Gratification.
“You bring it with you always, don’t you?” He rises, pacing the room with long strides, keeping his eyes trained on me. “For fear of being stuck on the wrong side of the portal with no way of getting a refill…”
How does he know that?
“It seems you’ve thought of everything to equip my personal prison with,” I seethe. He … stalked me? I don’t know if it was simple gossip or if he’s been following me, but I am totally, completely creeped out right now.
People talk.
He said as much when I first arrived. Given my former job, I’m aware you need to be careful. Drama can start with the smallest comment, the littlest glance, but whatever this is? It’s so far beyond that. This dude has been straight up stalking me.
“You’re not a prisoner.” He frowns. Sensing that his nearness is creating the wrong kind of tension, he takes a few steps away from me.
“Oh!” I shout with mock enthusiasm, walking toward the door. Throwing it open, I note that while I can see a large staircase, it ripples like I’m looking through glass. “Great, let me just head back home then. Since you’re not keeping me here in a windowless cell or anything.”
Curiously, I tap at the doorway and sure enough it’s as firm as stone. I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.
“Seriously?” I say crossing my arms.
“I could not have you leaving before learning my merits.” Magnus’s eyes meet mine, and I wish I could tell what he was thinking. “But I assure you it is not windowless.” He crosses the room and yanks open the locked window—the one with the big wooden bar on it—open with ease. Huh. I guess it was less of a bar and more of a latch—like a hurricane shutter or something.
“This thing has always been sticky,” he says casually. Wind blows into the space, cool and fresh, but I keep focused on the opening. When it comes to windows, it’s a big one. Sure, I might be underestimating the width of my hips, but I’m pretty sure I could easily fit through it, and best of all it doesn’t look like there’s any magic around it.
I could bide my time and win his trust, sure, but yeeting myself out the window? Yeah, that feels like a better plan I lunge for it but am easily blocked.
“Wait!” Magnus says, reaching for my hand. He falls short, the whisper of his fingers gliding over my palm without the resolve to take hold. “You may not find the others in the shadows as kind as I am…”
The what?
“I don’t find you particularly kind. I think I’ll take my chances.”
But his tall body blocks the window. There’s a nervousness to him that isstrangein a way I can’t put my finger on. Why does he seem so jittery?
“Please—” he begs. “I need you to stay here—for your own safety.”
Huh.
I get that the faerie realm has dangers I don’t understand—heck, I don’t even know what being “in the shadows” means. Besides, the space I can see beyond his body seems cloaked in mist. Totally not ominous at all.
However, there’s something else going on here,somethinghe’s not telling me. Whatever it is makes his cheeks flush pink and his eyes dart nervously toward the window. Magnus regrets opening it. My question is…why?
I push past him to get a better look.Wow. When he called it “the shadows,” he wasn’t kidding. The sky is dark, with a fog that obscures any details of where we are. The forest is looming anddead.Then my eyes fall onto a short vampire woman walking into the castle on a dark stone path--carrying a floral centerpiece as large as she is.
“What is that for?” I ask, the breath tight in my lungs.
“The court expects a wedding.” His face is flushed and pleading, only inches from mine. “Ourwedding.”
A fed-up laugh escapes my lips.
“That’s why you won’t let me go? You want to save face?” I take another step closer to the window, pushing him away with all my strength. “Hey everyone, guess what?!” I shout down from the tower, but his large hand clamps over my mouth. With a thud, the window shuts.
“Come now, sweet Heather… you will learn that both this domain and I have our charms. Live a life with me surrounded by old tomes and comfort.” His tone contains a desperate plea.
“Have you met my husband?” I ask, my cheeks reddening at the slip. Moth and I aren’t married yet, but the title feels so right.
“Considering I plan onbeinghim by the end of the week, I’d say quite intimately.” He leans against the window, barring me from opening it and… God, he’s annoying.
“Moth literally reads, makes tea—”Kisses every inch of my body“—and scribbles in his notebook all day.”
