Page 55 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

I press my lips together.

Fae are predators. Beautiful, yes—but in the way most venomous things are beautiful. Their allure is a trap. And I won’t be caught in it.

Shoving aside the flicker of admiration curling in my gut, I force my feet forward. My traitorous gaze dips over the sharp lines of his torso, the sleep shirt parted just enough to reveal a tan throat and the cut of muscle beneath the thin fabric.

My mouth dries.

Stop it, Elara.

I snap my eyes back to his face, my heart pounding as I reach the edge of the cot. The shadows on my arms slither as I reach out to touch his shoulder.

A sudden gust of icy wind slams through the tent. The flame sputters out.

I gasp—step back—but fingers like iron clamp around my wrist.

A violent yank. I stumble forward⁠—

Right into Rian’s chest as he surges upright with a guttural snarl that drowns out my scream.

11

Terror cuts off my voice. I shove Rian’s chest, but I may as well be pushing a stone wall. His grip moves to my sleeved biceps just before he flips me.

The cot sinks when I land, the wood frame groaning in protest when Rian’s weight presses down on me. His broad hips separate my legs, and his eyes glow silver, the light revealing the sharp fangs snapping in my face.

“Who are you?”

My lungs seize when the cool bite of a dagger lands against my throat.

I take a staggered breath and choke out, “Rian…it’s me.”

His silver irises swirl like smelted astlerium in a crucible. I don’t think he hears me. His eyes are unfocused, like he’s trapped in a nightmare.

I press my fingers into his chest and swallow. Panic flares when metal presses harder against my skin. “Rian…please.”

“Tell the king to send someone better next time.” Hatred seeps into his tone.

The dagger presses deeper. I hiss at the sting, and a trickle of blood rolls down my throat. Rian’s dazed eyes flash, and his nostrils flare. His fangs descend farther.

“Rian!” I cry, twisting my arm to reach up and grab the wrist holding the dagger.

A bolt of fire tears through my palm, and the magic sleeping in my veins goes haywire. “Ah!”

I tear my hand away, breathless. The burning ceases, but a phantom sensation lingers.

What in the six hells was that?

The tent is dark aside from the glow of Rian’s eyes, but the shadows adorning my arms twitch and slither. My magic whimpers in the back of my head.

Was it not Darius’s curse that caused me pain? Are all Fae able to debilitate a human with something as simple as skin contact?

I’m so preoccupied with my thoughts, I don’t immediately notice Rian’s eyes have lost their faraway look. He wrenches back. The weight on top of me disappears, and I dismiss the odd sense of loss that flows through me.

Disbelief flares in Rian’s molten eyes as he stares at me from his position at the end of the cot. I sit up and scoot as far as I can without falling off the other side. I couldn’t stand if I tried. Not with how my entire body shakes.

“Elara.” His voice is low, rough. The silver glow in his eyes begins to fade. “What are you doing here?”

I rub my neck where the dagger pressed against my skin, my fingers coming away sticky with blood.