I sat at the end of a long table, my gaze sweeping over the fine woodwork in the hall and the crimson walls above the wainscoting. Ancient suits of armor hung against the mahogany, and a black and white checkered floor spread out before me. A fire burned in a vast stone fireplace, making my back uncomfortably hot.
My gaze flicked to the gruesome tapestry on the wall—the Seelie conquest of the demons three thousand years ago. In the image, King Finvarra held up a severed demon’s head, one with golden horns and black eyes. What the image didn’t show was that the demons had cursed us. After the conquest, the demons condemned us to endless winters until we learned how to keep them at bay with the power of a queen and a throne. The demons cursed us again with the Erlkings, who arrived every hundred years to spread their icy death.
And when we’d tried to make peace with them one final time, they’d cursed my entire family. They’d blinded Orla. They’d sentenced my parents to death. And they’d condemned me to murder any woman I loved.
Even without the tapestry in this Great Hall, I could never forget the horrific horned demons and what they’d done to our world.
I poured myself a glass of wine, my thoughts dancing with death.
My parents had battled the demons in this Great Hall, had spilled blood across the tiled floor, but it had hardly been the first massacre here. Over a thousand years ago, High King Trian, ruler of the six clans, had held a feast here with two Dearg Due princes. The young men had threatened to take back their ancestral lands, and Trian had promised peace. Midway through the dinner, servants brought out the severed head of a black bull—our symbol of death. And within twenty minutes, the severed heads of the Dearg Due hung speared on our castle gates.
And this was how a Seelie high king kept the peace: keeping bellies full and slitting throats when necessary.
But none of that history could compare to the horror of what lay before me today.
And as the human TV crew began rolling in their equipment on the far side of the hall, my stomach was already turning.
Never in a million years would I have agreed to this—meals with each of the princesses and Ava—except it had been a very specific part of the contract. Without this, the deal was off, and I’d be stuck with the mountains of debt again. The humans wanted to film us as we ate together and broadcast it out to their nation of voyeurs. They called this “the dating portion” of the show.
I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, watching in silence as they set up their equipment before me. Once, on a visit to Versailles in the human realm, I learned that King Louis XIV allowed all of his courtiers to have intimate knowledge of his life. They watched his wife give birth. They watched them fall asleep and wake up.
This was what people wanted, apparently—access into our world. To feel like one of us.
And as much as I hated it, I’d do what I must to keep the Seelie fed and happy.
My thoughts wandered as the humans bustled around me, setting up lights and attaching a microphone to my indigo suit.
I sipped the wine again, my gaze flicking to the door. The producers hadn’t told me which woman I’d be meeting with first, and I found myself hoping it would be Ava.
Had they told her what to expect today? She was supposed to cook for me. It was ridiculous. A fae queen did not cook—royals had people to do that for us. Nor could I imagine Ava cooking, considering she seemed keen on takeout.
I needed to get my mind off her. How, exactly, had I let Ava get under my skin? And why? There was the way she looked, of course—that beautiful pout, her large eyes framed by black eyelashes, her perfect body…the way her heart raced when I got close to her and her cheeks flushed.
But many fae women were beautiful, and they hadn’t set up home in my mind like she had. Maybe I craved a woman who didn’t give a fuck that I was the king. And then there was the fact that she seemed to be at war with herself over her desire for me, which made me want to do the filthiest things possible to her, to hunt her through the forest until she gave in to her lust for me and stripped off her clothes—
Of course, I couldn’t crave her too much, so I clamped down on those thoughts hard and shoved them away.
As the door opened at the far end of the hall, I found myself staring at Moria. She really did know how to draw the eye to herself.
She wore an ivory column of a gown. Her burgundy hair, threaded with vibrant wildflowers, was a sharp contrast to her creamy white skin. I stood as she crossed the room, the cameras panning to take in her elegant movements as she glided over the floor like a wraith.
She looked so much like her sister…but I couldn’t afford to think about that now.
Instead of food, she was carrying a bottle of wine. Moria slipped behind the table and took a seat next to me.
I sat up straight, trying to ignore the cameras pointed directly at me. “Thank you for joining me, Princess.”
She smiled. “I am delighted to see you again. We are old friends, aren’t we?” She lifted the wine bottle. “Servant? Open this.”
A male servant scrambled from the shadows, brandishing a corkscrew.
“You couldn’t really expect me to cook, Your Majesty.” She leaned on her hand, smiling at me. “What a ridiculous thing.”
“I only expected your gracious company.” Once, I’d felt remarkably comfortable around Moria. But now, I only felt the sharp-edged blade of guilt.
“Well, that’s not all I brought, of course. The wine is from a vineyard that has been in my family for thousands of years. At one point, it belonged to Queen Melusine, one of my ancestors.”
“Your family history is truly noble.” Noble…and full of a long history of blood drinking. Which, frankly, gave me pause when it came to the wine, though I could hardly turn it down.
“I’d love to show you around our castles sometime, Your Majesty. And the vineyards in the Dearg Due lands.” Moria smiled. “I’ve heard that you are remarkably skilled at archery on horseback. Is that true? We must hunt together.”
“I love horses.”
The servant poured two glasses of wine and slid them across the table.
She lifted her own wineglass, leaning back in her chair. “Hunting is my absolute favorite. I practice every afternoon. I have the most beautiful horse, Nuckelavee. Unlike the other princesses, I ride and shoot as well as a male fae. I am quite discerning in my judgment of other females, and I have heard you are as well. It’s why you haven’t yet married, is it not? You have discerning taste.”
“I have exceedingly high standards.” Namely, I cannot be around anyone I might love.
Was I making a mistake with Ava, then?
No—she’d made her opinion of me quite clear. For someone in my position, it was strangely liberating being around someone who didn’t respect you at all.
A pretty, rich douchebag… It’s all fake.
Moria’s gaze sharpened, and I realized she must have sensed I hadn’t been listening.
I raised my eyebrows, encouraging her to keep going.
“For my part,” said the princess, “I do not adjust my opinions of accomplishments to accommodate the weaker sex. A female High Fae must be as skilled as a male in order to impress me. She must ride and shoot with perfect accuracy. She must have exquisite knowledge of the fae classics. She must be free of any scandal or public disgrace, of course.”
“Of course.” What was she saying?
She stifled a laugh. “Any grotesque displays of public inebriation and vulgarity, for example, would strike someone off my list. I would never expect to find you in that state.”
If she’d seen me two weeks ago while planning this event, she’d never say that. And after today, I fully expected to be a drunken mess. But I was expected to be pleasant and charming here. Boring.
“Quite right,” I said blandly.
Then I wondered if I’d just conspired with her in publicly insulting Ava.
“An impressive woman must have a voice like a siren,” added the princess, “and she must be classically trained on the harp. But beyond all that, she must be graceful and elegant, regal in her bearing, and a brilliant and witty conversationalist. Of course, hardly anyone meets that description. Excluding your sister, Orla, of course, but I can’t think of any others.” She sighed dramatically.
“There is you, of course.” I sipped the wine, fully aware I was supposed to say that. Moria had always delighted in flattery, and I’d always indulged her, like a younger sister I wanted to please. But now? It was desperation to make up for what I’d done. “Of course, I may add another crucial item to your list. She must be a ruthless fighter who is willing to do whatever it takes to win.”
I’d meant this as another compliment for Moria, but as I said it, an image blazed in my mind—a stunning and ferocious fae with violet eyes and cheeks rosy in the cold…
The princess’s cheeks glowed pink, and she touched my arm as she spoke. “I see we share the same worldview, Your Majesty. We are well matched, indeed.”
Distantly, a bell rang, which I understood to be the end of our tête-à-tête. I rose, bowing slightly. “Thank you, Moria. I always enjoy our time together.”
As Moria glided away, servants bustled about, clearing the table again.
And already, Etain of the Leannán Sídhe, a type of female fae known to break a man’s heart, leaving him a shell of his former self, was crossing into the Great Hall. There are males in her clan, too—the Gean-Cánach—though they keep their distance from me. Etain’s hips swayed as she approached. She carried a bowl of cherries, and she smiled at me from under her eyelashes. Her violet and apricot hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, and her black gown hugged her curves.
When she sat next to me, her knee brushed my thigh. I stared at her mouth as she popped a cherry between her lips and pulled out the stem. She was speaking to me, but my mind kept drifting back to last night, sitting under the oak with Ava—until Etain put her hand on my thigh.
“I really don’t give a fuck what other people think,” she said, her hand moving further up my leg. “I take what I want. And if I want to fuck a king on a table, I don’t really care who’s watching.”
Heat followed in the wake of her touch, but I was imagining Ava saying those words to me, thinking of her full lips against mine. I’d pressed her against the tree, my beautiful and wild captive, the sound of her heart racing, her breath hitching, music to my ears.
I struggled to keep my composure. In the presence of a Leannán Sídhe, my thoughts were aflame with desire. I was thinking how Ava would look naked in the curling steam of a hot lake, imagining how her bare skin would taste. She hated me, but perhaps, if I could make her moan my name anyway—
What was wrong with me? Apparently, I only wanted someone who loathed me. Even with this absolutely gorgeous woman sitting close to me, gripping my thigh, my thoughts were on the fae who’d called me a fake twat, making it clear she hated men.
Interesting.
Maybe this was because deep down, I hated myself.
“The other fae here are fucking insane,” said Etain. “You see that, right? I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
The show’s host stepped in front of the camera, smiling. “Apologies for the language, folks.” He laughed nervously. “But the fae can’t be controlled, can they? And that’s why we find them so fascinating. Now, King Torin has chosen another princess as his next date—Princess Cleena, a clear front-runner in these trials. As part of these dates, we’ve asked the women to bring an item of food to the king. In fae tradition, a queen is responsible for managing the castle’s kitchen.”
He looked to the side, frantically motioning for someone to take Princess Etain away. As she left, Etain lifted her middle finger at the camera.
“Now, in the human world, I’d get in trouble for saying that we want women to stay in the kitchen these days.” He adjusted his cufflinks, chuckling. “Apparently, I’m not allowed to call them the ‘good old days.’” He laughed a little too loudly as the doors opened once more and Princess Cleena entered.
She was truly beautiful in a daffodil-colored dress that perfectly flattered her dark skin. Sparkling makeup shimmered over her high cheekbones.
She crossed to the table, moving languidly. Just as I was used to being obeyed, it was clear that Princess Cleena was used to being admired.
The reporter said in a low, awe-struck voice, “Princess Cleena of the Banshees is widely considered to be the most beautiful fae princess of the last century, and she is here representing the Banshee clan. Now, let’s just hope she doesn’t scream at me, because we all know what that means.” He grinned. “It means death.”
She sat next to me and smiled. “It’s so nice to see you again, Your Majesty.”
“It’s nice to see you again, too, Princess Cleena.”
She sighed. “I had something made for you, Your Majesty.” She beckoned to someone off camera. “I have it right here.” A servant scurried over with what appeared to be a miniature version of a wedding cake, covered in a gold dust. “Gold is my favorite color.” She beamed at the cake. “It’s made with caramel layers.” She smiled at me for a moment before returning her attention to the cake. “If you don’t eat it, I will.”
She picked up a fork, which, frankly, impressed me. She’d come here with a delicious cake, and she was going to eat the delicious cake, and she didn’t really give a fuck what I thought.
She scooped a forkful of cake and froze, her fork suspended in the air. Her eyes darkened, and her muscles stiffened, her gaze sliding to the camera crew.
Oh, gods. My heart went still.
Princess Cleena rose from her chair, staring at the camera as she swung her legs over the table, her yellow gown trailing behind her. She slid to the floor, her movements elegant as she approached the camera.
Opening her mouth, she unleashed a haunting sound, an otherworldly song, like hell was being harrowed, and all the souls were mourning on the way out. The eerie horror of the sound slid all the way down to my bones.
“Christopher?” she called out. “Christopher, where are you?”
The camera twisted to a skinny, brown-haired man holding a boom mic. A look of absolute terror was etched across his features. Princess Cleena moved towards him, calling his name again. “Christopher?”
He dropped the boom with a loud clatter, but the princess ignored it. She stood over him, and the trembling noise in her voice grew louder and louder until it became an unbearable, caterwauling scream.
Either Christopher or someone he loved dearly was going to die.
When the camera panned back to Cleena, she seemed to have recovered herself, her expression calm again. With a little smile, she returned to the table and picked up the golden cake. She smiled at me wistfully. “This really looks very good, doesn’t it?”
Looking pleased with herself, she crossed out of the room.
But poor Christopher wasn’t being given a second thought by the producers, because a footman was already bringing in the next princess.
Alice, princess of the Kelpie clan, hurried into the room, holding a silver tray with a dome. Her hair shimmered over an emerald dress studded with tiny pearls. As she scuttled over next to me, her eyes were wide, nervous. She slid the platter onto the table.
“Your Majesty.” She dropped into the chair, beaming at me, but her smile seemed forced. “I have brought you a gift.”
I returned her greeting with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Delightful, Alice.”
She pulled the dome off the platter. “It’s a cake made with peaches. I’ve been told peaches are your favorite. I baked it myself.” She picked up a large silver spoon and began to scoop some of the cobbler onto my plate with shaking hands. “I collected the peaches from the trees in the eastern greenhouse.” She was stumbling over her words. Then her face fell. “I had intended to bring some clotted cream to go with it, but unfortunately, the milk went rancid.” She shook her head. “Maybe I shouldn’t mention rancid—”
“The milk was spoiled?” I cut in, a sense of dread weighing on my shoulders.
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “It keeps spoiling.”
I nodded grimly. “The boggarts, I’m afraid. They’ll be gone when we have a new queen, along with the other dark magic.”
The firelight warmed her pale features. “I’m so pleased you allowed me to participate, even with my scandalous past.”
I stared at her. I had literally no idea what she was talking about, and Alice didn’t strike me as a scandalous person. “Well, the past is the past.”
“He was a pirate, you see. From the Selkie clan. And he nearly stole my honor, but you have nothing to worry about, because my father rescued me before I was ruined forever. I cried for weeks, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t eat or get out of bed. My heart was entirely broken. Because I really thought he loved me, but it turns out he’d ruined many a naïve kelpie, and he was after my money. He left me nearly destitute.”
“You don’t need to tell me this,” I said, more abruptly than I meant.
“But now I have a second chance at love, don’t I? And I would dearly love to have children. As many as possible. A whole brood of tiny fae, running around, getting into things. I’d teach each of them to ride a pony, then horses. And I’d read to them every night.”
But dear Alice, true love is not on the agenda here.
As the bell rang and Alice rose to leave, my mood darkened. This entire charade was ridiculous, just as Ava had said when we’d first met.
My gaze flicked up at Sydoc crossing into the room, carrying what looked like a raw steak on a platter.
There was no way in hell I’d be touching that, and I was afraid it could have a human origin.
She wore a little red beret over her sleek black hair and a sleek red dress. The heels of her formidable black boots clicked on the floor as she walked. Reaching my side, she slid the meat in front of me, and the rusty scent of blood curled into my nostrils.
Her eyelashes were black as coal and unusually long. “Your Majesty. Do you remember saving me years ago? In the Karnon forest, when you were out hunting. Some unruly Redcap brigands were chasing me. You slaughtered them all.”
A dim memory arose from the recesses of my memory—a woman with black hair, her dress torn. Running through the mist at full speed from three wild Redcaps, their bare chests streaked with blood.
My eyebrows rose with surprise. “That was you?”
She nodded. “And I knew then that I must marry you. Because you were someone who could keep me safe.”
My blood went cold.
Oh, no, Sydoc. That’s not me at all.
“And you know how things are in the Redcap kingdom,” she went on. “When my older sister, Igraine, showed that she was not sufficiently bloodthirsty, my father had her drowned in the lake and her body hung from our castle walls.”
The blood drained from my head as I started to wonder if I’d allowed the petty kingdoms too much leeway in developing their own laws.
“But the culture here is so lovely,” she said. “There’s art and music and books. It’s not only about who you can slaughter.”
I cocked my head. “Only during the duels.”
She touched my arm, her eyes shining. “I have loved you since the moment I saw your portrait hanging in our castle. And when you saved me in the Karnon forest, I had no question. We are meant to be together. I’d never in my life felt so safe. And you slaughtered them so quickly, so expertly.”
I motioned for the servant to bring back the bottle of wine that Moria had brought me, and he poured me another tall glass. “Well, let’s hope the tournaments help me decide who is the best queen for all the Seelie. Because she will not just be my wife, but queen of the six clans.”
She drummed her long fingernails on the table. “But you must see there is something wrong with Ava, don’t you?”
Now this surprised me. “Ava?”
“More than just being around the humans. It’s the way she moves…as a Redcap, we are hunters. We are in tune with movement. And she doesn’t move like humans, or like us. She stands too still, sometimes. Like a statue. It’s unnerving.”
My changeling…
I wondered if these were merely the desperate words of a princess who craved nothing more than escape from her sad world.
I have loved you since the moment I saw your portrait.
But I knew she hadn’t. She saw me as her ticket out of a grim fortress where her sister’s corpse had hung from the walls.
By the time Eliza, princess of the Selkies, entered the chamber, I’d finished more than half of Moria’s bottle of wine, and I was in danger of defying Moria’s prediction that she’d never witness any grotesque or public displays of public inebriation from me.
Eliza wore a blue-green ballgown, excessively ornate, that trailed over the floor as she walked in. Her green hair was swept up on her head, decorated with pearls and seashells, and the firelight wavered over her bronze skin. She walked with a determined frown, her lips pressed into a line. She did not look any more thrilled to be here than I was.
She carried a pie with grim determination.
I pulled out her chair, and she sat next to me. Without making eye contact, she began cutting into the pie. “I have been told that you have an exemplary sense of taste. And for my part, it has been many years since I have tasted a berry as fine as these, without the vulgarity of too much sweetness.”
A servant quickly dropped two porcelain plates onto the table, then dodged out of view. Eliza used the knife to slide a piece of pie onto my plate, then frowned as it fell apart.
“It looks amazing.”
At last, she met my gaze. “I have studied your interests, Your Majesty. I have been working through a list of your favorite books, though poetry is not something I understand, but I will strive to appreciate it.”
I poured myself another glass of wine, letting my mind drift again. Where would anyone find a list of my interests?
“I do note that your eyes wander as I speak,” she said hurriedly. “But I am also of the opinion that a king cannot appear too eager, for fear of showing weakness. I commend you in your strength and wise decision-making.”
I’d never in my life felt as relieved as I was when the bell rang once more and Ava strode into the room. She wore a delicate dress the color of pewter. The material was sheer but layered just enough that I felt desperate to see her body underneath…in fact, I wanted to order everyone out of the room, tear right through that delicate fabric, spread her thighs wide, and explore every inch of her beautiful body. Somehow, I thought I knew what she’d like. And I wanted to teach her what it meant to be fae, to submit to a king’s power and lose herself in ecstasy…
No, if I weren’t cursed, I’d make her forget whoever it was who’d taught her that there was something wrong with being fae. Ava had the air of heartbreak about her, and I could make her body pulse with a sensual thrill until she completely forgot the human idiot responsible and only my own name filled her thoughts. If I weren’t cursed, I’d fuck her until she forgot his name—
Oh, gods. I must stop. Fucking focus. I was losing it. Because the fact was, I was cursed.
But surely this was only lust running out of control. And a king’s impulse to conquer, to tame, to make my subjects worship me, body and soul.
Wasn’t it?
