorrow and every day after—until we figure out how to stop this hate. But tonight, I can pretend. And then after …”
“After, we will talk to my father. We’ll fix this together.”
Fordham held his arm out, and she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. Together, they walked up to the entrance to the ballroom.
“Introducing His Royal Highness, Crowned Prince Fordham Ollivier.”
All eyes turned to face them, taking in their crowned prince and the little half-Fae he had on his arm. The ornament that he had never had before and that would change everything.
Kerrigan ceased to exist in that moment, and Felicity came out of hiding. The Bryonican royal that had been forced to hide her emotions and feelings. This was what it meant to be royal to her—hiding. And she was incredibly good at it. But after tonight, she would be through with it and she would never ever again let them control her like this.
She smiled vapidly, imagining the brainless thing she could have been if she had stayed in Bryonica and been forced to marry Ashby March. She imagined hiding the bruises with makeup and forcing a smile, having to weather his moods and fits of anger. She would have been nothing but a conquest for him. And here, now, that was the appearance she had to put o
n.
The room was elaborately decorated with long, towering black obsidian columns lining the space and white marble floor. The ceiling had been painted with a long-ago battle—dragons flying into a fight and Fae coming home, victorious. As there were no fireplaces, magic must have heated the giant room. All over, it was glorious and perfectly put together.
Members of the court bustled forward to shake Fordham’s hand and extend congratulations. Several men circled Kerrigan as if she were for sale. A few women even touched her chin, turning her face side to side.
“Such small ears,” one noted. “And completely on display.”
Felicity didn’t care. She pushed Kerrigan’s anger aside and smiled at the woman. All of the women were bejeweled like Wynter, dripping in gemstones. And the pieces that accentuated their pointed Fae ears were clearly the height of fashion. The fact that Kerrigan donned not an ounce of jewelry had to have been deliberate on the twins’ part. She stood out more because she was without adornment than all the women in diamonds around the room.
“You look like you could use a drink,” Arbor said, appearing at Kerrigan’s side as soon as the last insipid courtier moved away. She pushed a goblet into her hand, flush with red punch.
“Faerie punch?” Kerrigan asked hesitantly. Her eyes moved to Fordham, as if to ask whether or not it was safe, but he was currently being accosted by a group of Fae males about some border incident with the other families.
“I wouldn’t poison you,” Arbor said with a tinkle of a laugh. “It’ll just loosen you up.”
“I’ve had enough faerie punch to know what that means. And I’m not sure loose is what I should be right now.” Because if she lost a grip on Felicity, then Kerrigan would come out, and she was sure that no one here would quite like that to happen.
Arbor came in close, running a finger down her ear until she was practically whispering. “People will talk if you’re not drinking. Sip it, and I’ll replace it throughout the night. Trust me. Fordham does.” Then, Arbor giggled. “These ears are just so odd.”
She traipsed away, crashing back into her brother and the Fae woman he was courting.
Kerrigan took a breath and drank from the goblet. It was delicious, like fresh strawberries. She had to be careful not to down the entire contents.
“What are you drinking, darling?” Fordham asked then, reappearing at her side. His eyes were storm clouds. The only part of him that made him seem ill at ease.
She leaned into him, looking down at the drink in hand. “Punch.”
His finger came to her chin, tilting it up until she looked him full in the face. Her heart pounded at the contact. Gods, she’d barely had any of the drink, and already, she could feel the effects coursing through her.
“And who gave you this punch?” he commanded with all the bristling power in his voice that made her knees wobble.
“Arbor.”
He plucked the drink from her hand. “Do not do anything without my express permission.”
Kerrigan gulped, suddenly feeling like she was on fire. “Yes.”
“What was that?” he asked, dangerous and cold.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Better.”
He dragged a finger across her painted lips and turned away from her, leaving her standing there, bereft, with everyone watching them.
She wished she’d had the drink to cool herself down. It should have been humiliating. It would have been if she’d let herself think on it for more than a second. But mostly, she was wondering where in the gods’ names he kept that carefully bridled command when he was away from court.
“So,” a voice said next to her—another Fae woman dripping in diamonds—“you’re the one he chose.”
Kerrigan didn’t say anything.
“Who knew he could replace Dacia so easily?” the woman mused. Then, she laughed. “Look at your wide-eyed gaze. Gods, the half-Fae are so unbalanced. Dacia was the last girl that he courted, and he’s moved on already.”
Courted? Well, of course he’d courted someone before. She wasn’t sure of his age, but based on their discussions, she assumed he wasn’t as young as she was. Fae could live incredibly long lives. Some only beginning to fade after one or two thousand years. But this woman had made it seem recent.
“You’re adorable,” the woman said, laughing with her friend. “She thinks that he cares for her truly.”
“And after Dacia, of course he went to something easier that he didn’t have to care about,” the friend said. “The poor prince.”
Kerrigan’s face flushed at the words. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help it. She’d prepared for half-Fae jabs … not this. Something that hit a little too close to home. Fordham had been with someone else, someone everyone here even knew about, and yet he couldn’t be with her? Was the curse even real? Or was she just someone he’d used to get over the last one?
She took a step back from that thought. This place was vile. It was clouding her judgment, and she couldn’t even show anyone the truth. Without a word, she whirled away from the women and went in search of Fordham. Their laughter trailed behind her, and she blocked it out. But Fordham wasn’t in sight. Where had he gone?
“Hey,” Prescott said, appearing then. “Breathe. What happened?”
“Nothing. Just… I don’t know.”
“Breathe again. Fast inhale, slow exhale.” She took a deep breath as Prescott put his arm around her. He laughed at nothing and gestured to where Fordham was standing with Wynter. “This can’t be easy.”
“It’s fine. These women just brought up… Dacia?”
Prescott stilled, suddenly looking so much like his cousin. “Did they?”
“Yes, but …”
“Don’t say that name to Fordham.”
“But …”
“Listen, Kerrigan,” he said, leaning his face into her neck, as if he were nuzzling her. “This is as hard for him as it is for you. We all play our parts here.”
As much as she wanted answers, she needed to bury it for now. It wasn’t going to help them get through the evening. Maybe she should have had more to drink so that their words couldn’t touch her.
“You good?”
She nodded.
“Good, because Fordham is gesturing us over.”
Kerrigan’s gaze met Fordham’s across the room. He looked ever like the imperious prince. She’d learned to read him over the weeks that they trained and worked together, but from here, he was utterly blank. If even she couldn’t guess at his thoughts, then no one else would be able to either.
He crooked a finger at her, and as if an invisible line tethered them together, she moved toward him.
The double doors to the ballroom opened then, breaking their eye contact, and Langdan stepped forward, announcing, “His Majesty, King Samael Ollivier, and Her Majesty, Queen Viviana Ollivier.”
8
The King
The king and queen of the House of Shadows entered the room. King Samael in the black and silver of his house and Viviana in a midnight-blue dress that matched her sweeping dark hair.
Prescott yanked Kerrigan down, and she stumbled, barely righting herself before she fell into a curtsy.
“Some warning next time,” she snarled at him, a little of Kerrigan peeking out.
He shot her an insufferable smirk. “Ah, so you are as feisty as he said you were.”
Kerrigan didn’t get a chance to respond because the king stepped forward to address his court. He lifted his hand to tell his subjects to rise.
“Welcome,” King Samael said. He cut a formidable figure. Not quite as tall as his son, but sturdy with broad shoulders and a booming voice. His hair was long past his shoulders and the same onyx color but with eyes to match. “It is a great triumph of mine to announce that my son, Prince Fordham, has returned victorious to the House of Shadows.” The court applauded the announcement as he gestured to Fordham, who straightened, putting his hands behind his back and staring blankly at his audience
. “Tonight, we are not just Ollivier, Laurent, and Blanchard. Tonight, we are all tribe Charbonnet, as we once were. Before the Society kicked us out of their halls, killed those of us with dragons who would not submit, and trapped us here forever, branding us the Dark Court. We claimed the House of Shadows long ago, and with my son’s advancement into the Society and a dragon of his own, we will rise again.”
The crowd roared its approval at the pronouncement. The king stepped toward his son, clapping him on the shoulder. They looked at each other not as father and son, but as enemy combatants, waiting for the fight.
“Let the past be the past and old transgressions forgotten,” the king said to his only son. “Let’s welcome him back properly.”
Fordham inclined his head at his father and raised his hand to the adoring crowd.
“That’s our cue,” Prescott said.
Kerrigan followed Prescott across the room to where Fordham and Wynter stood with their father and his new bride. Upon closer inspection, Queen Viviana couldn’t have been much older than Kerrigan. And she was the first to notice Kerrigan.
“What’s this?” Viviana asked. “Your pet?”
Fordham brought her close to him. “Kerrigan, this is Queen Viviana.”
Kerrigan curtsied deeply.
“And my father, King Samael.”
“Your Majesty,” she breathed, sinking even lower.
“You trained her up, I see,” Viviana said. “Enchanting.”
“Well, what do you think of the ball?” Samael asked Fordham.
“Unexpected,” he said carefully. “I have been trying to reach you for two days, and you have been busy.”
“Save politics for after the party,” the king said.
Viviana stepped up to Kerrigan, inspecting her like a prized horse, as the other women had. She leaned in close and pinched her arm, hard. “You’ll never have him, leatha.”
Kerrigan stilled at the comment. Benton had said that the queen was the worst sort of Fae. That she had come from a family of half-Fae haters. That she could handle. But she hadn’t mentioned that the queen was apparently smitten with Fordham.
