32. Nora

32

NORA

I 've discovered the heaven that humans love to preach about. It's Imogen, in my bed, golden locks shining in the gilded light of sunrise.

The sight used to make my body stiffen, and I wonder how that could have ever been; was I struck still by fear? Denial?

Waking up next to her has been my favorite part of the day for the past two weeks. My obsession with her body has only grown, and in turn, strange feelings have bloomed in my chest. Imogen helped me put a name to them the day she confessed to me.

She's mine.

It is a possessive, all-consuming thought. But one that pulls my lips into a smirk every time I think it. She was mine before, but the words mean something different now.

It's her turn to grumble and complain about waking up at the crack of dawn, a day of travel ahead of us. Her energy is low as she begrudgingly moves through the steps to get ready. Meanwhile mine is electric and thrumming under my skin.

Today we head to Casimir.

We have our plan. All we have to do is pull it off.

I toss the shadow gloves, courtesy of Silas, into my suitcase. We'd decided that given he was the stronger fae, we would use his shadows to craft them instead of Wrath's—though, oddly enough, I would have preferred Wrath's.

The idea of being coated in Silas's shadows raises the hair on my arms.

No less than an hour later, we're congregated at the roundabout outside of Silas's palace. A caravan of automobiles waits for us, exhaust pipes huffing a steady stream of steam into the chilled air.

We agreed driving was the best option, as not to drain any of Wrath, Silas, or Gluttony's power ferrying all of us back and forth. Greed isn't strong enough to shadow-walk long distances and Envy is an empath, so they aren't any help.

And so, here we are. Six Sins and their Seconds hauling suitcases as if we are headed off to a family holiday—which I guess it is, in a way.

Silas is Wrath's counterpart for this trip, and they stand side by side at the center of the hustle and bustle. Silas directs us all to our cars, a ringleader for the impending circus.

Gluttony, Greed, and their Seconds claim seats in one, while Silas pawns Wrath off to Envy and his Second.

"For gods' sake," he says, throwing his arms up. He points accusingly at Silas. "I refuse to be his babysitter when we get there."

"You'll do what I say regardless," Silas chirps.

Now that I've seen their dynamic up close and personal, I clock the joy sparkling in Silas's eyes with the command. I can also see the twitch of Wrath's lips trying to hide a smile at Silas's antics and can't help but silently chuckle. They continue to bicker as my attention moves to the first car of the caravan.

"I guess we get this one then," I say, pointing.

Imogen, Josie, and Leo follow me to the car, Leo whistling at the shiny chrome and sleek blue paint of the Cadillac as we approach. He rounds the back of the car, putting our bags in the trunk; I open the door to the backseat with a wide swipe of my arm.

"Ladies first," I say, playfully. Imogen snorts.

"Nora, you've gone from cute to downright sickening," Leo says over the hood, letting himself in on the other side.

I roll my eyes. "Watch your mouth, Leo."

It may be a threat, but he laughs it off, hopping into the car with a slam of the door. I place one hand on the roof of the car and lean down so I'm eye-level with Imogen.

"Put your seatbelt on."

Warmth blooms in my chest as her freckled cheeks bloom with pink.

"Yes, ma'am," she says.

"Josie, you want me to drive? You've always been better at reading maps and turning them into directions," I say.

"Sure." She shrugs.

"Actually, I'll be driving."

All our heads whip towards the voice; Silas stalks towards us with a smirk.

"Are you not taking your own?" I frown.

"Why would I use another car when there's enough room for all of us here?" he says, bypassing both Josie and me in our stunned silence.

I rip open the front passenger door, leaning in to talk to him. Silas pauses, already sitting, but reaching for the handle to close the door on his side.

"You can ride with Wrath and Envy," I say. "They have an extra seat."

"I don't want to listen to Envy babble the whole drive." Silas buckles his seat belt. He twists, turning to Imogen and Leo in the backseat. "You two don't mind, right?"

Leo looks unsure; Imogen glares.

"Of course not," Imogen says, voice tight.

"See?" Silas says. "Now get in, both of you. We have a long journey ahead."

I huff, mumbling, "Fine."

"Can I still take the front?" Josie asks me.

I nod—she tends to get sick when she sits in the back.

"Of course," I say, holding the door open for her.

Imogen shifts to take the center seat in the back when I slide into the car; it is cramped but not uncomfortable, given we're three grown fae.

An awkward silence fills the car.

The car lurches forward, then jolts to a stop at the end of the driveway. I quickly band my hand over Imogen's waist so she doesn't fly forward.

"Respectfully, Your Majesty, could you brake a little smoother?" I say.

"You would be a backseat driver," Silas mutters. His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror; they sparkle with the same mirth he gives Wrath.

I glare until he breaks our stare, attention moving back to the road ahead.

"This is going to be an interesting ride," Leo says under his breath.

It wasn't, really.

The five of us fall into a not unbearable quiet as Silas drives us from the city. We trade brownstones, skyscrapers, and pavement for dirt, rolling fields, and an empty skyline. Following alongside the river, the road runs north across the Unseelie Court.

Grass soon thickens into forest, imposing pines and spruce surrounding us on every side. Imogen's head has long since landed on my shoulder, and her breath is even as she slumbers. Leo and Josie have followed suit; both will wake to indents on their foreheads from where they lean against the windows.

Silas and I are the only two awake, and I am thankful that he doesn't attempt conversation. I'd much rather let my mind run alongside the landscape that blurs past.

When the car eventually slows, and we pull into a small outcropping of trees—a dirt patch of a parking lot—I know our journey has ended.

"Are you ready?" Silas asks, not loud enough for the rest to wake.

It's a thousand questions in one, but my answer to all of them is clear.

"Yes," I say.

I am more than ready to rid the world of the scourge that is Patience.

I nudge Imogen at my side, and her lashes flutter open. She wakes quickly and silently takes in her surroundings. She, in turn, smacks Leo's chest, causing him to jolt awake with a snort. I do the same to Josie, poking her shoulder over the back of her seat until she rouses from sleep.

"I've got to be honest, this isn't what I was expecting," Leo says, popping open the car door. "It's a bit small for a castle."

"That's not Casimir," Silas huffs, turning off the ignition as we all exit the vehicle. He points to the remnants of a small cabin and stable that meet the clearing, long overgrown and unused. "That's where stable hands usually stayed when we traveled by horse."

"Ah, that makes a lot more sense." Leo scratches the stubble on his cheek. "I'll grab our bags."

Silas waves him off. "No need. The sprites will get them once I raise the bridge."

"Sprites?" I ask.

"Creepy little bastards that run the castle in our stead." Silas shivers before stalking towards a footpath next to the cabin. "Come. The others will follow."

I toss a glance back at the idling cars behind us. The other Sins and their Seconds are slow to get out, stretching and groaning from the ride. Wrath is the only one who is quick to leave his group. He strides after Silas with his signature pissed-off frown.

I jerk my head towards the path, a silent command to Josie and Leo. Grabbing Imogen's hand, I follow.

It's a short walk to the edge of the water. When we break through the tree line, then the thin shimmering shadow-veil, there's about twenty feet of rocky beach scattered with fallen logs and boulders. Waves crash against the shoreline, the sound peaceful.

My breath puffs around my face, and I know that if we dipped a toe in the lake, it would be freezing. The winter chill in the air is deeper here than in the city, being closer to the mountains. In the distance, I can barely make out snowy peaks below the clouds.

Silas stands before a white marble pillar, shaped into a lectern of sorts; it's out of place against the dark gray and brown-toned pebbles of the beach. Shadows weave through Silas's fingers, flattening into the familiar shape of a knife. We watch on as he pricks the pad of his thumb, blood welling to the surface, and swipes it across the top of the pillar.

His shadow knife dissipates, and the distinct tingling of magic shifts the air around us. The clouds above blow away in an unnatural breeze, and the water stills into a mirror-like pane. The earth trembles, rocking us, and Imogen's hand squeezes mine to steady herself.

The water parts, and a pristine marble bridge rises from the depths. It leads across the lake, and there, a mile offshore, stands Casimir in all its mythical glory. A stunning castle that makes up the entirety of the island. Its name is interchangeable for the building and the land.

My mother had read me children's stories about it, but the memories are faded; more snapshots of her leaning over my bed with a book in hand than anything else. It wasn't until Silas told me his plan that I did more research into the ancient castle we'd be visiting.

It was the home of the first Fae Queen—the blood of whom runs partly through Silas and partly through the Seelie Queen. The first Fae Queen's children were the original sires of the Unseelie and Seelie lines. While they fought over who would rule over Faerie, cleaving the realm into two as a result, they always came together once a year to honor their mother on the Solstice. And thus started a tradition that has since become a bloody meeting between the Courts.

No one speaks as Silas steps onto the bridge and begins the trek across the water. He doesn't wave us on or command us to follow, leaving us to stare in our awestruck stupor.

"We aren't here to gawk. Stop staring and get moving," Wrath says, breaking our trance before following Silas across the bridge.

Imogen lets go of my hand as we cross the bridge. It's only wide enough to fit us single file, so I take the lead of the four of us.

Waves crash against the walls of the bridge as we walk, and about halfway across, the water turns from a winter gray to a summer blue. I unbutton my coat as sweat beads on my neck, the air turning thick and hot. The sun casts waves of heat on us, and soon we're all shucking off our jackets.

When we reach the end of the bridge, the beach is not the same pebbles and rocks and seaweed as on our side of the lake. Instead, the castle sits on golden, red-speckled sand. Massive marble towers spiral above us. Swirling carvings serve as molding for the windows and archways, inlaid with pink stone that contrasts the white main structure. The architecture is detailed and precise, a masterpiece of stonemasonry.

There's only one door into the castle, which is already propped open—the aged mahogany reddish in hue, complimenting the pink carvings around it.

We step through the doorway and into a lush garden full of wildflowers and buzzing bees. Floral notes float through the air and ivy crawls up pillars that line the garden, hints of shaded hallways peeking between them.

Silas stops in the center of the brush; he stares up at the castle spires with his hands on his hips, quiet and contemplative.

It isn't lost on me that the last time he was here, he lost his parents.

Slowly he turns, a plotting grin plastered across his face.

"The land that bends season, gifting us a taste of spring in winter," he says. "Welcome to Casimir."

"I've assigned you all specific floors, but you can pick whichever rooms you wish for yourselves. Simply choose a room and the sprites will know where to bring your bags. The keys will appear when you open the door."

Silas drones on with directions on how to access the stairwells and other rules about the castle. Food will be delivered to our rooms, and tomorrow, we have a welcome luncheon with the Seelie. After that, an agenda will be issued listing out the rest of the weekend's festivities.

"Unfortunately, the sprites coordinate all the events, so don't blame me if you're unhappy. Tomorrow morning is a welcome luncheon, tomorrow night the Seelie host a revelry, and the day after that is the Solstice Ball," he says. "Now get some rest. And don't wander. The doors to the common areas will block entry to our sister Court's half of the castle, and vice versa, but this castle's magic has a mind of its own. Don't tempt it."

With that, Silas turns and strides into the castle, leaving us to our own devices. Where he's off to, I don't know, but Wrath follows him, a dutiful shadow. But with no reason for us to follow them, we make our way to our rooms.

It's not hard to navigate to the seventh level; each floor has a landing within the spiral staircase with the number carved into the marble archway. The pale stone is sunlit with rainbows that filter in from the stained-glass windows lining the curved walls.

When we reach the seventh landing, the staircase continues on, while we fork off down the single hall. Josie and Leo lead the pack while I linger towards the back, letting them choose first.

"I call the end cap," Leo calls, rushing to the farthest room, leaving us all in a puff of dust. "I don't want to hear them fucking. Sorry, Josie!"

His laughter dies out as the door at the end of the hall slams shut.

"I guess that means I'm this one."

Josie tentatively pushes open the second to last door lining the hall—each room sits to the left, while the right wall hosts a long windowpane overlooking the garden we came from.

Imogen's arm sneaks around my waist.

"Leo's being dramatic," Imogen says. "We aren't that loud."

Josie snorts, but then quickly tries to cover it with a cough that is obviously fake. Imogen pales beside me.

"Sorry," Josie says. "But that is decidedly false. You two are very loud."

Imogen licks her lips nervously. "All the way in your rooms, at Nora's place, you were able to hear us?"

"Mhm."

"Don't worry, we won't subject Josie to anything traumatizing this time around." I pull Imogen towards the closest door to the stairwell. "Come on, let's get settled."

"I'll see you both in the morning," Josie calls, and I hear the click of her door shutting.

Meanwhile, Imogen untangles herself from me and takes a sure step back, one arm extended in front of her as if she can keep me a safe distance away.

"Maybe we should take separate rooms?" she squeaks, a pink flush actively rising on her neck.

"Why so embarrassed, Lust ?" I chide.

Her face sours at the use of her title rather than her name. "I'm not embarrassed. Maybe I need a break from the constant sex."

I stalk towards her, and she takes measured steps back until I've got her crowded against the windows. She does have a good point. I've been crazed over her body as of late, wringing more orgasms from her in the past week than I have in the previous month.

"I'm pretty sure you enjoy my debauchery. Encourage it even," I say.

She'd look delicious writhing under the stained-glass light, shards of color dancing over her smooth skin. I make a note to pull her into a side hall at some point.

Well, maybe after I kill Patience.

I wasn't letting her fall into his wrinkly, evil hands. Not ever again.

I was half tempted to leave her in Anwynn, but I couldn't stomach the thought of leaving her without my protection again.

I drop a kiss to her forehead. "Will you stay with Josie until I come back?"

"You're not coming to bed?"

"I thought you said you needed a break? Did you change your mind?" I tease, but then I get serious. "Do you think I'd be able to sleep without doing a sweep of what parts of the castle I can reach? I don't care about whatever wards Silas says are in place to keep the Seelie side sealed off."

"I'd hope you would be able to take a break like the rest of us," Imogen says. "But I know you can't."

"I promise to not cause trouble."

"Uh-huh," she says with a roll of her eyes. "Please be safe."

"I promise," I say. "I'll come get you when I'm back."

She kisses my cheek before quietly knocking on Josie's door. They exchange a few quiet words before Josie lets her in, nodding my way before shutting the door.

The apple of my cheek tingles where Imogen's lips left their mark as I veer onto the stairwell landing and climb the final steps up to the top floor.

The eighth landing is the same as the rest, though instead of a hall with multiple rooms, only a set of double doors stands beyond the archway. The dark wood still smells as if it was hewn and carved yesterday, the fresh musk of the wood filling the air. Golden handles line either side of the center and jut out from the wood, molded into an intricate design that resembles a tree.

The handles are tarnished at either end and shiny in the middle, betraying the castle's old age. As my fingers brush the metal, the hair on my neck rises, a chill running down my spine.

I spin, unsheathing my gun from its rib holster and pointing it at the presence behind me—all to stare into an empty stairwell.

Walking down a flight to the seventh landing, I keep my gun poised and ready to strike if needed, all the while still feeling eyes on my back.

Minutes pass as I check each hall and the stairwell all the way down to the fifth floor. With not even a mouse to be seen, I re-holster my gun—though I can't shake the sensation of being watched.

Maybe it is the ancient magic running between the veins of marble setting me on edge.

Either way, the warm-and-fuzzies escape me as I continue my sweep of the castle. It is even larger on the inside than I could have gauged from our view walking on the bridge. I meander through the halls and peer into every sitting room. Each is decorated with an obscene amount of gold—curtains, couches, and fixtures all adorned and shining with the metal.

The castle is eerily quiet, as if the walls themselves have gone to sleep.

On the lower level of the castle, past the garden we entered from, is the last hall I've yet to map. But as I step towards it, a buzzing swoops past my ear.

I rip my gun from its holster for the second time tonight. Following the loud buzzing, I train my gun at the gray blur that circles me. It stops, and I find myself staring down the barrel at a bulbous little creature.

It's a beady little thing, about the size of my hand, with a large, round head that holds saucer-like eyes the color of the darkest shadow. The creature blinks at me, scratching its cheek with a taloned finger. Charcoal in color, with leathery skin that leads to the wings sprouting from its back, the creature cocks its head at me. It squeaks at me, clearly annoyed, and I can't help that my lips twitch upwards in laughter—which only spurs the creature on.

This must be one of the illusive sprites Silas mentioned. And the reason for why I've sensed eyes on me since I stepped off the seventh-floor landing.

I pull my finger off the trigger and tuck my gun away.

"Sorry, little one. You gave me a scare," I say.

Leaning forward with my hands on my knees, I get a closer look at the creature. It has worked itself into a fury, squawking at me. It surges forward, one taloned finger pointing at me, then the door at the end of the hall behind me, forcing me to take a few steps back.

I raise my hands by my shoulders, hoping to appease the creature.

"Alright, alright," I chuff. "What did I do to piss you off?"

I'm saved by a second buzzing—another sprite zooming by me. It moves so quick that it has my hair whipping around my face before stopping short before us.

This one is green and blue, iridescent like a dragonfly, with wings that move as fast as the insect—so it's as if they aren't moving at all. It assesses me, twitching up and down in the air. Then it turns around and squeaks in a higher pitch than the first sprite, berating its colleague.

It's all an incoherent language to me.

They fight in their little sprite language, forgetting that I'm even there. I silently inch my way down the hall until my hand grips the large doorknob at my back. I twist it, the internal lock disengaging and the door creaking open a sliver; the sprites freeze in their argument, two sets of beady eyes flicking to me.

I don't wait for them to berate me, slipping behind the door and quickly shutting it on them.

There's a stark difference between this part of the castle and the rest.

The air is thinner here, but no less thrumming with magic. I lean back against the door, my heart beating quickly as it works to pump oxygen to my brain. It takes a second for the room to register, for me to really take in all the detail, but it's just a sparsely decorated ballroom.

Across the room is a set of matching doors to the ones at my back. To the right is a large fireplace—surprisingly full of flames—and framed by another two sets of doors. Floor to ceiling windows line the left side of the room, draped with gold and silver curtains; moonlight now pours between the windowpanes, planting squares of cool-toned light on the tiled floor.

"Lost, little fae?" a voice calls.

I pan the room, searching for its owner.

The person must be sitting in one of the armchairs next to the fireplace, hidden by the tall chair back, because the distinct crinkle of leather fills the room. Not more than a second later does a mop of brown locks peek around the side of the chair.

While his face is half shrouded in shadow, I can make out a strong nose and jaw.

Seelie , my body screams, instinct causing the hair on my arms to stand on end. My magic perks, swirling in my belly, a keen predator searching for its next meal.

I step forward, my boot clacks reverberating through the room.

"I wouldn't consider myself little ," I respond.

I round the chair and peer down at the fae. With chocolate-brown hair that is long on top and cropped on the sides, and tan skin that hasn't yet wrinkled around his eyes, he looks to be about my age. Though, that could mean he's anywhere from mid-twenties to one hundred. A folded book sits in his lap, a ripped piece of paper tucked between the open pages to mark his place.

One hand mindlessly moves up to twirl the curled edges of his mustache. His head tilts to the side, an action akin to the sprites, as he takes me in with keen eyes. They are darker than mine, a mossy shade of green rather than crystalline.

"No, certainly not little," he says. "Actually, you're on the tall side, I'd say."

"And I wouldn't claim to be lost. Being lost implies that I didn't intend to end up where I did," I say.

"Did you?" he asks. "Intend to be here?"

I shrug. "Does it matter?"

He hums knowingly, his cupids-bow lips curving under his mustache. The red glow of the crackling fire plays well with the undertones of his coloring, warmth bringing out warmth. It softens the sharp edges of his jaw and roman nose.

"Fair," he says, opening his book.

"This is one of the communal areas, no?" I ask, head tilting to the ceiling where intricate molding swirls around the base of each chandelier.

The Seelie grabs his crumpled bookmark and twirls it between his middle and forefinger.

"The doors to this area are supposed to be locked," I say.

"And?" He flips a page.

"I've been told the castle has rules. But clearly, it doesn't adhere to them. Bit hypocritical, if you ask me."

He throws his head back, laughter bellowing to the rafters. "I wasn't expecting you to be funny."

"You were expecting me?"

The fae replaces his bookmark and snaps the book shut.

"My father more than I, but I'd be fibbing if I said I wasn't intrigued to meet you. Been meaning to for a while, actually, but I couldn't snag the permits to visit the Human Realm." He states it all so casually, it's unnerving. "Rumors travel fast on our side of Faerie, and a soul-stealer taking on the mantle of Pride is quite a rumor."

"I'm not a rumor, though."

"No, not anymore. I'd say you've graduated to a cautionary tale for the younglings."

"And you are?" I ask, running my nail back and forth over the coarse fabric of the empty armchair at my side.

"Benevolence. But you can call me Bennie," he says with a blinding white smile.

"And your father?" I ask, though I suspect the answer.

His smile turns sour. "Someone you'll quickly learn to hate, if you don't already."

I tilt my head, scrutinizing the Seelie before me.

"Fair," I say, mimicking him from before.

"Now you're more than welcome to stay. The gods know I love company, but I would like to finish this chapter before I retire for the night," he says, pointing down to the clothbound book in his lap.

I snort at his forwardness, but I can't help but find myself impressed by it. There's a familiarity to his energy that whispers of homesickness. I almost think it would be a shame for me to have to kill him, if I learn he helped Patience in any way.

What a strange thought.