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Mother reaches for me, her grip surprisingly tight around my wrist for such a bony hand. “Come, April,” she says, and the use of my full name doesn’t go missed. “Simply be silent and still. It’ll be over soon.”
Reluctantly, I am drawn away from my blanket and to the door.
I hesitate at the threshold for a moment, alarms ringing in my ears, shivering beneath my prickled flesh.
For the first time in my twenty-six years, I am to meet the dark fae prince who owns my family. For the first time in my life, he has called for a full reception of my whole family.
And I have a dreadful feeling about it.
3
Before Mother can drag me out into the corridor, I am unfortunate enough to have to make the prince wait for seconds longer. I must make myself somewhat presentable, and fast too.
Shaky fingers reach for the undone laces hanging at my bodice. I tug them as tight as I can, no time to fasten them. Then I smooth out my wrinkled skirt and thread my fingers through my loose curls before whipping them down my back where I hope they stay put.
I step over the threshold, one boot flat on the corridor floor, before it happens. I’m doubled over in a strangled heartbeat, hands clutching my ringing throat. The first cough jolts through me with a hacking sound.
Mother’s familiar cold hands catch me by the shoulders just as the coughing fit erupts. She steadies me as I ride it out, the horrid noises reaching all the way down to the other end of the house.
I slap my hand to my mouth.
After what feels like an entire Chill, the hacking slows to hoarse breaths. I straighten up slowly, drawing my hand away from my damp lips. My palm is speckled with blood. Not much.
Wiping my hand on my skirt, I give a reassuring nod to Mother. It’s all she needs to take my elbow and guide me down the corridor. She does rush me some.
We draw closer to the dim light in the lounge area. The lanterns have been turned down, the candles blown out, and the fire in the hearth doused enough to cast a dim orange light at the mouth of the corridor. There is more darkness than light in here, just as it is in the rest of the village.
After a few more hesitant steps—with my legs aching to twist around and sprint back to the bedroom—we approach the mouth of the corridor. The toes of my boots slip into the edge of faint light, but the rest of me stays hidden in the shadows.
Not that it matters. The dark fae are adapted to the darkness. The light is for us, not them. They see perfectly fine without it.
Shadows stuck to me or not, he sees me.
And I feel him before I see him.
Regal authority radiates through the lounge like a swell of overpowering heat. And it suffocates me.
My heart stops dead in my chest as my gaze lands on him. He watches me already, long lashes lowered over piercing eyes, the kind that makes me think of crystals that have survived the ages, the kind that Grandmother would wear on her fingers.Diamonds.
His diamond eyes are darkened with the shadows lashing up his undeniably beautiful face. Onyx hair is swept to the side, a few loose strands falling over his forehead, free from the silver leafed crown that sits crooked on his head. The sharpness of his winking crown matches the gleam of his icy eyes, not unlike the ice coiling around my bones at the sight of him.
It’s only an over-worn couch he sits on, but the way he is draped over it—with one arm spread out over the back and the other stretched over the couch’s arm, and his breeches-wrapped legs spread leisurely—sure makes it look like a throne and not some grubby piece of furniture in a farmhouse.
Even without the crown and posture, he would look royal. It’s more than something he carries in his air, it’s in the silver buttons of his jacket whose collar reaches up to his strong chin with a split down the throat, and it’s the refined elegance of the silver-toed black boots he wears that shine better than freshly polished jewels.
A shudder rinses through me.
Tucking a curl behind my ear, I dip my head, but struggle to tear my gaze from his. He has my attention hooked entirely and I’m afraid that, if I look away, he might strike me down for it.
The prince’s full mouth twitches into a faint smile that floods my veins with freezing-cold dread. Almost as though he is greeting me, or amused by me in some way.
The smile fades and he slowly tilts his head to the side.
Now I understand why his crown is crooked—it shifts a little on his hair, setting free another dark lock.
Lazily, he lifts his slender and bronzed hand, then curls his finger to summon me inside.
Mother’s gentle push to my back ushers me to follow his silent command.
