Page 13 of How to Claim A Shadow King

And in this situation? That is truly saying something.

“We need to get her inside.” Ter’s tone shifts, and I cross my arms over my chest, hugging myself.

“May I touch you?” Malakai’s voice is gruff, and there’s something raw in his dark eyes, something I didn’t see before.

Grief.

I nod, unable to form the right words, and darkness coils along my skin before I’m planted in a bedroom, all alone, with only the barest wisp of a shadow retreating under the door.

5

AVELINE

The room is gorgeous, all dark blues that remind me of the sea at night, or just before dawn, maybe, with gold accents and delicate woodworking that speaks to artisans and an eye for beauty. A stone hearth sits opposite the bed, huge windows framing a balcony overflowing with potted roses.

A fully impractical navy quilt in a sumptuous silk spreads across the foot of the four-poster bed, and I run my fingers over it appreciatively.

“At least he has good taste,” I murmur.

Something knocks, and I go stock-still.

The knock isn’t coming from the door. My heartbeat speeds up, and I gaze around the room warily, looking for the source of the sound.

An ornately carved armoire behind me shakes slightly, then the knocking sounds again.

“Is this place haunted?” I ask. “If you are a ghost, I have no problems with you⁠—”

The armoire doors swing open, and I nearly fall over in surprise.

I stare at the armoire interior.

The armoire interior remains unchanged.

“Right,” I say, clearing my throat. “Clean clothes and a bath might be in order⁠—”

The sound of water running interrupts my thought, and another door next to the fireplace swings open, an inviting curl of steam floating out.

Running water is never a bad sign, I decide. Plumbing? In the middle of the woods? Why not?

I shot sunbeams from my skin and am supposed to mate with some sort of Elder God.

Plumbing is the least I deserve.

I nod to myself and step towards the beckoning door of the armoire—which is a thought I instantly dislike. Doors can’t beckon.

I dip my hand into the sea of dresses and clothes and blink a little as a velvet ribbon wraps itself around my waist.

Like it knows me.

Which is fanciful thinking at its worst.

A book falls out as I’m thumbing through the luxury materials, all dresses of which appear to be my size, and a riding habit of pants and a matching jacket that are truly gorgeous and well-made and absolutely practical.

“Maybe I should wear the pants tonight, just to see what he does,” I say, grinning wickedly. My stepfather would likely have a conniption fit at the idea of it. I can just hear him now. ‘Aveline! A lady, even one on the shelf, even a spinster, wouldn’t dare wear pants to dinner.’

My grin takes on an evil cant and I start to tug on the thick, lovely pants—but they don’t come loose.

I grit my teeth and pull harder.