Page 6 of How to Marry a Winged King

If my stepmother’s smile had got any colder, it would have grown icicles like fangs. “We are fond of our pet, but it is not the same thing as family, of course.”

She turned before I could hide, but her gaze skimmed over me without recognition. The illusion was holding. Great. Fine. I was fine. I moved jerkily away from them both, telling myself I was grateful my stepmother was fond of me. Fondness was a good thing, wasn’t it? I could have belonged to a house like Sweetgrass and been relegated to the kennels.

But my hands shook, and I glared at the whirling dancers. I wasn’t grateful; I was angry. The dark, reckless emotion rose up through my cracks, flushing my whole body with heat, sending my muscles trembling. I wanted to do something ill-advised. Something to force all these fine fae lords and ladies to acknowledge the lowly human among them.

That was when I saw the lord of the Golden Wood, King Tāwhiri. Tall, with deep bronze skin and dark hair that sparkled in the feylights, he would have been arresting even without the antlers and the great feathered wings. Those were a bit of a surprise, more of an outward sign of belua blood than I’d expected, but there was no mistaking him.

When he came off the dance floor, men and women crowded in, vying to be next. And yet there was a sense of stillness about him, as if he were the eye of the hurricane around which the rest of the world turned. With his face in profile, half-covered by a mask, I couldn’t help considering his jawline. It was well enough, I supposed, but, really, Acantha—river cliffs? You didn’t think to mention the enormous feathery wings while you were getting caught up in poetic detail? Or that he had antlers? How dare he scorn Rose’s horns, the hypocrite!

Tāwhiri opened his mouth to answer one of his courtiers—and then saw me and broke off mid-sentence. All his feathers flared up for a second in surprise. Oh no. Just what sort of magic had the tūī imbued me with? Had the king seen through it? Should I run? What if that made things worse? Could I bluff it out? Unfortunately for all these sensible and rational thoughts, the seething anger still had me in its grip, and so I found myself lifting my chin, refusing to look away.

Had I gone mad? But it was too late to run now; he was striding towards me. I held myself with a stiff confidence I didn’t feel, caught between defiance and rising terror. Maybe I was about to get my wish to hold the court’s attention after all—and they would all take pleasure in seeing the lowly human punished for it. Thorned Sister, why had I been so stupid as to come?

As he drew closer, I saw that his mask was accented with the same feathers as my own: black with a glittering blue-green lustre. The same feathers made up his vast wings, currently furled tightly against his back.

I’m not an idiot. My building panic swerved right back into anger, even hotter than before. Call me Golden, my left foot. Up close, I could see his blue-black hair was tipped with bright silver, like the back of a tūī’s head. His snowy-white cravat even evoked the tuft of the bird’s throat.

“Will you dance, my lady?” he said in the same smooth midnight voice I’d heard from a bird much earlier today. A feather and a song, indeed! He’d never been the lowly creature I’d taken pity on. He could have granted me true freedom, but instead he’d played me for a fool.

“You,” I said flatly.

“Me,” he agreed, holding out his hand. The arrogance!

He’s a king! I reminded myself. Of course he’s arrogant! You’re a human in the middle of a forbidden fae court! Don’t do anything foolish! Or at least not more foolish than you have already.

I took his hand.

His fingers curled around mine, the point of contact shivering through me as he led me out to the dance floor. Beyond him, I felt the eyes of the court. I caught sight of Lord and Lady Bloodthorn and Acantha, their eyes narrow and lips drawn tight.

King Tāwhiri’s arms were firm, and he moved with elegant, light-footed grace. If not for, well, everything, I’d have thoroughly enjoyed dancing with him. As it was, my emotions seesawed between outrage, panic, and curiosity.

“My intimates call me Tāwhiri,” he said.

“Good for them, Your Majesty,” I said before I could stop myself. I hastily pressed my lips tight.

His mouth curved. “This morning you pulled me from a trap, and tonight you wear my feathers. That is fairly intimate.” His dark eyes searched mine, as if he couldn’t puzzle me out. I wondered what he looked like under the mask. Undoubtedly beautiful.

I said nothing. It seemed safest.

“Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure whether you would, even with two invitations,” he said into my fraught silence.

“Two?”

“The invitation to the house of Bloodthorn included all its scions.”

“Why did you want me to come? You don’t even know me. And I’m human.”

He looked surprised and a little ruffled, as if he were the only one allowed to ask awkward questions.

“I am currently obliged to seek a bride,” he said in a tight, clipped voice. “You yourself said you were a daughter of Bloodthorn. If I must choose from amongst the scions of the twelve houses, then by Sister Night, I will have the full breadth of them here to choose from.”

It shouldn’t have annoyed me that he’d invited me only out of perversity—why else would he, after all?—but it nonetheless did.

“I came for the music, not you, just so you know,” I said.

It surprised a laugh from him. He had a good laugh, warm and resonant as apple cider. That and the fact that nothing terrible had happened yet made me relax a fraction. After all, if the king had invited me personally, I couldn’t get into trouble for coming, could I?

I winced, thinking of Lord Bloodthorn. I definitely could.