CAMILLA STARED AT her reflection in the mirror, at once foreign and familiar.
Her face was mostly unchanged. If anything, her eyes were a bit more metallic, the silver polished to a gleam. Her hair shimmered with a brightness it hadn’t had before, like moonlight on a cold winter’s night.
Her ears… there was no denying what she was, no hiding. Any notion she might have harbored about returning to Waverly Green was gone now.
Not that she wanted to return anymore. After experiencing the Seven Circles and even the terrors of Malice Isle, Camilla had seen the breadth of the world. The idea of returning to Waverly Green without her family, without… anyone… no longer appealed.
But she wanted Bunny. Needed to go back and retrieve her sweet cat. Say a proper goodbye to Kitty, too.
She touched the soft tips of her elongated ears, now foreign to her.
The choice to be glamoured hadn’t been Camilla’s.
Not much in her life had been, in fact. She was a child when everything familiar was suddenly wrenched away. Her home, her family, her realm. One night she was a high princess of the Wild Court, the next she was a mortal child without magic in Waverly Green.
Her mother, Prim Róis Fleur, had kidnapped her from the Wild Court for reasons she would probably never fully understand. Ever since, Lennox had been trying to tempt her back. Wanting her to take her throne. To Camilla, it had been one of the worst games her parents had ever played.
But one piece still didn’t fit: Why had Prim Róis stolen the locket, and then left it with Camilla? And why had Lennox gone through so much to get it back?
More puzzles, more riddles, more deception. Such was the way of her family.
Not all had been a lie, though. Her mother had become fond of Pierre. Had even used her true middle name, offering him some honesty.
It hadn’t taken much magic for her mother to convince Pierre that the young child had been his—she’d given him false memories, of her being pregnant, of the first few years of Camilla’s life. Of him teaching Camilla how to hold a paintbrush nimbly between her fingers.
All lies, pretty little magical glamours.
But Camilla had truly loved him. Staying in Waverly Green, running Pierre’s gallery—that had finally been Camilla’s choice. With her human father, Camilla had learned how powerful love was. How fear could never hope to compete.
Camilla wondered, though, if her mortal father had known. If there had been a piece of him that could see through Prim Róis and her Fae magic. She feared that that was what ultimately drove him to his obsession and madness.
But perhaps it was also what led Pierre to fill her head with fairy tales. He’d been the one to warn her of the Fae and their bargains. He’d taught her about the vampire prince. And the seven ruling Princes of Hell.
Camilla did not believe in coincidences.
Her fingers brushed the soft curve of her ears again.
Would her mortal father hate this form?
No. He’d love her anyway. Pierre’s love was unconditional, without games or strings.
She dropped her hands into her lap.
Envy was not Pierre. He would not care for her now that her truth was revealed.
“Princess?” Wolf called from outside her door. “You indecent?”
His tone held a note of teasing, and maybe a little hope. He would wait for her.
He’d told her as much when he’d walked her to her bedroom suite. And that ought to comfort her, knowing she wouldn’t be alone. Envy was only ever going to be hers for one night. That was truer now than it had been before her deception was revealed.
“Princess? You’re making me think thoughts that are downright filthy.”
Camilla finally managed a smile, the first since she’d arrived here.
“Come in.”
He slipped into her chambers and gave her an appreciative once-over. “Bold.”
“I tried.”
She knew he didn’t mean the cut of the gown, which plunged to form a deep V to her navel in both the front and the back.
Camilla had chosen the deepest shade of green in the wardrobe she’d found in her suite. It might not matter, but even if Envy wasn’t there to see it, she wanted the Wild Court to know it hadn’t all been a lie.
Her father, however, would not be pleased.
She assumed he’d hate the emerald-and-diamond ring she’d strung on a necklace, to rest over her heart, even more.
Wolf’s gaze paused on the emerald. “He’s an ass.”
“He’s hurt,” Camilla said. “I should have told him who I was.”
Wolf snorted. “I’m sure he was nothing but honest with you.”
“I’m not responsible for anyone’s actions but my own.” Camilla exhaled. “My human father taught me better. I was afraid. I let fear of losing my talent forever rule my actions first. Then as I grew… closer to Envy, I feared how he’d react to my truth. He hates Unseelie royals.”
“I repeat, he’s an ass.”
“I imagine you aren’t here to discuss my love life,” she said, smiling weakly. “Has the king summoned me?”
Wolf nodded slowly, his gaze drifting around her private suite. Windows took up three of the four walls, and the ceiling was also made of glass, allowing the moonlight to cascade in like a silver waterfall.
When his attention came back to her, he seemed uncertain.
“Play your father’s game, Camilla. Or things will go very badly tonight.”
She’d already played enough of Lennox’s games, but she nodded to keep from speaking the lie aloud.
Wolf looked her over, a frown tugging at his lips, then escorted her to court.
“Good.” Lennox glanced at Camilla, his gaze narrowing on her gown. He didn’t miss the subtle to hell with your court and games of her color choice. “You’re right on schedule.” He motioned to the guards flanking him. “Bring her here. I’m ready to begin.”
All but the new head guard descended on her. He hung back, holding an object under a velvet cloth, surely something nasty to threaten her with if she didn’t do as her father said.
She felt Wolf stiffen beside her, didn’t dare to look in his direction. Her father was watching her every move, the cunning gleam speaking volumes. She hadn’t failed to notice that no one else was present in the Crescent Court now. An oddity. When she was a child, the room, shaped like a crescent moon, was always filled with Fae.
Now it was still. Silent, save for the handful of guards, Camilla, Wolf, and the Unseelie King. Perhaps they were all still indulging outside on the terrace. That didn’t feel right…
She glanced around again, her unease growing.
The silver floor had been designed to reflect the moonlight streaming in through the glass ceiling, but for some reason her father had had the roof covered.
Another ominous, foreboding sense of worry gnawed at her.
The Wild Court worshipped the moon, bathed in its light, celebrated it. That her father had covered its magic… didn’t bode well for her.
She allowed the guards to usher her to her father’s throne. An easel and a small wooden table had been set up near the foot of the dais, holding a strange assortment of art supplies.
A paintbrush, charcoal, silver paint. Black, gold, and iridescent Fae colors not available in the mortal world. The Fae colors drew her eye, made her drift closer despite the prickle of trepidation she felt.
“You will paint the key and locket together.”
Lennox held the portal key up in one hand, and the silver locket swung in his other fist.
Camilla’s heart raced. Pierre had become obsessed with that portal key. It looked so much like a regular skeleton key, with an emerald set in its base, but to her it had become so much more. She wanted to steal it back, hold it to her chest, and promise her mortal father that she’d never let it out of her sight again.
“Camilla.” Lennox’s voice was laced with disapproval. “I thought the mortal adoration was an act earlier. Tell me you don’t actually harbor feelings for that pet your mother played with?”
Wolf’s warning fluttered through her mind. Play your father’s game. Camilla bit the inside of her cheek, stopping herself from snapping at the king.
Instead, she stared at the portal key and the locket, trying to puzzle out why he’d want them painted together. What nefarious plot had he hatched now? Asking him outright would only enrage him—the Unseelie King’s orders were to be met with obedience.
Still…
“How are they meant to be painted together?” she asked, the question innocent enough.
Lennox’s hair shifted from silver to white to black, his mood rapidly changing.
“A chain, a rope, a ribbon of silk,” he said, shrugging. “Your talent will guide you. All that matters is that the two are bound.”
Camilla knew exactly what she wouldn’t paint, then. But her defiance…
She swallowed hard, then picked up the paintbrush, her gaze once again drifting to the shimmering, ethereal Fae colors. One—lavender, blue, silver, undulating in iridescent waves—was magic in liquid form. She dipped the tip of her brush in it, then accepted the portal key and her locket, laying them both on the little wooden table, on top of each other, her pulse suddenly racing.
“Oh, one more thing.”
Lennox’s voice was a dagger dipped in poison, pinning her in place.
“Should you not do as I say, I’ll destroy this.”
He motioned to his head guard, who unveiled what he’d been holding. It was meant to torture her, all right. Except it wouldn’t simply hurt her. It would destroy Envy’s court.
There, clasped in the guard’s hands, was what had to be the Chalice of Memoria. The cup was etched over with runes, the magic dulled but waiting.
Camilla swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Her father hadn’t let Envy leave yet. Hadn’t yet ended the game. No matter that she didn’t want to bind the portal key and the locket together, she couldn’t harm Envy or his court again.
Lennox watched her closely, the corner of his mouth tipped up. He loved it when his plan unfolded perfectly, had bet she’d fall into line.
And worst of all, he was correct.
Outmaneuvered, cornered, and without choice, Camilla dove into that well of magic, the talent that came from other worlds, just like her.
She closed her eyes, allowing her muse to take over, to show her how the object wished to be bound. Thin Fae-colored chains spiderwebbed around the key and the locket.
Giving herself fully to her talent, Camilla painted each thread in the magical color, going so far as to add little droplets, like dew on a spider’s web. The stem of the portal key slowly fused with the locket, the silver liquefying and seeping until the two objects melded into one.
It wasn’t a painting, but a new tangible object.
A shocking, horrible truth broke free, tossing Camilla backward in a magical blast. Her body flew several feet across the throne room before she crashed and fell into a heap, her head smashing against metal bars.
She could scarcely see the here and now; she was still half lost to that strange power. Last time, Envy had been there, shaking her back to reality. Now she was on her own.
And what she’d seen…
“Hexed object.” It was all she could manage to whisper. On their own they’d been just a portal key and her locket. Bound, they became something more, something other.
Camilla commanded herself to focus, to find her reality.
Cool metal pressed against her palms.
No. She was sprawled on a metal floor. The Crescent Court’s floor wasn’t metal.
She blinked, trying to force herself into the here and now.
A clang rang out, drawing her attention up.
“No.” Her voice shook. He’d caged her. And hung her far above the throne room, where her cage swayed dangerously with each of her movements.
It was a fine prison. A mockery of a cell.
“Let me out.”
Lennox didn’t bother to look at her; he strode down to where she’d left the bound key, plucking it up and turning it over.
“Do you have any idea what this is now capable of?” he asked.
Nothing good, clearly.
Camilla’s hands wrapped around the metal bars, burning from the iron. She wrenched them back, then tried again, shaking the door. For doing as he’d commanded, her father had imprisoned her in iron. It was unfathomable.
“You cannot cage me.”
Lennox gave her a pitying look. “I just did.”
“Why?” she asked, uncaring that she wasn’t meant to question the king. “I did as you asked!”
His hair turned black and his eyes gleamed white.
“Is that what I did… ask you? Like a nice mortal friend. A loving, human father. Or did your king give you an order? One you would have refused had I not given you a reason not to?”
He advanced on her, his gaze steely and void of any pretense of civility.
“You mistake your place in my court, daughter. You were invited to come home. Twice. First with a friend I sent for you, in case you needed one of our kind. Next, I sent Wolf. In case you required a mate. You chose to stay in that mortal cesspool, lowering yourself. Pretending you were a human.”
Anger unleashed her tongue. “I didn’t choose to leave in the first place. Or have you forgotten your little game with Mother? You made me a changeling. Then you condemn me for choosing to stay where I’d been just another game piece. I never would have left the Wild Court.”
“The queen stole you,” Lennox snapped. “You should have proven your loyalty to our court when I summoned you the first time.”
“My loyalty? It seems like I am simply your little pawn, moving around your game board based on your whims.”
His smile was crafted of nightmares. He held the key up. “This is the Silverthorne Key, little pawn. Do you know what it does?”
Camilla felt as if she’d taken a hit. She slowly shook her head, an awful realization emerging. Puzzle pieces clicked into place. Pierre’s obsession with the portal key, with keeping it in Waverly Green. The locket her mother told her never to let go.
Silverthorne Lane. The dark market in Waverly Green. The place where Unseelie solitary and exiled Fae bargained with mortals.
Somehow, some way, the key and the dark market were connected. And if Camilla’s growing fear was correct, she had likely created a direct link from the mortal world to this court.
“No.”
Lennox’s gaze turned ebony again, his hair shifting back to its godlike silver-white curtain.
“I see you understand perfectly well. Silverthorne Lane is a realm line. This key? It unlocks that doorway and leads it straight to…”
He walked to a silver mirror leaning against the wall, oversized, wide. Large enough for even the tallest human to pass through.
“Here.”
Lennox stuck the key directly in the center of the mirror, the glass rippling like liquid as he twisted the hexed object. Camilla stared, trapped in her cage, as the mirror flickered. Shadow and light, light and shadow. Images played across it, too fast to see clearly; then came sounds. Birds, people, carriages… the sounds of Waverly Green’s bustling streets.
“No,” Camilla said, again, rattling her cage. The iron burned, the pain a wild ache in her bones. “Please. Leave them.”
Lennox glanced over his shoulder, his expression one of egregious delight.
“One by one, little pawn, I’ll lure everyone from that city here. We’re in need of fresh fun in the Wild Court. And once Waverly Green falls, we’ll move on to the next. Now be silent.”
He cocked his head, then ran a hand over his clothing, magicking a new suit before her eyes. If Camilla hadn’t known how dark and twisted he was, Lennox would have looked like a fairy-tale prince. Except this prince was a diabolical king and this cruel king wasn’t interested in stealing hearts at all—he wanted to break souls. Beaming with false kindness, he turned back to the mirror as the first few mortals stumbled through, bright-eyed and dreamy.
Widow Janelle, the Lords Harrington and Walters, and several other regulars from Vexley’s circle stepped into the throne room.
Camilla pressed her hand to her mouth, biting back a scream. She knew these humans. Had attended parties and gatherings with them.
And they did not deserve the fate that awaited them here.
Their gazes swept around the chamber, then paused on her, on her Fae ears.
Camilla looked at them and screamed, “Run!”
