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“I presume you’re ready,” he says. The shadows swirling around his feet extend toward me and start wrapping around my ankles. This is how the Unseelie fae travel. Via shadows. I have other means of travel, such as running at great speeds, but I accept his way regardless.
“I would like a suit like yours. It makes you look handsome and powerful.”
“It’s not the suit.”
“It’s certainly not the tragic hairdo either,” I deadpan.
He mumbles something in the modern fae language.
Living out here in seclusion hasn’t given me much opportunity to converse in this twisted new tongue I learned from reading his books.
“Pardon?” I lean in, and as I do, I take a whiff of his life force. His fae magic. It smells like a mountain of power. This king is called the Army of One, and he’s one of the most powerful Unseelie kings to have ever existed.
“I said I have a gift for you.” He reaches behind his back and pulls out a long, slender sword, which he rests on his palms before reading the letters engraved on the blade, his pronunciation of the words accented and too smooth for what they spell out.
“Kneel and receive the blade.” The king of all the Unseelie fae holds out the old spelled sword.
I tilt my head. Maybe we will have a problem. “You know I can’t kneel for you. I serve the magic that made the undead, and not any king or queen.”
“The fates prophesized that I will father the Ice Princess who will become the undead maker. Until then, you serve me. Kneel.”
I remain standing. “I need proof.” I want to drink from the fate who prophesized the arrival of the new undead maker.
The king snorts. “Nice try. I know you swiped all the memories from the vampire who awakened you. And I’m much less patient than you are.”
“And much more hot-tempered than me as well,” I add. He destroyed half the fae courts.
“All the more reason for you to kneel and not make me return you to the place from which you crawled.”
“You have no idea from whence I crawled, and you shouldn’t test me.”
He snorts. “I know a fate who sees all that’s come to pass, so if I ask nicely, she’ll tell me where you’ve rested all these centuries.”
“It’s millennia, and the fates have blind spots.”
The king won’t budge.
I sigh. “When I existed as a fairy, there were no courts, but different fae tribes governing different parts of fae lands. Since now the only bloodline with undead magic belongs to the Winter Court, I know where I belong. Rest assured, I want to see the Winter Court restored to its glory. But you, albeit powerful, are not the carrier of such magic, and it’s physically impossible for me to kneel for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you are living.”
The Unseelie king smiles. It’s a deranged smile, and I side-eye him. “Did I say something that makes you happy?”
“Indeed. I had to be sure you are who you say you are and that the Winter crown is forever in my family’s favor. It is for my unborn daughter, you see. I must know that when she calls upon her undead army, you will, without reservation, defend her.”
I smile back, my fangs sharp but retracted. “I’m looking forward to it.”
The king places the sword on my palms. The touch of the cold weapon sends blood rushing up my arms, down my belly, and between my legs, the prospect of using my sword again exciting me.
“My brother-in-law hates it when I’m late,” he says, eyes twinkling.
He means the Summer king. “Then we ought to make him wait longer.” The shadows crawl over my calves, up my thighs. So familiar and comforting, like dear old friends.
“He’s arranged for your entertainment underground, but the same rules apply. He wants his notturnos alive and well.”
“None of the notturnos are his,” I say.Or yours, or alive, for that matter.
