31. Zoey

Zoey

A knock pounds on my door, startling me awake and swinging open before I can ask for a few minutes to get out of bed.

The fae servant who brought me from the throne room to my suite is there. The nice one. Her posture’s perfect, her face is expressionless, and her wings are retracted, like all the servants around here seem to keep them.

“Prince Aerix requires your presence,” she says, and my stomach drops.

I know what this means. Jake warned me about it during our time in the courtyard.

The feeding.

“You’ll need to get ready.” She eyes me up and down in disapproval—as if I should somehow look perfect, even after being jolted awake. “Would you like my help, or would you prefer to prepare yourself in private?”

“In private.” I don’t have to think twice about my answer.

“Very well.” She nods and closes the door, giving me space to “prepare” myself.

There’s no getting out of this. And I’d rather go to Aerix willingly—with my dignity intact—than be dragged out of here and carried to wherever he wants to see me.

I eventually settle on a cream-colored, ankle-length, silk dress with long sleeves and a corset-style top—one of the dresses Sophia explained was a “morning dress.” Also known as: a dress appropriate to wear for the start of the day.

Well, start of the night, due to the Night Court’s nocturnal schedule. But same idea.

Of course, I leave my hair down. After what the king did to me, I never want to wear it up ever again.

The fae woman nods in approval—apparently, I’ve finally done something right around here—and leads me out of the suite.

Sophia and Victoria are still asleep.

Lucky them.

“Do you have a name?” I ask her when we’re out in the hallway.

“Aethelthryth,” she replies. “But the humans always have difficulty with it. You can call me Ethel.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Aethelthryth,” I say, making it a point to show her that even though I’m a human, I’m perfectly able to call her by her true name.

She gives me a small nod, although I swear I see a bit of a smile. Then she leads me out of the human wing and through the winding halls of the Night Court.

As we walk, my mind races.

Maybe I can reason with Aerix. Make him see me as more than just food. After all, he saved me from his father—that has to mean something. And he seemed almost human back in that bunker, when he complimented my cooking and I told him about my time working at the animal shelter.

As I think, I try to memorize the path we’re traveling on. But everything looks the same—black and crimson stone floors, floating chandeliers, and gilded mirrors lining the walls.

Yes, the fae are good-looking— beautiful is a better word—but judging by the numbers of mirrors in this place, they must be completely obsessed with their appearances.

Aethelthryth doesn’t say another word to me as we walk.

Finally, we stop in front of a door larger and more ornate than the others—black inlaid with intricate crimson designs.

She knocks once, then leaves me standing there alone.

“Enter,” Aerix calls from inside.

I could run. Sprint through the mirrored halls and try to find my way back.

But even if I managed to get back to my suite, what would happen then? Would I get sent to the barns? Or worse?

Play their game, I remind myself.

So, taking a deep breath, I straighten and push open the door.

Lounging in a high-backed chair near the massive fireplace, Aerix is the perfect picture of predatory elegance. His black hair is swept back, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering firelight. He’s wearing a dark shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing just enough of his chest to be distracting. His legs are stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and his midnight eyes pin me in place the moment I step inside.

As for his chambers—they’re exactly what I’d expect from a fae-vampire prince. Black stone walls, an ornate fireplace, and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the town.

Then, of course, there’s the massive four-poster bed dominating one wall, with sheets the color of blood.

I shudder at the reminder of blood—at the river, and the blood that coated my skin and filled my mouth.

“You came,” Aerix says after the door closes.

“I suspect that if I didn’t, I’d be dragged,” I reply. “And I’ve had enough of being tied up and dragged around after the first time we met.”

“And if I haven’t?” he raises an eyebrow suggestively.

I cross my arms, as if they’re a shield guarding me from whatever he wants to do to me. “Why am I here?” I ask.

“Why do you think you’re here?”

“I’m the one who asked you,” I retort.

He smirks and gestures to the chair opposite his. “Sit.”

“I’d rather stand.”

His smirk falters, and his eyes flash with something darker—something dangerous. But then he sighs and leans back in his chair, waving a hand dismissively.

“Fine. Stand if it makes you feel better,” he says. “We can do it either way.”

It as in feeding from me?

Or it as in…

My cheeks flush, and his eyes continue to bore into me, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

Of course he does. He’s the one who coaxed my thoughts in that direction.

“I want my amulet back,” I say, pointedly changing the subject.

“And why would I do that?” He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that makes my stomach twist.

“Because it’s mine,” I say evenly. “You have no right to take it.”

“I have every right,” he counters smoothly. “You belong to me now. Everything you have is mine. Or have you already forgotten what I told you at the river?”

“I don’t belong to you,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’m not a piece of property.”

“Oh, but you are.” His eyes narrow, and the temperature in the room drops. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re alive because of me. I saved you from drowning. Twice. I brought you here. I claimed you. Now you’re mine, whether you like it or not. And judging by the night we shared in that bed, I believe you’re going to like it. A lot.”

“I move a lot in my sleep,” I say quickly, heat rising into my cheeks again. “I was unconscious. You can’t judge the actions I made while I was unconscious.”

“The unconscious mind projects what we want in our awakened state, but are too self-conscious to act on otherwise,” he says simply.

“You’re completely out of your?—”

“Enough.” He rises from his chair in one fluid motion, and suddenly he’s standing in front of me, towering over me with a presence that’s almost suffocating. “I could have left you to die. I could have handed you over to my father to do with as he pleased. But I didn’t. I chose you. I spared you. And this is how you repay me? With defiance and disrespect?”

“I’m a person. With skills, and thoughts, and…” I trail off, an idea popping into my mind. “Maybe we can make a deal? I could be useful to you in other ways. I’m good at a lot of things. Cooking, for instance—you saw that yourself. Or I could help around here. Organize things. I’m also really good at?—”

“Stop.” His voice cuts through my bargaining like a blade. “You seem to be under the impression that you have something to negotiate with.”

“No— you stop interrupting me,” I snap back.

His hand shoots out, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look up at him, his cold fingers sending a chill over my skin.

“You’re nothing,” he says, low and venomous. “A human. A fragile, insignificant creature who doesn’t know her place. And yet here you are, acting as if you have a right to bargain with a prince of the Night Court. Maybe I was right when I told my father how stupid you are. How much of a brat.”

I try to pull away, but his grip is like iron. And, as we stand there in a silent staring battle, my mind’s a whirlwind of fear, anger, and something else—something I don’t want to acknowledge.

Something that makes my cheeks burn and my pulse quicken.

“Speechless,” he murmurs, smiling cruelly. “That’s more like it.”

“I’m not stupid,” I say. “And I’m not going to just give in to being your personal blood bag.”

His eyes darken, and his grip on my chin tightens. “No. You’re going to fight,” he says, his fangs slowly extending. “And I’m going to enjoy every second of breaking that spirit of yours.”

He’s not wrong about that first part.

So, drawing on every bit of gymnastics training I have—along the bit I can remember from those few weeks of karate classes I took in fifth grade—I twist away from his grip and aim a kick at his chest.

He moves back just enough for my foot to miss, his midnight eyes lighting up with amusement. “Impressive flexibility,” he says. “Show me more.”

I drop into a low crouch and sweep my leg toward his knees.

He staggers slightly, his balance faltering, giving me just enough time to spring to my feet and lunge forward, aiming an elbow at his ribs.

His movements are almost lazy as he twists away.

“Your form is excellent,” he says, studying me as if I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen in his life. “And such precise control. You must have?—”

I interrupt him by spinning into a roundhouse kick, putting all my strength behind it.

He catches my ankle mid-air.

But rather than using it to throw me off balance, he holds me there.

“Let. Me. Go.” I use his grip as leverage, pushing off the ground with my other foot in a move that knocks him back.

Then, in a blur of speed, he’s behind me, his hands gripping my wrists and twisting my arms behind my back.

“Just as I hoped,” he murmurs, his breath cold against the back of my neck. “You’re going to make this fun.”

“I’m not here to perform for you,” I snarl, struggling against his hold.

“But you are.” His grip tightens, and suddenly I realize how close we are. “Everything you do is for my entertainment now. And I must say—you’ve put on quite a show. I’m very much enjoying it.”

Horror dawns on me as I realize—he’s been toying with me this whole time. Letting me think I had a chance. Watching me spin and flip and fight like I’m some sort of performer in a circus.

He’s in front of me before I can react, grabbing my wrist and twisting me around, pulling me flush against his chest. His other arm snakes around my waist, locking me in place.

“I hate you,” I whisper, but my voice shakes.

“No, you don’t,” he says. “Not really. Your heart’s racing, but not from fear.” His cold fingers trace my neck, finding my pulse point. “You enjoyed it too—the thrill of the fight, the way our bodies moved together. You gave me a wonderful performance. Now, it’s my turn.”

“Don’t—” I say, but he interrupts me again—this time with his fangs piercing my neck.