We pass row upon row of vine-wrapped emerald columns that soar upward until they merge with a glass, vaulted ceiling that’s surely as high as the stars.
It’s all quite beautiful and charming until I squint more closely at the walls. Engraved and painted in alcoves are graphic scenes of dismemberment and torture, not all of them battle scenes either.
“If this is the Seelie palace,” I say under my breath but loud enough for the princes to hear me, “then I’d hate to see the Court of Merits.”
“Yes, you would,” replies Ever, still facing straight ahead. With the hunter’s glamor gone, pointed ears peek through his silver-gold hair. Despite their strangeness, there’s something quite adorable about them.
At the end of the hall, a throne glitters, spikes of clear quartz spearing out at jagged angles, and on it sits Ever and Rafael’s mother. The queen. At this distance, I can’t tell if she’s smiling.
“Where’s your father?” I hiss.
This time, Ever whips his head around to glare at me. “Dead.”
Okay, then.
“Be quiet.”
Inwardly, I roll my eyes, but I obey and zip my lips as we stop in front of his mother. Lord Gavrin backs away, melting into the shadows.
Flanked by two armored guards and a green-skinned creature at her right hand, the queen gazes impassively at her sons from the dais. With a flourish of cloaks, those sons offer her dramatic low bows, and the severity of her appearance pulls at my insides, willing me to do the same. To beg. To curtsy and grovel.
But I don’t.
She wears a towering black crown spiked with dark needles of obsidian or tourmaline and flecked with diamonds that spray dancing rainbows on her skin. Like her eldest son’s, her eyes are silver but far colder than his. Hair, the color of clean snow, falls over a shimmery gown in wavy sheets to the floor. She’s beautiful, but terrifying to behold.
“My Queen,” Ever says, dropping to a knee at her feet.
As though I don’t exist, the queen ignores me, her eyes soaking in every inch of the prince before she beckons him closer with an elegant hand.
He stands and goes to her, bending to kiss her pale fingers.
“My son,” she purrs. “Welcome home. How was your hunt?”
He rises again. “It was very good. I tracked three draygonets and killed them, two by bow and the last by sword.”
A silver eyebrow rises. “Well done. And I see on this journey you have captured something far more interesting than draygonets.” Only then does her gaze slide to mine.
What I see in the wintry depths of those silver orbs chills my bones. No warmth. No sympathy. Pure ruthlessness.
“Yes. As you can see, I found a human girl.”
The queen tilts forward. “Bring her to me.”
Ever spins and stalks over. Gripping my arm, he tugs me to the throne.
I swallow and hope she can’t hear it.
“Human, I present you to Queen Varenus, Empress of the Land of Five, Sovereign of the Five Elements and Ruler of the Seas of All Time.” He gives me a quick shake. “Make your bow.”
I offer a clumsy curtsy.
Ever waves a hand at the official standing next to Varenus. “And this is the queen’s Master of Five, Lord Stavros.”
The lanky fae smiles, his green skin darkening to a leery blush.
This time, my curtsy is steadier.
The queen slowly cants her snow-white head, eyes narrowing as they trace my body.
Finally, she says, “Ah, human, you seem familiar. What is your name?”
“Lara.”
“Your Majesty,” insists Lord Stavros in a firm voice. “You must address Queen Varenus correctly.”
“Of course, I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” I dip another curtsy. “My name is Lara.”
“And do you possess a family name?”
My gut tightens. A warning not to tell her. “O’Sullivan,” I lie.
Unimpressed, the queen’s gaze returns to Ever. She hasn’t even acknowledged her youngest son yet. Poor Raff. “Where did you find this human?”
“In the forest, unconscious by Merrin Creek.”
“Is she able-bodied?”
“I believe so.” Ever’s silver eyes sweep over me. “Yes. Despite her ragged appearance, she seems to be holding together sufficiently.”
The queen’s adviser steps down to inspect me more closely. He prizes my jaw open with a bony finger, then prods at my teeth. I bat his hand away.
“Lara, please, do not!” Ever drags me backward. “Lord Stavros bites.”
I look at Raff, and he mouths, “Lara, please,” then smirks in Ever’s direction.
The reed-thin lord flashes rows of needle-sharp teeth and winks at me. It’s not a comforting gesture.
Varenus raises a silver brow. She looks amused and… something else. It’s an emotion I can’t name but, whatever it is, I don’t like it.
“She is healthy, my Queen,” Lord Stavros simpers, rejoining her on the dais.
“Good. Good.” Icy-blue nails tapping her chin, she stares through me as if she’s forgotten I exist. When Spark chirps, she blinks. “Yes. The human is a quaint little thing. I believe we shall put her to work while I decide what is to be done with her.”
Beside me, Ever’s shoulders loosen, and he releases a short breath.
“What are your special talents?” asks Lord Stavros. “Do you stitch fine gowns? Dance, play music, or perhaps sing?”
Ever shuffles beside me and sighs again, the word, “No,” whispered under his breath. I think he’s telling me not to mention my love of singing.
“I can cook pretty well.”
The queen laughs as if I’ve said something witty. “That may be so. However, we cannot trust your kind to make our food. Tell Magret to assign her duties in the garden. If she is useless, give her to the dullahan. He’ll be traveling by our lands again just before Samhain and will be thankful of my gift. She has a fortnight to prove her worth with the vegetables.”
The prince bows and takes my arm. As he turns me toward the exit, the queen says, “Not you, Everend. Lord Stavros shall take the human down to the servants.”
Raff grins down at his shiny boots.
My captor tows me back and hands me over to the queen’s Master of Whatever-he-is.
Lord Stavros bows to the queen.
Arms crossed, Ever stares at the marble floor. As we go to move past him, his eyes lift and hold mine, then drop and linger briefly on the lord’s fingers digging into my upper arm. His lips compress into a grim line.
Ever must believe only he is allowed to hurt me.
As I’m led from the Great Hall down dark spiraling steps toward God-knows-where, I remind myself to feel grateful—the audience with the Queen of Five could have gone so much worse. I could already be dead.
Then my knees go wobbly from exhaustion and hunger, and I think two things before I faint into Lord Stavros’s elegant arms.
Faeries are scary.
And I hope he doesn’t bite me.
Chapter 8
MOTHER
Ever
“I am amazed the girl has walked from this hall unscathed,” says my brother, while I fight the urge to look over my shoulder and watch the wasp be marched away by my mother’s companion and adviser.