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A chill swept over me as I met Garrick’s eyes, watching fury flare and die in them as Preston took control. His expression shifting into blankness, the wolf shifter wrenched his arms from around me and strode away without a word or backward glance.
“Come, we need to talk, Fiancée,” Preston said.
I fumed silently, refusing to move.
“Or I could punish Garrick immediately for disobeying my order and touching you.” His mouth twitched downward in disgust.
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to walk to Preston and fall into step beside him as he stalked away, not back toward the dance floor and the crowd of guests but to a far entrance. My stomach curdled, wondering what he planned to discuss—to do—in the less occupied parts of the castle.
As soon as we’d stepped out into a cool hallway, feeling dim and stale compared to the color and magnificence in the ballroom, Preston whirled on me, backing me up against thewall. “I know what you and Aspen are doing.” His red eyes brimmed with murder.
My laughter rang out unconvincingly. “Becoming better acquainted? Beginning a friendship?”
Preston leaned closer, his putrid breath washing over me and making bile rise up the back of my throat. “She’s a leader for the rebels, the same damn group that tried to shoot me. And you’re planning with them, hoping to steal the throne.”
My head whirled. What if this was it? Preston had me cornered. Maybe he would make good on his threat and murder me here, draining my body of blood and using that to seal the door. It would be a foolish move on his part—a temporary solution to Silverfrost’s problem—but I had a growing suspicion he and Nerissa didn’t care all that much for their kingdom. They certainly didn’t seem to fear the underworld creatures themselves.
There was no point in denying Preston’s claim. Perhaps he’d overheard us. In this castle, I could only imagine how many walls had ears. Instead, I narrowed my eyes and said, “It’s impossible to steal what already belongs to you.”
Preston grabbed a handful of hair and tugged viciously, making my scalp burn as he tipped my face toward the ceiling, too high above and cloaked in shadows to see. “A mortal has no right or claim to an immortal’s station,” he hissed.
With my neck so exposed, I had the terrifying sense he would draw a dagger and slit my throat right there. But instead he drew back, yanking on my hair to force me along with him as he stormed down the hall. Eyes burning and scalp smarting, I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out.
“There will be no rebellion today, no fights for freedom. You’ll sit in our dungeon until it’s time to drag you out for your blood, and then I care not what happens to you next.”
I struggled against his grip, my wild thoughts wrestling to concentrate and draw on my magic. A blast of chill air gusted through the hallway, whipping the skirts of my dress around my legs and tangling them as ice crackled and hardened beneath our feet. Losing his hold on my hair, Preston slipped and caught himself, skidding to a stop. He turned toward me with searing rage in his gaze, but I was already armed with a blade of ice nestled in my palm.
I slammed it into his chest before he could react, plunging it deep into flesh. Stumbling back on the ice, I prepared to whirl and flee back to the ballroom, to notify Aspen and the other rebels that we only had to find Nerissa. But Preston’s face only twitched as he reached for the ice in his chest, yanking it out in one smooth movement. My feet locked in place, my shock rendering me immobile.
There was blood on the blade, blood gushing from the gaping hole in his finely embroidered tunic and the broken, pale flesh beneath it. But then it stopped, the wound stitching itself back together as if it had never existed. Preston stood, whole and unaffected. With air trapped in my lungs, I tried and failed to let out a strangled cry.
“All your clever planning, all of Aspen’s attempts to spy and learn our weaknesses, and neither of you ever guessed?” Preston’s laughter was cold as he tossed the ice blade aside. It didn’t matter. The weapon was useless against him. “You know nothing of what wereallywant?”
“You’re one of them,” I choked out. “That’s why you can’t die.”
“Not a demon,” Preston said, stalking closer. In my shock and lack of focus on my magic, the ice had melted into nothingness, not even leaving a trace of water behind to dampen the floor. “My sister and Iwerefae once, and I suppose we still are. Our current forms are what we once were—mostly. Deathtainted our magic and made it something new, though perhaps this is more powerful than ever. It’s convenient, at least, that we can’t die a second time.” His lips curled in a wicked smile.
“If you’re the dead souls of fae, why would you hate your own kingdom? Why subject its citizens to a war they are currentlylosing?”
“Ourcitizens?” Preston barked. He smirked. “It is said that the dead can show the living glimpses of their previous lives.” Before I could jerk away, he seized my face with rough fingers. “It seems only right to reveal all now, on the eve of our victory. It’s much more pleasant to let our victims know what is coming and quake in fear over what they cannot stop. Let me show you.”
In a blink, the world around me had vanished, replaced by a thick forest of ancient, wide-trunked trees. By the brightness of the sun, the rich green of the leaves, and the flowers in full bloom scattered throughout the undergrowth, I gathered it was the height of summer. But the peace of nature was broken by the bloody sight before me: fae in Silverfrost colors of winter clashed in battle against other immortals clothed in shades of emerald and onyx. Based on the setting, I guessed the latter were fae of Ravenheart, the summer kingdom, fighting to protect their homeland.
At the forefront of the Ravenheart lines stood Preston and Nerissa, their skin less pale, full of color and life, and their eyes rich hues of blue-green rather than the blood-red they now bore.
One of the Silverfrost fae sauntered toward Preston. There was a silver circlet on his brow, and his sword dripped with the scarlet blood of Preston’s people. His eyes were a striking shade of black, but his short hair was as bright and silver as mine. “If it’s not the renowned Ravenheart warriors themselves,” the man said grimly. “Preston Shadowfox and his sister Nerissa. If they sing songs of your glory now, imagine the stories they will chant about me, the one to finally slay you?”
“Ashton Silverfrost,” Preston growled in return.My father.“Enough taunting; show me your mettle.”
I blinked again and time seemed to move more quickly, skipping to the end of a long, brutal duel between the two men. It was clear the Ravenheart forces were outnumbered and weary. Even though their magic should have been strong, being on their own land during their most powerful season, too many of their soldiers were exhausted or wounded. The Silverfrosts were swiftly surrounding them, and even Preston’s energy seemed to flag as Ashton cornered him against a tree. His death was swift—a fierce jab through his middle that left him choking and bleeding out on the forest floor as my father turned, shoving through the battle toward Nerissa.
The vision changed before showing Nerissa’s death. Darkness enveloped everything, thick and consuming, so oppressive that even I, a mere witness, imagined my lungs would collapse for lack of air or from the sheer weight of the painful atmosphere if I lingered too long. Forms moved in the corners of my vision, shadowy figures that made my skin crawl and my mind scream at me to run. The same terror and despair that overwhelmed me when a demon was near.
But then—a light. An entrance into the living world, and a white-faced, scowling fae woman with a dagger to a silver-haired man’s throat. He was restrained by a host of guards, while another silver-haired man—my father, Ashton—stood before the underworld’s entrance, his expression etched into despair. I watched Preston and Nerissa shove through the narrow crack, exiting the endless darkness to stand on the other side of a carved stone door in the depths of a crypt. Their bodies were unlike what they’d been in life and even more terrible than they were now. They looked like corpses walking, their bloody eyes wild and cruel, their decaying flesh sagging off bones, and what was left of their teeth gnashing in their jaws.
“I’ve summoned you,” the woman said, her voice shaking, “to enact my revenge on Ashton Silverfrost.” She gestured to my father, whose jaw was taut with fury. “He wasmybetrothed, but he has chosen a mere mortal. He has taken everything from me. My life, my future. I want you to destroy him and everyone in this awful castle. Ruin the royal family. Win me back my future and my power.”
“You said you would spare him if I listened—” My father began.
