He shakes his head. “You may believe it now, but when the war is won and you are standing on a bloody battlefield, you will change your mind. You will justify it by saying you can’t allow a Rivertoad to rule the kingdom. You’ll betray my people as generations of your kind have before you.”
“What could I give you to prove my intentions?” I squeeze my eyes closed. “Aside from my wife.”
“But you see, Damien. She is, and has always been, the only thing that will bind you to your word. I knew it the moment you held the tip of your sword to my neck and I smelled your mating scent. I will treat her well. She will live among us, and I will return her once you’ve kept your promise. It is the only way.”
“It is an impossibility. She is the dragon. We will need her to fight with us. She can’t do so if you have her in a cage.”
He draws back, looking offended. “I mentioned no cage.”
“Then how will you keep her?” He gives me a tired look. “You trust her word. If she promises to stay, you’ll believe her.”
“Finally, the resurrected prince is catching on.” He clutches the eye around his neck. “This gift of mine allows me to see the heart of people, and I know she will keep her promises.”
“But not me?”
“I don’t trust what it tells me about you.”
I scoff. “I won’t ask her to stay with you.”
He picks up the apple again and slices off another piece. “Then good luck to you. I hear Brahm and Nevina are becoming more aggressive with their pursuit. At this rate, there won’t be a cottage in this kingdom left unburned.” He takes the slice between his teeth.
My stomach sinks. We’re running out of time. “How long until he burns your wagons, Jaqual?”
He scoffs. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“The citizens of Covellton told us that’s what they believed about the Borderlands. They did everything the king and queen asked, and still, their homes were destroyed. Do you know what they couldn’t do? Do you know what no shade in this kingdom can do? They couldn’t become dark elves. Make no mistake, Jaqual, once my brother knows you are no further use to him, he’ll wipe every wagon from the face of Tenebris.”
Jaqual says nothing, but I don’t miss the way his complexion pales. I slip out the door and surf the darkness back toward Aendor.
23
Bad Witches’ Club
Eloise
Ishould have asked Maeve for her key to Bad Witches’ Club before she and Ren left on their honeymoon. I’ve never been here without a supernatural chaperone—and never when I wasn’t human. I don’t even know how Damien and Maeve got their keys. Do you pay a membership fee? Are you issued one by your coven? In any case, I realize the key is important as I arrive in the unlit parking lot of the club that, to me, looks like a nondescript warehouse from the outside.
The door to the place is locked, and unlike Damien, I don’t have enough control to shadow my way through it. I resort to pounding on the door and screaming Morpheus’s name. It doesn’t take long for a scrawny redheaded man to open it for me. The foyer beyond him is just as I remember, an empty room with a single bare bulb swinging from the ceiling. The man adjusts his round glasses on his freckled nose, looking every bit thepart of an irritated librarian. His shoulders hunch, as if he’s spent too much time over a book today.
“Shh.” He places a finger over his lips. “Can I help you with something?”
“I need to see Morpheus.”
The man’s eyes shift left then right, his nostrils flaring. A brief look of confusion tightens the corners of his eyes. “There’s no one here by that name, miss. This warehouse isn’t even in use yet. You have the wrong place.”
“Look, just tell Morpheus that Diana Harcourt’s daughter is here to see him.”
The man scowls. “I said, you have the wrong address. Move along.”
He begins to close the door, but my hand shoots out and stops it. His nostrils flare again, his notice of my speed and strength causing those brown eyes of his to squint. “Do you have a key?” he murmurs, so low that a human would never be able to hear it.
“No.”
“Send in your application with payment, and your key will be mailed to you if you’re approved.”
“No time for that, unfortunately.” I shove past him and dart through the fake back wall before he can utter another syllable. The steady thump of reggaeton reaches my ears, and then my mother’s mural of the dark queen, her head tipped back in a dramatic laugh, comes into view. The mural is surrounded by purple smoke, just as I remember.
I intend to head for the dance floor and Morpheus’s office beyond, but I find my coat cutting painfully under my arms and my feet bicycling through the open air before I can take another step. Peeking over my shoulder,I see the redhead has caught up with me. He’s no scrawny librarian anymore. This man, while sharing the freckles and glasses of the one who greeted me, is an ogre of a beast, at least three feet taller than I am, and holding me off the floor by the back of my jacket.
