Chapter 15

Fifteen

I stumble back.

I knew the birch trees were hiding a magical fairy door, but I didn’t expect the fae lord to be waiting for us.

Bran immediately steps in front of me.

“No need for caution,” Arion says. “You were invited here, after all.”

Some of the light pouring around Arion dissipates and I can finally take in the full sight of the doorway.

The birch trees are the frame, with several branches that bend and curve over one another, forming the archway. Star jasmine and honeysuckle grow around the branches, the white and red flowers seemingly glowing in the dark night.

It takes my breath away, how gorgeous it is. But it’s more than that. It feels…familiar almost.

“A fairy grotto hidden right in the middle of Bramwell Park,” Bran says. “Clever.”

“ Necessary ,” Arion corrects.

He glances over at me and then his gaze catches on my dress.

There is a moment where his eyes are wide, his mouth slightly agape, and I realize I’ve surprised him, and the realization fuels my confidence.

But then he catches himself and he quickly corrects, teeth gritted, jaw flexing. “What is this?” His voice rumbles and the air, I swear to god, crackles around him, “Is this some kind of joke to you?”

“It’s an homage,” I answer, folding my hands in front of me, trying not to betray the fact that every move I make tonight, I’ve already doubted it twice over. Including wearing this dress.

“An homage?” He scowls at me. Just like Bran, he’s more beautiful when he broods. “An homage to death and betrayal?”

The way he speaks about it leads me to believe he does know the story behind it. He knows exactly what dress this is, and who wore it, and what happened to them.

“Perhaps if I knew the full story,” I say, “I would know the full score of wearing the dress.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Arion lowers his voice as he steps toward me, still half blocked by Bran, “I truly would think you mortal. Only a mortal would make such a bold move without knowing the full breadth of the consequences.” He glances at Bran. “But you, vampire, I’d expect more restraint from you.”

Bran’s eyes flash gold, but he says nothing.

Did we make a mistake?

My stomach spins.

Arion turns away and steps into the doorway and says, “Come, faeling. The party is waiting and you’re clearly ready to make an entrance.” The way he says it is disparaging, not admiring.

I look over at Bran. His face is blank, his gaze unreadable.

He gives me a subtle shake of his head, so I take a deep breath and follow Arion through the doorway.

I’m immediately dazzled by light.

The hidden fairy grotto really is like a fairy tale. Not the Cinderella kind, with castles and mice and sewing birds. The kind you find in books written by Grimm brothers. A little dark, a little magical, a little wondrous, a little eerie.

We enter into an earthen hallway, the walls covered in blooming vines. And at the end of the hallway, a large arched doorway opens to a great hall.

The lyrical notes of a lute greet us as we enter the main room, followed by the high tinkling sound of a woman singing along. A violin jumps in next, filling the hall with music that raises the hair along my arms.

Dozens of fae are dancing in the center of the room, some linked arm and arm, others twirling in and around each other.

And there are so many . More than I ever knew resided in Midnight. Possibly more than were reported on their census.

There are fae with deer horns and fae with ram horns. Fae with red eyes and pink hair and pointed ears. Fae that look human save for a slight upturn of their nose or a dusting of bright blue freckles along their cheeks. Everyone here is an adult though, not a kid in sight. I don’t see the Leaf family or the mother I helped on the riverside not that long ago, and I don’t see Stanley either. It’s unfortunate, because I really could have used a friendly, familiar face.

My slippered feet are just a soft whisper on the stone floor as I crane my neck, trying to take it all in. The sheer size of the great hall is astounding, like a football field, if a football field were enclosed by earth and tangled, blooming vines.

Hanging from the ceiling are pendants fashioned from thick vines with glowing orbs at the ends, the lights various shades of pink and gold.

Arion precedes us into the great room, his hands clasped behind his back.

I notice there are faded black tattoos along two of his fingers. Shapes and symbols I can’t decipher.

He’s wearing a dagger at his left hip, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s hiding another sheath beneath the sleeve of his royal blue tunic. I can just make out the faint line of the leather through the material.

Attention starts to wander to us. First because of Arion and then because of me.

Their eyes lock on the dull red stain covering my dress from chest to toe.

I swallow, sweat breaking out along my hairline.

When we reach the center of the room, the music fades out. The shuffling of the assembled fae echoes around us until they all bend to their knees.

Are they bowing for me or for Arion?

I suppose it doesn’t matter, because he isn’t bowing.

Bran comes up beside me. His shoulders are loose, his hands hanging by his sides, but I can read the tension in his body. Bran only likes supplication when it’s aimed at him. I don’t think it’s envy or jealousy. It’s worry and fear. Power means a target and at any moment, any one of these people could turn on me to test that power.

“We welcome the princess to our great hall,” Arion says, his voice booming across the domed space. He steps in front of me and walks the perimeter of the circle of bowed fae around us. “The princess has been apart from her people for too long and we are honored she would join us in our hollowed halls. Let us drink and rejoice tonight, the eve of the new moon.”

He turns back to me, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Let us show the princess what it truly means to be fae.”

A servant appears with a silver tray and three golden goblets set on top. Arion takes two and offers them to me and Bran. Bran takes the drink and sniffs it and I wait for his approval.

“We grew up with warnings not to drink or eat anything of the fae,” I say.

Arion grabs the third goblet and the servant scurries off. “I assure you, princess, the wine is safe for both fae and vampire.”

Bran eyes Arion over the rim of his goblet before taking a long gulp.

My heart thumps a little harder in my chest as I wait for any reaction. But Bran seems fine.

The assembled fae are still on their knees, but they’re heads are craned, watching, waiting .

I can’t very well snub them and the offering of their fae lord.

I take a drink.

The moment the fairy wine hits my tongue, I know I’ve made my first mistake.

The taste is delectable. Like the plumpest, juiciest, ripest strawberry, mixed with spices, mixed with a sharp tang of something that should be citrusy but is far more complex.

The wine goes straight to my head and then floods my body with warmth and ease.

I’m no longer worried and the fear fades away like the silhouette of someone I should be following but can’t.

Arion smiles at me.

In the far, dark, deep trenches of my mind, my conscious brain thinks, oh shit.

But my fairy-bombed brain thinks, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Arion gulps down his entire goblet then lifts the cup. “To the princess!”

The fae rise, and hoist up their own goblets if they have them and shout, “To the princess!”

“Now,” Arion says, “drink and be merry.”

The music picks up again, this time a punchier tune clearly meant for lively dance.

I take another drink of wine. Then another. And another.

Arion waggles his fingers at a passing servant with a glass decanter of the bright red drink and orders the man to refill our glasses.

This is bad, my conscious brain says.

This is good, my primal brain says.

Bran upends his second goblet.

“Another!” Arion shouts, gesturing to the servant. Bran’s glass is refilled again.

“You said this was safe,” Bran says, his mouth curved in a devilish smile, his eyes bleeding to that bright gold. “Why am I drunk? Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“It is safe,” Arion answers. “You are standing on two feet, are you not?”

“Fae tricks,” Bran says, but he’s laughing now and I’m laughing right next to him.

“Enjoy yourselves tonight.” Arion tips his drink at my dress. “It’s a nice touch.”

“Wait.” I grab him by the arm and pull him to a stop. He looks down where our bodies meet. “We should talk. Right? Isn’t that why you asked us here?”

Arion smiles at me. I’m taken aback by how dazzling he is when the lighting is better and there’s a little fizz and pop in my veins.

Are all the court fae this gorgeous? And how come I didn’t get this gene?

“Slow down, princess,” he says. “There will be plenty of time for talking. Enjoy the party for now. Get to know your people. We’ll meet up later.”

“Okay, but—” I say, but the crowd quickly swallows him up.

I turn back to Bran. He’s on his fourth (fifth?) glass of wine. His fangs are protruding from his mouth, which tells me he’s in a very, very good place.

The dancers twirl in and around us and the great hall glitters with light and merriment.

“Dance with me,” Bran says.

“What, now?”

He gives his glass to a servant scuttling past, then takes mine too.

“I don’t want to dance. This dress is too long.”

“I’ll catch you if you trip.” His pupils are blown wide, his smile wider. It’s hard to tell him no when he’s like this. Bran very rarely gives in to indulgence. Unless it’s my body.

I place my hand in his outstretched one and as soon as he has hold of me, we’re spinning through the crowd. It’s like I’m a child again on a carnival ride, the world blurring beyond my nose.

Bran wraps his arm around my waist, keeping me upright and close to his body as he guides us through the music and the crowd.

I can’t stop the laughter from spilling from my mouth and Bran’s eyes glow brighter as my pleasure grows.

“You’re really good at this!” I shout as we spin nearer the band.

“I’ve had hundreds of years of practice,” he answers and twirls us back to the center of the room.

Never once does my dress get tangled. I don’t know how Bran manages it.

And when the tune ends and the crowd stops to applaud, my head keeps spinning, that fizzy warmth spreading through my limbs, then up, up to my belly and chest.

Beside me, a short woman with pink hair lowers her voice to her friend and says, “I just heard the decorating party started.”

The friend, a woman with dark skin and emerald green hair, waggles her eyebrows. “Ohhh, let’s go watch.”

“What’s the decorating party?” I ask Bran. He snatches another glass from a passing tray and drinks half of it before handing it off to me.

“Sounds like an orgy,” he answers.

“What?!” I giggle around the goblet. Several beads of wine dribble down my mouth and Bran reaches over with his thumb, swiping them away before sucking them off.

I am bright with need for something…anything that feels pleasing. More wine. Food. Sex.

“It can’t be an orgy,” I say, hoping I’m wrong. What a way to begin this night.

I track the women as they navigate through the crowd and then down the next hallway.

Bran gets in close to me. “If ‘decorating party’ isn’t an orgy, I’ll eat my hand.”

“Okay. If the decorating thing is not an orgy, you’ll eat your hand.”

“Okay.” He smiles at me with a closed-mouth smile, all eyes and bravado. “And if it is an orgy, we fuck in it.”

I giggle and then clamp my hand over my mouth to stop the high-pitched glee from filling the air around us.

Bran has pushed me outside of my safe bubble, but to partake in a fae orgy? No way. But he seems so sure and quite honestly, I’m not.

I don’t know why a fae party would include decorating. That seems odd. But a fae orgy? Far more likely.

I grab Bran’s hand and pull him through the crowd in the direction the women disappeared.

The music fades and when we reach the hallway, different music fills the empty spaces. This is softer though, more sensual, more languid.

Oh shit.

There’s a smaller arched door at the end of the hall. It’s cracked just enough to see flickering blue and pink and golden light inside. I can smell the debauchery, even from a distance. Sweat and musk and the earthy scent of oil.

When we reach the door, I stop. This entire night is starting to feel like one giant carnival ride.

Bran puts his hand on the back of my neck and leans in, his mouth at my ear, his breath tickling down my exposed neck. “Go on, little mouse. What’s inside?”

I can hear the moaning, the pumping, the reedy whines.

I give the door a push and reveal dozens of naked fae fucking and sucking and locked in ecstasy inside.