These Hollow Vows (These Hollow Vows 1)

“Am I free to leave now?”

His eyes go wide in faux innocence. “And where would you go? You aren’t sure you want to return to your friend, even if you do wish you hadn’t been so rash in running away from him.”

I press my lips into a thin line and lift my chin. “You can read my mind?”

His laugh is dark. “No. I don’t need to read your mind to know your worries, though that would be a useful talent. Your emotions are written all over your face. You’re not sure you can play the part Mordeus needs you to.”

What’s his connection to Mordeus? Is he working for him? “What do you know?”

“Enough.” With a deep breath he unfolds himself from the chair. He crosses the room to a small bar nestled in the corner of the office, and I take advantage of having his back to me to study him. His presence gobbles up the space. But it’s not just his height or his muscular body that gives the effect. Finn has the aura of a leader who commands the attention of everyone around him. I wonder what kind of power he has that he, an Unseelie, can be here in the Seelie Court.

He uncorks a bottle and pours two glasses. The pale yellow liquid bubbles as it hits the glass. My mouth waters at the fruity aroma, but when he turns around again and offers one to me, I shake my head. I can’t imagine any situation where I’d accept wine from a male I just met—hello, stranger danger—but faerie wine? He must think I’m a complete fool.

With a careless shrug he sets my glass on a long table by the windows. As he drinks from his, he closes his eyes. “I understand that your sweet, golden prince hurt your feelings with his deception, but if you truly wish to save your sister, you need to do what Mordeus asks.”

He’d said the same thing in my dream. “You’re Unseelie,” I say. “Of course you want me to help your king.”

“He’s not my king,” he snaps, and the sharp declaration echoes off the office walls. “He will never be my king,” he adds, softer now.

“Why are you in the golden court? I thought the Unseelie weren’t welcome in Seelie territory.”

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll answer that question if you answer one of mine.”

The word deal triggers my defense mechanisms, but I’m too tired and emotionally wrung out to worry about all the ways I could potentially be manipulated by a deal with a faerie. “What’s your question?”

“What do you know about the faerie who gave you your magic?”

I frown. “What magic?”

He takes another sip of his wine and studies me with those mercurial eyes. “I’ll admit that it’s been many years since I’ve ventured to the human realm, but would you have me believe that humans can now walk through walls and turn themselves to shadow?”

I shake my head. “It’s just some strange reaction to being in a magical place.”

Finn tilts his head. “I don’t know what I find more interesting. The lie or that you truly want to believe it.” His lips curl, but there’s no amusement in his smile. Only disgust. “You know already, though. You know that the powers you have in my realm aren’t so new. You’ve been using them for years.”

A dry laugh bursts from my lips. “If you say so.”

“You’re a thief. A good one, too.”

How do these shadow fae know so much about me? “If I do have powers—and I’m not saying I do—why would you assume someone gave them to me?”

He narrows his eyes and lowers his voice. “Because humans don’t have magic unless it’s granted to them by a magical creature powerful enough to do so.”

“Witches have magic. And mages.”

“No. Witches and mages use magic. Symbols, spells, potions. Some humans are able to use magic, but they do not have it. Not like you do. You are a human who can wield darkness. You can become shadow and walk through walls—without spells or potions, without ritual. The magic is part of you, and the only way that’s possible is if a faerie granted it to you.”

“I don’t know where it came from,” I admit. Because he’s right. There’s part of me that knew long before coming to Faerie that my skills in night and shadow aren’t normal—that they’re something special. I open my mouth, considering telling him more, then snap it shut. His people have proved that they can’t be trusted. “Your turn.”

He studies his wine for so long I think he won’t answer. “Mordeus is my uncle.”

That’s the moment his name clicks into place for me. Bakken told me that Prince Finnian was the rightful heir to the Throne of Shadows—this is that Finn? “You’re the prince.” It’s not even a question. It explains everything. The way he moves, the way his friends defer to him, the way he feels like the most important person in the room, whether I want to believe he is or not. Yes, everything about Finn screams royalty. Power.