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Don’t hurl, Riley. Don’t hurl…
I swallow roughly, just managing to keep my bile back as Helix answers, “To the Seelie Court and its rightful king, of course.”
Smart fae. Or, at least, one who’s attached to his head.
“Oh.” Oberon’s lips curve. “Prove it.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the cold way Oberon says that. Prove it? What does he mean, prove it?
Helix gives one decisive nod before unsheathing the sword at his hip. It’s a little different than the swords the other fae threatened my mom with. It’s long, slender, sharp, but it’s also got this eerie yellow glow edging it. He weighs it in his hand, the air crackling like logs in a fire as the blade slices through it.
Obviously satisfied, Helix’s fingers tighten on the hilt as he strides toward the crowd. A murmur breaks out, tension filling the air as the Light Fae moves like spilled sunlight cutting through the room.
I don’t know what he’s doing. Don’t know what he’s looking for, either. I hold my breath because I can feel the promise of death that follows in his wake.
It might have been daylight when the Seelie guard came after us, but the iron in the building had definitely weakened Helix. Here, in Faerie, his glow is nearly a match to Oberon’s. When I thought that he’d kill me so much as look at me if I wasn’t any worth to him, I was right.
Thank fucking God I am the Shadow.
Helix stops, his focus on a mixed group of obvious nobles: two females and three males, all of them Seelie except for a dark-haired beauty with skin so pale, I can nearly see through it. For a second, I think that she’s the one that Helix has picked out for some reason. She’s one of only a few females in the Court—probably because Melisandre didn’t want any competition—and obviously Unseelie, as rare as Nine in the Fae Queen’s palace.
It’s not her, though. When Helix draws his arm back, slashing upward with his sharp as hell sword, it’s one of the Light Fae males who loses his head. Like Melisandre, as soon as it’s separated, the body buckles as the head lands with a thud.
His immediate circle scatters, each moving away as if Helix would aim for their head next.
I gasp, my own hand rising to shield my throat.
As I gape at the fallen fae, Nine reaches for my other hand, intertwining our fingers together, his pale fingers a stark contrast to my black leather gloves. He gives my fingers a gentle squeeze, a reminder that we’re in this together.
His touch is reassuring. Calming, even. I feel grounded and alive, and super grateful that Helix kept his sword sheathed the entire time he was inside the apartment.
While the hushed Court stares at the lead soldier and his victim, Oberon looks over at us—more specifically, at me. It’s like I can feel his gaze. I peer over my shoulder only to find myself gazing straight into his vivid green eyes.
I’d like to pretend that he’s zeroed in on anyone else in the throne room but I know better. My luck’s always been shit, and even when I fooled myself for a few short seconds that this was over, that I’d be halfway back to the human world once Melisandre was taken out, deep down I knew that I wouldn’t be getting off that easy.
He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me. I try to hide how much that casual display of violence got to me since it only makes it that much more noticeable I’m different. That I’m other.
That I’m a halfling.
Sure, Oberon took some kind of interest in me. Because of the Shadow Prophecy, I was his best—if not his only—hope of getting revenge on Melisandre. Now that we’ve accomplished it, what does that mean for me?
I’m… not looking forward to finding out.
After watching me closely for a beat longer, Oberon turns his attention back to Helix.
“Why did he deserve your blade?”
“Aven took your place in Melisandre’s bed,” he explains. “His loyalty was to her alone. He would’ve already been plotting his vengeance for you destroying his lover and taking her head.”
“Fair enough. I’ve only just regained my throne. I’d hate to let the seat grow cold so quickly.” He leans back in his throne, that sly smile widening just enough to show he totally doesn’t mean any humor by his glib response. “Are there others that I should be concerned with?”
Helix shakes his head, pointing his s
word to the tile as he steps away from the noble he just so easily executed. Thick rivulets of gold-colored blood drip down the blade, pooling on the floor as he turns toward the throne. “None that warrant an immediate reaction.”
“Good. Clear the room, then return.”
The lead soldier nods just the once, then sheathes his bloody sword. After talking to two other Light Fae—two members of the squad that Melisandre sent to my parents’ apartment—he starts herding the rest of the Court out of the throne room. The two other guards gather up the fallen corpses and the separated heads before following Helix through the door.
