The palace bells ring, and the walls seem to shake with it. Bells.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly midnight.” He meets my gaze. “Somewhere you need to be?”
I look into his eyes, and for a moment I can’t remember why I need to rush away. I’ve never seen eyes like this—silver flecked with white. They’re extraordinary, and they match the rest of him. Captivating. The kind of unexpected beauty that entrances. Dangerous.
The chimes continue. Six. Seven. Eight times.
I stumble back. “I have to go.” Nine. Ten.
His nostrils flare as he draws in a breath. “Let me help you.”
Eleven.
In a panicked rush, I hurl myself into the wardrobe.
Twelve.
I lunge toward the back wall, but I don’t walk through. I fall down—right into a massive ebony four-poster bed in an elegantly appointed bedroom. Around me, half a dozen sentries stand with hands on their blades.
I look around in a panic. Where am I?
A single sentry steps forward. “Abriella Kincaid, come with us. King Mordeus awaits your arrival.”
Chapter Six
MY BODY LOCKS UP IN TERROR. The guards surrounding me are thickly muscled, with curling horns on their heads and forked tongues that dart out every few seconds like a frog’s would. Although I know the beautiful elven fae nobility are just as deadly as any, the sight of these sentries makes me want to run and hide.
I wish I could disappear or become shadow, but any power I had in the queen’s palace eludes me now. A clawed hand closes around my wrist, and I yank my arm away. “Stop!”
“No one makes the king wait.”
“I will speak to him only if I remain unharmed.”
The sentry holding my wrist snorts, unswayed by my threat, and two more like him step forward and grab my other arm.
“Release me.” My bravado turns to panic. “Let me go now, and I promise to follow you.”
Two of the guards exchange a look of amused bafflement. The third laughs and tells the others, “She thinks we trust her.”
Their hands pinch my arms and wrists as they lead me out of the room and down a dimly lit hallway. My panic rises with every turn.
They’re going to take me to the king, and he will throw me into a dungeon. They’re going to enslave me, just as they’ve enslaved so many humans. But worse than knowing that my own life is over is knowing that I failed to rescue Jas.
Suddenly they pull me into a room that is brighter than every hallway we’ve been in before. Globes of light dance high above my head to the rhythm of the music. Faeries of all kinds dance under the moonlight that shines in through a domed glass ceiling.
The Court of the Moon is beautiful beyond imagining, and the gathering before me is no drunken reverie. I pictured human sacrifices above great bonfires, torture in every corner, and curdling screams of pain. But this? This is a ball, as lovely as the one happening at the golden court, and though the guards escorting me are terrifying, the elven fae in their fine attire are as lovely as the nobility in the queen’s palace.
We enter, and the sentries drag me forward, as if they’ve been awaiting my arrival. The crowd hushes, then parts, revealing a polished ebony throne sitting atop a dais at the opposite end of the room. And standing beside it, his arms crossed, is a male who could be no other than King Mordeus.
Even from across the room I can see his silver eyes. He fixes them on me as I approach. Arrogance and entitlement roll off him in waves. He stands with his legs wide, oozing power and confidence. His dark hair is tied back at the nape of his neck save for two white braids that hang free, framing his sharp jaw and high cheekbones. If it weren’t for the cruelty gleaming in those eyes, I might call him beautiful. But those eyes . . .
A sharp chill runs through me. This is the male who bought my sister as if she were an item to be owned. This is a ruler who will stop at nothing to get what he believes is his.
He holds up a hand, and the music stops. The crowd falls silent. He crooks a finger. “Bring her to me.”
The sentries obey, dragging me to the dais faster than my feet will follow.
“Abriella, the Fire Girl,” the king says, his calculating eyes roaming over me possessively. “No one told me how pretty the human thief is.”
I want to spit and claw at him. This piece of evil may have already hurt Jasalyn—or worse. Maybe he sees that on my face because as the guards shove me forward, he laughs.
I stumble, but when I right myself, a sentry knocks me in the back of the knees, and I slam into the cold marble floor. “You will bow before His Majesty, King of the Shadows, Lord of the Night, Ruler of the Stars.”