“You’re allergic tohumaneverything. Synthetic foods, chemicals. Your fae blood requires pure nourishment, but you can’t get that here.Everythingabout this realm makes us unwell—the water, the soil, the very air. It wasn’t always the case, but humans being what they are, they can’t help but destroy the very things that grant them life. You’ll see when we get home. You’ll take one breath of Wintermoon air and feel…” He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, a smile gracing his lips like he’s imagining himself rolling around naked in a sun-dappled meadow with flowers woven into his hair. “…positively invigorated.”
“Hate to break into your little vision quest, your highness, butthisis my home. New York City, planet earth, human realm. The only thing thatpositively invigoratesme now is the thought of watching you wither and die here.”
He scowls and glares at me again. “Thisis how you treat your father? Your flesh and blood? A king, no less? One whose greatest wish is to provide you with wonders untold and power you can’t even begin to fathom?”
“Oh, wherearemy manners?” I laugh. “After you went to all the trouble of magically manipulating me, kidnapping me, drugging me, and chaining me to a chair!” I shake my head and press a hand to my chest like I just can’t believe my own rudeness. “Goddess, who even raised me? Wolves?”
His highness is less than amused. “I gave you a mild fae sedative and restrained you out of an abundance of caution. Trust is earned, little moon. If you want mine, I suggest you begin by treating my arrival with the respect and deference it deserves.”
This guy is something else. No wonder Draegan led an army against him. I’ve known him all of fifteen minutes and I’m already imagining how satisfying it would feel to shove a grenade launcher up his dark-fae ass.
“You’re right,Father,” I say, forcing out a beatific smile. “Welcome to the Big Apple.” Then, through clenched teeth, “I hope you fuckingchokeon it.”
He arches an unnaturally elegant eyebrow and opens his mouth. To scold me? To threaten me? To cast another dark-fae spell and banish me to oblivion?
I’ll never know, because at that exact moment, another voice shatters the intimacy of our little father-daughter brunch, shrill and stomach-churning and attached to thelastperson I need to deal with today.
Fucking Eloise.
Chapter Two
WESTLYN
“Westlyn Patricia Avery!” Eloise shrieks as she barrels through the narthex doors and into the nave. “Thank thedarknessyou’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence.”
In that moment, I’m glad I didn’t touch the food. I would’ve gagged on it at the very sight of her.
She saunters down the aisle toward Verrick and me, head held high, hips swishing. Despite the show of confidence, she looks a lot worse than the last time I saw her. Her skin is pale, her hair unkempt. Dark circles line her eyes, and her clothing—a dark gray pantsuit with a cream-colored silk blouse—looks as though she slept in it.
“Your highness,” she coos as she approaches the altar. “You’re looking well.”
Great.So they know each other. That… can’t be good.
Verrick’s fingers tighten around his fork, but he says nothing.
She bows her head slightly, her eyes remaining fixed on Verrick. Rather, on the golden crown atop his head.
Ofcoursethat’s what she’s after. For a social-climbing harpy, it doesn’t get much better than dark-fae royalty. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if she was after the title of Wintermoon queen.
“I came as soon as I received your message,” she continues. “I was so relieved to hear that Westlyn finally heeded my warnings and—”
“Finally, yes,” he says smoothly. He sets down his fork and sips his wine, his gaze locked on mine even though he’s speaking to her. “You assured me, shadow witch, that the binding ceremony would be completed weeks ago.”
“Yes, well…” Eloise clears her throat and stands up straighter. “The girl was… less cooperative than we’d hoped. And her father—”
Verrick sets down the goblet hard, wine sloshing over the rim.
“I… beg your pardon,” she says softly. “I was merely speaking of… of the man who raised her. He was supposed to—”
“Your excuses are tiresome, witch.” Verrick extends a hand, and another chair appears at our table. “Sit.”
“I…” Eloise hesitates. “Thank you, but I’ve only just eaten lunch. How about I wait for—”
“It wasnotan invitation.”
Swallowing hard, she finally nods and totters up to the top of the altar, her breath quickening as she lowers herself into the offered seat.
She’s doing her best to maintain her composure, but I know her well enough to see the cracks beneath the facade.
