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As I lie helpless, my mind drifts to my childhood dreams of being Fae. I would have wings, horns, and claws. I would be magnificent and beautiful, with enough power to transform fields of hay into gold with one wave of my hand. Enough power to protect myself and the woman I love.
Tears drip from the corners of my eyes onto the pillow.
Is Juliette alright? Did they really let her go? They must have, because even for a Half-Elf, bargains have power, and I made sure my deal with the King was an official agreement before the goddess. I have to trust that she will strike the King down if he breaks his word.
I review the deal in my mind, every bit of the wording. I wasn’t specific about the “friends” she could take with her—hopefully the King won’t find a way to get out of that. She won’t leave if she thinks the King will take out his rage on her friends once she’s gone.
I said he must let her leave unharmed—but I didn’t say forever. I should have specified that he had to leave her alone for good. Fuck me. Fuck. I’m such an idiot.
A twitch in my mind distracts me from my self-hatred. The spell between me and Rupert—the one that made me look like him to anyone who knew his face—is broken now, but a flimsy thread of awareness wavers between us. It will dissipate moments after he wakes up—and I can feel him waking up right now.
Since I didn’t end the spell properly, there’s a chance he will retain fragments of my thoughts, especially from the times when I invaded his mind for information. I can only hope he understands why I used his face and his life.
I suppose my current status as the King’s slave is a fitting punishment for what I did.
Fuck, before Juliette I never would have felt guilty about shit like this.
Ah, Rupert Diggs is awake now. I can sense the echo of his alarm, his confusion, his anger… and then the thread of our connection dissolves and there is nothing.
The King’s servants took everything I owned—my clothes, my prized boots, Juliette’s notebook, my magical supplies—everything.
And with Rupert’s waking, the last trace of my time with Juliette is gone.
Once again, I am alone.
21
I’m huddled in a thick blanket, on a bench beside a fireplace big enough for five grown men to stand inside it. The babble of the inn’s common room pummels my head, vibrating through the plans I’m trying to formulate.
A glossy ceramic mug warms my palms, the steam floating upward from the tea and heating my face. I stare into the brown liquid, imagining a rugged, handsome face, brown hair that always sticks straight up, and blue eyes with a teasing twinkle.
Fuck.
I made my grand gesture. I used the King’s bargain against him and got all the potential brides out of the House of Bounty. We’re relatively safe now, intermingling with the people of Giltos. When we reached the last street before the wall, we split into groups and the citizens surrounded us immediately, enfolding us in cloaks and hustling us away from the guards and into buildings. It couldn’t have gone more smoothly if I’d planned it for days in advance.
Luck and a shrewd scheme got us out, secured the people’s sympathy, and temporarily protected us from the King. From now on, the other women are on their own. I have an enslaved Half-Elf to liberate and a king to kill.
Of course, I can’t kill the King until I find Rupert’s true name and free him from the King’s control. And there’s no way to discover that name, since I will never be allowed anywhere near the palace again.
What if I create a disguise, get into the palace somehow, and stand outside Rupert’s cell, or his room, or the King’s chambers—wherever Rupert is—and shout names until I land on the right one?
That’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever concocted. Maybe the stupidest plan anyone has ever concocted. There are thousands of names in the world, not to mention all the Elvish names I’ve never heard. I could never try them all.
There’s only one other person alive who knows Rupert’s name. His father. He has vowed never to speak it—but maybe he could write it down for me.
His father. A full-blooded Elf, who lives in Riddenwold with the rest of the Withdrawn, in some secret location hidden from all humans. I’ve heard that when a human enters an Elven sanctuary, they are killed, imprisoned, or subjected to memory erasure and sent away.
Not that I have to worry about losing my memories, because I don’t even know where to start looking.
“Juliette?”
I look up from my drink to find an unfamiliar woman watching me, curiosity and purpose in her eyes. “I’m Mistress Moorne. I’m a cook in the House of Bounty. I’ve had some dealings with Rupert—that is to say, the one who was pretending to be Rupert.” She shakes her head, half-smiling. “I have friends in the palace, and they passed word to me of what happened. I’m sorry for your pain, and his. The Half-Elf is a decent sort.”
“He is,” I manage in a choked voice.
“May I sit?” She points to a spot on the bench beside me.
“Of course.” I lift the tea to my lips, but I barely taste the sip. Everything seems tasteless and hollow and useless unless it’s connected to rescuing him.
