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I bow my head, but Sira gives me an alarmed side-look that I don’t miss.
My heart jumps when I hear the unmistakable smooth sound of the prince’s voice. Then it drops to my suddenly churning gut when I hear who he’s with.
Elden. His brother. The second prince of the realm, and the cruellest bastard in the Valley of the Royals.
The stories I’ve heard about him give me night-terrors, and those are just the tales spun back in the village. We learn about the royals from a young age, the burden of our educations falling on the shoulders of our families.
But here, in the castle, I’ve learned more about the princes and princesses—and the true darkness of these lands—than I ever could have imagined.
They wander into the pond room, paying us no mind.
I just have to keep the sweet under my tongue until the princes pass us. Then we can move along the wall to the slave’s corridor and leave.
But that little plan of mine becomes a quick problem when Elden pauses beside us. Of course he has no interest inus—it’s the shore painting he’s taken by.
Daein is quiet as he drinks in the art with a hint of tension radiating from his unkindly crossed arms and hardened face.
Then the prince moves in my peripheral vision.
I chance a curt glance at him—and my heart stops dead. The urge to gulp down the sweet seizes my thickening throat.
He’s looking right at me.
Slightly craned back, his face is aimed at us, his eyes fixed on me.
The burn of a blush ignites on my face.
He knows.
He knows I stole the sweets, that I have one buried under my tongue right now in this terrible moment, pushing out my chin in an awkward way.
I mean, maybe he doesn’t know and I’m just worrying myself something silly, but the way he’s smirking at me, his all-knowing wintry blue gaze piercing into me …
An invisible hand of ice grips my writhing insides and I suddenly feel both too hot and too cold all over.
And help me, but I can’t tear my gaze away from his. Those sea blue eyes have hooked me and I fear that, if I find the will to look away, I’ll be struck down for it.
I’m offered a slight reprieve when his gaze flickers away from mine and instead wanders my face. I let myself see him, see beyond the piercing glare of his eyes. I drift my tense attention and notice that he has shed his favoured high-collared coat and wears a simple black silk shirt, the strings loose at the crown of his chest. Those ink marks spear and spiral all the way through the gap to hide under the shirt.
His hair is tousled slightly, as if combed back then dishevelled by fingers threading through the strands.
The prince considers me, long and hard, for the heaviest moment of my life, even heavier than when he considered me and each of my sisters.
I’m waiting for his attack. For the dagger to slash down my face, for his hand to make a strong grip around my throat.
But instead...
He smirks at me.
His dangerous eyes lift back to mine, fringed by his long lashes, and a small, cruel smirk crawls over his pink mouth. It dances there for a fleeting moment before he turns back to his brother, places his hand on Elden’s shoulder and steers him away from the painting.
They are quick to fall back into dull conversation of some negotiations between the litalves (the light fae) and themselves.
The litalves and their lands were taken over some time ago, like our people and world. But the fae are different—the dark fae treated the litalves differently to how they treated us humans. Instead of total control and domination—and slavery—the litalves are allowed to remain in their now-dark lands and, in place of the complete control, theynegotiate. Arranged marriages, a threading of the royals of both lands.
Still, the dokkalves won the war and the light lands are theirs now. But they do make more concessions for the litalves than they ever did us.
I’m yanked out of my thoughts when Sira jabs my ribs, hard.
