These Hollow Vows (These Hollow Vows 1)

He lied to me. He made me believe he was someone he wasn’t.

I was prepared to steal from a spoiled prince. I wouldn’t hesitate to deceive a faerie to save my sister, and I wasn’t the slightest bit concerned about my heart. But Prince Ronan isn’t just a faerie. He’s Sebastian, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to pretend I can forgive him—pretend I want to marry him.

When you meet Prince Ronan, remember that you need him. Hold his trust, or you will be unable to infiltrate his court.

The king’s words from this morning ring in my head. He didn’t tell me to earn the prince’s trust. He told me to hold it. And yesterday he told me that there are no coincidences in Faerie. That’s why he wanted me for this mission. He knows. Somehow, King Mordeus knows about my relationship with Sebastian, and he’s using me because of it.

I don’t know what upsets me more—the idea of hiding my heartache and pretending that Sebastian’s lies are forgivable or the possibility that playing this part with Sebastian might break me in a way I can never come back from.

But what choice do I have? I ran because I panicked, but if I had been thinking clearly, I would have stayed with the prince—used our relationship as a way in. I will give up anything to save Jas. My pride. My heart. My life.

I have to go back. I have to convince Sebastian that I still want him. I push off the ground and brush the tears from my cheeks. Turning around, I step through rubble to find my path back to the palace.

A robed, hooded figure steps out of the fog. I tense until familiar dark eyes meet mine. My shoulders sag, and a soft breeze of relief washes over me, leaving exhaustion in its wake. I know her.

Another figure—tall and menacing, with glowing red eyes that leer at me from under his hood—appears behind her. I open my mouth to warn her, but before I can get out a sound, sleep swallows me whole and I fall to the ground.

Chapter Eight

I’M JOSTLED AWAKE TO FIND myself being carried over someone’s shoulder like a bag of grain. I bite back a cry of panic and force myself to take three deep breaths to calm my racing heart. Be smart, Brie.

I’m pretty sure I left smart behind the moment I ran from the safety of the Seelie queen’s grounds with no plan and no weapons. And now I’ve been captured.

If I had to guess from the meaty hands on the back of my skirt and the height of my captor alone, it’s a male that carries me. But the woman I saw before I collapsed—she was someone I thought I could trust.

“Get the door,” the male holding me grumbles. “She’ll wake up any minute.”

“Such a brute,” says a melodic voice ahead. Pretha, the beautiful woman who helped me get into the queen’s castle. I know she’s the same person, but she looks different from the woman I stood in line with. She has the same pretty brown eyes and dark hair, but she has sharply pointed ears and that ethereal glow all the noble fae seem to have. “You didn’t have to knock her out,” she says.

“I don’t deal well with hysterical mortals,” the male says as he adjusts me on his shoulder.

The door opens, and loud music pours out. Trying to keep my body loose so my captor won’t know I’m awake, I scan my surroundings as he steps inside. With the exception of the clientele, the tavern isn’t all that different from Gorst’s place in Fairscape. The place reeks of stale beer and is so loud it makes my ears ache. In every direction, couples of all kinds dance together. A lithe sprite with translucent wings and a barely there scrap of dress lets a troll tuck a gold coin between her breasts. A young elf in leather riding gear strokes his burley dance partner’s Mohawk as they grind against each other. Females and males alike dance on the counters, swinging around poles to the crowd’s chorusing approval. A busty fire fae in tight black leather leans against the wall to my left and pinches Pretha’s ass as she passes.

Pretha smacks her hand away. “I’m working,” she shouts.

The male carrying me chuckles. “You might make time for that, Pretha,” he says. “If you don’t, I might. You know what they say about fire fae.”

“You’re such a pig, Kane,” Pretha shouts.

She leads the way through a throng of dancing bodies, then turns suddenly and catches me watching her from under Kane’s arm. “And there’s our girl.” Yes, she looks just like the woman who offered to be my friend, but her ears aren’t the only thing that’s changed. She now has silver webbing tattooed across her forehead. It resembles the cracks of a broken mirror.