3. I Shall not Flee

Anightmare shimmers into view. Shadows hover around the apparition, snuffing out the dim garden lights. A black jacket, pants, and boots cover the tall, masculine silhouette, topped with a matching hood.

The veil of darkness hiding him from view thins as he inches closer. He's tall enough that I have to tilt my chin to gaze up at his face, and I bite back a scream.

White streaks—no, claw marks—scar the solid obsidian mask that prevents me from seeing his face and his eyes. The terrible accessory finishes right above his mouth, revealing human lips and a chin dimple. His skin is slightly darker than mine, and his jacket is stretched over his large shoulders. Peculiar drawings cover his knuckles—no doubt some Fae alphabet.

"I—I still have a few hours left before my birthday," I whisper.

Did I summon the Shadow King just by looking at my reflection? Stupid girl. You should have left the damn mirror up in your room.

The monster cocks his head to the side, and the certainty that he can actually see through his solid mask fills me with dread.

I sink my nails into my wrist to get a grip on my nerves. "Have you no tongue, Shadow King?"

"I wanted to spare you long, tearful goodbyes. The ticking of fate's clock can drive a mortal mad," a low, ethereal voice answers.

I roll my shoulders back with as much confidence as I can muster. "And why would our goodbyes be tearful? I'm not leaving them forever. I shall see them again in two weeks."

A wicked chuckle falls off his lips. "A lot can happen in two weeks."

The sentiment echoes Isaac's earlier claim, and shivers crawl up my spine. "You will not corrupt me."

"Me? Probably not," the faceless king snickers.

The husky response resonates deep in my soul, a dark lullaby composed especially for me. I tremble as he inches closer, but I will not cower at my destiny, so I dig my heels deeper in the autumn leaves not to flee. His mesmerizing shadows sting in a way I've never felt before—a mix between the buzzing I get in my fingers when they're numb, and the snap of a fire burn. Esme called it the bite of power, a calling card for Fae to proclaim their level of skill. She said experienced magic users could play with the strength of their bite, dampening or deepening it to appear more or less powerful as a ruse.

My demon is all shadows over shade, his power so formidable that it drums in my head like a living pulse.

"Have you ever glimpsed at the worlds beyond the sceawere?" he asks.

"Sceawere?" Does he plan to humiliate me for my lack of knowledge of Faerie?

"It's the gateway between worlds. The proper name for what you call ‘mirror.'"

I grip the piece of reflective glass in my pocket and wrench it out. "You mean this?"

His top lip curls in disgust. "No."

Darkness swarms around him, startling me. The small mirror slips between my fingers, but I catch it before it reaches the ground and flatten it to my chest.

"That scrap of metal isn't worthy of the name. Come." He spins on his heels and heads for the corner of the gardens.

Shadows gather on our path, the guards oblivious to our presence as we cross the hallway to the king's quarters.

"Are you taking me to my father?" I ask.

The Shadow King remains silent as he veers toward a section of the summer house I've never visited. We head down a round stairwell to the basement, and I skitter in his wake.

The acrid scent of mildew spices the air of the uninhabited…dungeon? Metallic bars run vertically at the front of a few rusted cells, and moss fills the cracks of what looks to be an ancient, dilapidated prison. Judging by the thick layer of dust and grime on the paved stones, no one has stepped foot in here for decades. The only footprints visible are ours—mine and the ones I can only assume my captor made when he came in to collect me.

At the back of the cold, humid room, a worn-out mirror stands a few inches shorter than the monster at my side. Murky glass reflects our silhouettes, and I hold my breath. I've never seen a mirror besides the tiny one in my pocket, but seeing one this big…it's more than forbidden. It's impossible.

"Since you're not trained in the ways of the sceawere, you have to wear this." The masked king pries a long piece of black silk from his pocket.

"But mortals can't travel through mirrors," I whisper, suddenly terrified. Only monsters can travel through glass, at least according to the books I've read.

"You bear the dark seed, do you not," he purrs, the end of the sentence not rising in question, like the answer is both obvious and laughable. "You are Penelope Emanuelle Darcy, eldest daughter of Phillip Fredric Darcy, the current king of Demeter."

"Yes," I say with regret.

I really, really wish I wasn't.

Still, the ceremonial way he whispers my whole name casts a nefarious spell over me, and I step closer without meaning to. I'm sure I've heard his voice before, calling out to me in the dead of night. In sweaty dreams that haunt me long after they're gone.

He ties the scrap of fabric around my head, blinding me, and I can't resist the urge to hike it up my brow. My instincts scream at me not to let that demon out of my sight. Not for a second.

Pulling on the knot in a chastising manner, he clicks his tongue. "Never remove the blindfold, or the nightmares that prowl the in-between will claim you."

I press the fabric to my forehead to keep it from sliding down. "How do you expect me to travel if I can't see?"

"Just hold on to me," he says, his arms now spread in invitation.

A nervous hiccup shakes my body. I do not want to walk into his sinister embrace, and my pulse flutters at my neck. The deep, paralyzing thuds of my heart urge me to turn on my heels and run.

The first test.

I shall not flee.

I shall not give in.

I shall endure.

I approach him, and the heat of his body is as dizzying as the bite of his magic. Darkness eddies my vision, and my bottom lip quakes, but he guides my hands patiently to his shoulders.

Musician calluses bump along my knuckles, and the fleeting skin-to-skin contact softens my knees. The sleek fabric of his jacket is fresh and closely knit, different from the crumbly caress of wool or the simple and rough touch of cotton. A long metallic line runs down the front of the strange garment, and a thick hood covers his hair—and ears.

He picks me up without a hitch, one arm braced lazily under my knees. My breasts strain against my corset, my breaths shallow and uneven, and the world beyond my monstrous captor blurs into an ocean of black.

"Now, pull the blindfold down and hold on tight," he says. His hot breath scatters goosebumps on my neck, and he strolls forward, unencumbered by the added weight.

Liquid ice spreads over my skin, the pain as sudden and unexpected as a snake bite. In a flash, I'm both torn apart and glued back together. Frost stings my cheeks, and I grip the king hard, desperate for him not to drop me in this hellish place. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck, and my nails dig into the fabric of his collar.

"Easy, kitten, you're alright." A tinge of humor warms his husky voice as he lets go of my legs. "You'll get used to it."

I hold on for dear life. "I don't want to get used to it."

"No need for claws. Not just yet. Unless you want to hang on to me some more…"

If I could have crawled over his shoulders, I would have. I certainly tried.

A furious blush heats my cheeks, but I finally let go of him, surprised to find solid ground beneath my feet.

The dark king dusts off my arms like he's making sure no part of me went missing during the voyage, and I tear the blindfold off, now standing in a bedroom riddled with paved stones. A wardrobe towers next to the neatly swept hearth, and a dark brown chest lays at the foot of a large bed.

A two-person bed…

"Where are we?" I try to hide my nerves, try to mask the fear and curiosity on my breath, thinking about the drawings Esme showed me.

"Your bedroom."

Remember, he can't touch you without your consent.

A chamber pot and a tub are visible behind a semi-opaque screen that splits the space in two, and the large free standing mirror that occupies an entire corner of the room shocks me to say the least.

A creature flies in from the glass as easily as I put one foot in front of the other. "A lean summer brings a leaner winter," it mumbles. "Only three seeds this year, half as much as last year…"

Eyes wide, I stare at the three feet tall, floppy-eared apparition.

Deep wrinkles crack its dark blue skin. "By Morpheus, ye look as though ye've just had yer wings cut off, woman. I'm a sprite. Hevny ever seen one?"

"No. Never," I admit.

The sprite isn't wearing clothes, but it's not that jarring considering her body is shaped like a tree trunk. Long fingernails polish off her look, the claws sharp enough to scratch my eyes out if she so desired. Still, seeing her whole face is a relief, her pink eyes truly beautiful.

The king walks over to the only door and spins around to face me, hands hidden behind his back. "I leave her in your capable hands, Baka."

Baka bows to the Shadow King. "Ye know I'm not one to complain, Samhain…but with only three seedlings to tend to, I might as well find a new hobby." She smiles at that, though it doesn't quite meet her big eyes. Her gnarly hand wraps around my arm, tugging me toward the copper bathtub. "Come on, now. We have to get ye ready to meet the king."

I almost topple over, my gaze darting to the masked man. "The king? But?—"

"See you later, kitten." With a sly smile, the dark man saunters off, clearly pleased with himself. I gape at his hasty retreat, and the door closes behind him without a sound.

"That wasn't the king?"

Baka giggles like I've just said something incredibly funny. "You'll see the king at dinner. He's throwing a banquet for the new seedlings."

My brows pull together, my mind reeling. "Seedlings?"

"Why are ye here if not to be trained in the ancient ways of our house?" She bows her head respectfully. "I'm Baka, your handmaid," she adds like she just remembered her manners.

Trained? "I'm Nell."

If I'm to survive in this realm, I need to be smarter and quicker on my feet than Penelope Darcy. Why did I assume the king would fetch me personally? I shouldn't have presumed anything, and I need to be more careful going forward. Their polite manners must be a ruse, a way to ease me in.

"Let's get you in the tub, Nell. You smell like a horse," Baka says.

My nose wrinkles, and I take a discrete sniff. It's not so bad…

The sprite flaps her wings and rises into the air once more. A touch of hesitation comes when she starts unfastening my corset. "I hevny seen this model in ages…are ye from Demeter, Nell?"

"Yes." I watch our reflections in the mirror.

She unlaces the tight knots and makes quick work of it despite her small size, her mouth twisted in a pout. "By the spindle…they will eat ye alive, deary."

I draw in a slow, controlled breath to keep the fear at bay and strip from my clothes, ignoring all the alarm bells going off in my mind. I'm bathing—naked—in Faerie in front of a creature I didn't even know existed five minutes ago… so much for Esme's tutelage.

I shall not flee.

I shall not give in.

I shall endure.