“Yes, well,” she hedges with obvious distaste. “It has been ten years. At least this is hisonlylapse in judgment when it comes to humans. The idea ofthemintermingling withusas equals is repulsive.” The tone of her words radiates with contempt, mirroring the disdainful expression on her face.
“This pittance of a rebellion will not take hold, my dear. The Mice shall be exterminated,” the man assures his partner.
“Of course they shall be taken care of,” a new voice joins in, cold as the grave and accented with the tones of Mandarin.
My entire body seizes with fear and I slowly, carefully, tilt away to hide my face, not wanting to catch the attention of King Charming who is flanked by one of his aides.
Chapter 2
Meet the Charmings
CINDER
If I was forced to pick a fight between the tall, broad, beefy aide to the King, and King Charming himself who is a shriveled man who appears to be in his seventies, I’d take on the side of beef without a second thought.
The King’s features, though worn by time, still bear the hallmarks of his Asian ancestry, a remnant of the Midnight Realm’s origins before it seceded from the Common World.
Despite appearing as a wrinkled, white-haired man, I know better than to underestimate the ruler of Midnight. His skull seems ready to cave in trying to hold up that impressively large silver crown adorned with blood-red rubies, but King Valdor Charming, ruler of the Midnight fairies, is anything but weak.
Judging by the wild fear in the eyes of the couple who made the unforgivable mistake of questioning the King, they know it too.
“My King, of course,” the woman rushes, her tongue tripping over the words. “We harbor no doubts as to your power.”
The King’s silky voice drips with danger. “Only doubts as to my judgment, la?” he says, employing the Mandarin exclamation to punctuate his statement.
“My lady did not know what she was saying, Your Majesty,” the man interjects. “She has been imbibing too much on your generous spirits.”
“I do not believe spiked blood is the issue here, Lord Thornby.” The King's tone is deceptively soft, but it carries an undercurrent of menace that makes my skin crawl. “I believe the issue may be that she needs to be reminded how my judgment has served this kingdom the past two hundred and sixty-three years.” A sharp edge enters his last words.
Panic bubbles in my chest, suffocating me as I stand mere inches away from the most powerful and feared vampire in existence. I clench my fists tightly, trying to control the tremble in my hands. Every instinct screams at me to run, to flee, but I know that any sudden movement will only draw their attention. So I force myself to stand still even as fear courses through my veins.
What the fae fucks was I thinking coming back here? I've put myself in a stupid amount of danger.
Every muscle in my body tenses as I try to keep completely still, not even daring to breathe. I’m frozen, bracing for what I know comes next.
Despite not looking directly at him, I know how the King’s pupils expand to swallow up the irises until they are bottomless black pits. The King’s power builds, a crackling energy pressing against my skin. I instinctively close my eyes in an attempt to shield myself. But even though I’m not looking, I can feel the piercing chill as his words slide through the air like a deadly blade.
“Change out of that frivolous gown, Lady Thornby,” his voice has dropped into a layered, hypnotizing timbre, “and don thelowly attire of my familiars. You shall serve your peers as if you were nothing more than a human for the next fortnight, taking on the vilest, most despised of tasks. Use the time of servitude to remember your place. You donotthink, you donotquestion. You are a servant. Your sole purpose is to serve your King and kingdom.”
Only when he is done speaking do I chance a look to the side. The woman stiffens, her eyes glazing over as she turns and walks away, a puppet on invisible strings.
The effect of thrall.
I want to run, to hide, to be anywhere but here. But I'm rooted to the spot, paralyzed by a primal fear that goes beyond reason.
“Do you wish to join your wife, Lord Thornby?” the King asks, his voice carrying a mocking edge.
There is a wrong answer and an evenmorewrong answer.
Any response is about to get Thornby thralled alongside his wife. Then they’ll both endure the humiliation of debasement in front of the fairy court.
Even after the Thornbys are released from service, the rest of the vicious bloodsuckers won’t soon let one of their own forget such degradation.
“I shall serve you however Your Majesty sees fit.” The male bows deeply.
The King dismisses him, and Lord Thornby scurries away like a whipped dog.
The one correct answer. The only answer when answering the Crown.
