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“Now we drag the bitch back in there and have some real fun.” Estienne’s hands curled into fists, before he kicked me, hard enough to flip me onto my back. I gasped for air, the tatters of my dress not hiding a thing.
Berenger’s hand closed around my bruised wrist, Estienne took my other, and I flailed, trying to break away as they dragged me back into the maze, the other four following like ravening wolves.
“I was told tonight was a special celebration. It appears I have arrived just in time for the festivities.”
A cold, amused voice floated out of Bloodwood Forest. Berenger yanked me to my feet and shoved me in front of him like a battle shield, his fingers digging into my shoulders. “Congratulations, Lord Berenger, on your betrothal. May your union be prosperous.”
The tall male who stepped out of Bloodwood Forest shed the night shadows like water, yet darkness clung to him just a moment too long to be natural. He was elegantly beautiful, his looks in sharp contrast to the malevolence saturating the air around us.
He was not a Descendent.
Long black hair was slicked away from a moon-pale face carved from granite, set with eyes that shone like golden coins. His arched ears were topped by silver points glittering with diamonds and his body moved with the unnatural smoothness of an immortal. His simple clothing was so sumptuous, he made the males huddled behind me look like street beggars, not the pampered sons of wealthy gentry.
He was armed. A long sword in a scabbard on one hip, a battle axe on his other, its silver edge glinting. Neither weapon was for show, they were both well used.
The dark aura of power that pulsed around him defined this male as something…more.
If the magic warding the ballroom called to me, his power not only screamed my name—it demanded I answer in kind.
I swayed when his magic wrapped around me, drenched with cruelty and malevolence and yet, I drank every drop down like the finest wine in Varitus.
When I opened my eyes, I couldn’t even be frightened, even though I knew the truth.
This being was a full-blooded High Fae male and all of us were dying tonight.
4
ANARIA
Behind me, Berenger whimpered and I smiled.
Good.
At least we’d all die knowing he was a spineless bastard, not the mighty Descendant High Lord he pretended to be.
In the gloaming behind the Fae male, more eyes appeared, until the forest was dotted with them, illuminated like late season glow bugs, speckles of gold and green and blue against the pitch-black night.
But these lights didn’t flutter and float like glow bugs. No, these were fixed on the juicy meals in front of them—me, included.
Especially me, since Berenger held me out in front of him, his ice-cold fingers trembling as he maneuvered my body so I always remained between him and the prowling Fae male, that bored, amused expression giving no life to his face.
“You cannot be here. These are the duke’s lands, gifted to him by our king.” Again, despite my hopeless situation, I couldn’t stop my mad giggle at Berenger’s pathetic blustering.
“And what king would that be?” The Fae male crooned, and for a single second, he and I locked eyes. His lip curled; we were in perfect accord when it came to Berenger. I grinned back, not caring I was insolent.
Suicidal.
All I wanted was for Berenger and these assholes to die first, so I could watch.
“King Vandran, Commander of the Western Armies, High Ruler of Varitus.” Berenger’s voice shook.
“You claim these lands for yourself, then?” The Fae didn’t move a muscle, but he was close enough I saw the silver buttons on his coat were engraved in Riventongue, an Old Fae language that died out centuries ago, but still appeared on standing stones and one of the massive dolmens that held up this very castle.
There was an eerie stillness about him, as if time didn’t matter to this creature, his yellow gaze consuming me. More eyes appeared, some of them close enough I made out the shadowed faces around them, the glint of armor, the flash of an iron-tipped arrow.
Oh yes, we were all definitely dying.
For why else would a Fae male—a well-bred one, from the looks of it—break a thousand-year Covenant?Not to come to Lady Evangeline’s betrothal party, of that, I was sure.
