Page 2 of How to Claim A Shadow King

The hair raises on the back of my neck the longer I stare out the window, my thoughts as troubled and snarled as the brambles tangling up the trees.

I cannot shake the feeling that something is watching us.

Watching me.

And I watch right back, though nothing but green and brown and wet show itself outside.

No sooner have my eyelids begun to feel heavy—the constant swaying of the carriage and the stress pressing on me taking its toll—than the coachman yells out for the horses to stop, the carriage lurching to a stop, nearly tossing me onto the floor.

I suck in a breath and brace my gloved hands against the edge of the seat, blinking away sleep and trying to slow my stampeding heart all at once.

“We’re here,” my guard says unceremoniously, grimacing as he takes me in. He pulls out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, motioning to his mouth before handing it to me.

Oh.

I flush, dabbing it along my own mouth, which is crusted with drool.

Apparently I did manage to fall asleep there at the end.

“I should have left it,” I tell him conversationally, offering the handkerchief back to him. “The spit, I mean. Maybe that would dissuade my betrothed from taking me as a spouse.”

“My Lady, may I speak bluntly?” The guard shakes his head, and I tuck the kerchief into a small leather pouch on my belt.

“Please.”

“You are better off here than you were in Stormspire.”

“I—”

“Your stepfather meant to depose you as soon as your mother’s son came of age.”

“Depose?” I repeat, my nose crinkling.

“By any means necessary.”

My hand goes to the string of pearls around my neck. “He wouldn’t. That absolute rat bas—” I cut off the curse and smooth my hands down my skirt again.

They’re shaking slightly.

The guard gives me a curt nod. “Exactly.”

I heave a sigh, lamenting the hand the fates have dealt me, and then some, as I take in the bustling town all around me.

The rain has stopped, giving way to a sunny day with a few pouty grey clouds low in the sky. It’s picturesque, really, and I perk up slightly at the realization.

“Why haven’t I been here before?” I muse.

The shops that line the street are in mint condition, with expensive glass windows showcasing a world of wares that defied all my expectations for what I assumed was a backwater town. There’s a bookshop with the adorable name of “The Listening Page,” what looks to be a luxurious jewelry store on the far end of the street, a pastry shop with an adorable striped awning, and quaint lampposts lining the cobblestone streets.

“Ooh,” I say, my eyes widening as a minotaur—no two minotaurs!—trot past, arguing loudly. A green-skinned sylph-like woman flits in between the crowds, and I catch a glimpse of purple as well.

“There are more than humans here?” I murmur, then snap my mouth shut, grateful no one heard the stupid question, because it’s quite obvious there are more than humans here.

My guard’s already opened the door and is standing beside it, waiting for me to descend.

I forgo his proffered hand and hold the heavy cream satin skirts up and make my way out of the carriage myself, then simply stand and take in the village.

The Wild Oak Woods.