Chapter 8

Eight

I’m so relieved to see Bran that I forget for a second that he’s a killer and that he’s probably here to kill .

But if he unleashes the full power of his wrath, I’m not so sure he’ll make his way back out.

Adrenaline shoots through my veins, and I’m shocked at how quickly I can move in this place. I have my hand wrapped around Bran’s wrist, coaxing him to a stop with little effort, all within seconds.

“Don’t,” I tell him.

I need him alive.

His immediate anger and agitation thrums over my body.

Can the rest of the fae sense it too?

Bran is barely holding it together and saying yes to the marriage proposal has only made it worse.

Over his shoulder, I catch sight of Damien, awake and on his feet. And beside him a blond fae I’m not familiar with.

If Damien is conscious, does that mean my sister is awake too?

I scan the crowd for her, but of course Damien wouldn’t bring her to the fae realm.

I want to go home and see her.

I need to get us through whatever song and dance the fae would like us to perform so we can return home and reconvene and come up with a plan.

Maven’s proposal caught me off guard, but honestly, it’s the best possible outcome of all this. They aren’t killing me—yet. Instead, they’re trying to marry me off, and every single history book knows that an arranged marriage always has a benefit, some kind of leverage.

The queen points her nose at Bran and says, “Who is this?”

“He’s a vampire,” Arion answers. “From Midnight.”

“Kill him,” the queen says easily, no different than if she’d asked someone to smush a fly.

Two soldiers surge forward but I throw myself in front of Bran, arms spread wide like a shield.

“Little mouse,” his voice rumbles in a whisper behind me. “You’re playing a very dangerous game.”

I ignore him and say, “The vampire is mine. There is no marriage without him.”

I’ll probably get a swatting for that later, and you know what? I’ll enjoy it. In this new level of our relationship, Bran might have to stand down in public, and I might have to stand up, but in the bedroom…I will gladly submit to him.

“This vampire,” the queen says and looks at us from the deep, dark pools of her dark amethyst eyes, “just tried to murder a crowned prince of the Summer Court. That’s grounds for immediate beheading.”

“He was just trying to protect me,” I argue.

“Why?” The queen furrows her brow. “Who is he to you?”

I take quick stock of who in this room knows who Bran is—Arion and Damien. Maybe the blond fae? Those are small numbers. Great odds.

“He’s my bodyguard,” I answer.

Bran snorts.

The queen turns her gaze to Arion. “Is this true?”

Oh shit. He can’t lie to her! He’s going to tell her?—

“Bran Duval is of no concern of mine,” Arion answers. “But I can assure you, Your Majesty, that he has guarded Jessie with his body.”

Oh thank god.

That was clever and honestly, a little unexpected. Tears nearly burn in my eyes at his sudden show of loyalty.

“I can award you an entire army of guards,” the queen tells me, folding her hands in front of her. “I have many accomplished and skilled fae. Vampires cannot be trusted. They lust for our blood. They are too animalistic in nature to control their urges.”

Bran bristles beside me. I put myself between him and the queen. “He would never hurt me. And he’s nonnegotiable.”

I can practically feel his bright golden gaze on me now, the sinking of his dark brow. Is he annoyed I have to protect him? Is he shocked I am? I’m desperate to know what he’s thinking. I want to prove myself. I want him to be proud of me. I want him to have confidence in me.

I want him to know that here, in my land, I can handle myself.

Maybe.

Probably.

The queen takes several more calculated steps, the long train of her dress twisting behind her making her servants scurry forward to straighten it.

She stops just a few feet from us.

This is the woman who demanded my brother kill my mother.

There is nothing remarkable about her up close. She is beautiful, but there is something about her that is making it all seem wrong. Like a gorgeous daffodil with its stem bent and tattered.

From afar, it might be hard to see the brokenness of the flower, especially when it’s surrounded by many other pretty things.

But if you get close enough…

“I’m not sure you’re in the position to be negotiating,” the queen counters.

I vaguely remember an old neighbor giving my mom haggling tips over the bleached concrete of our driveway way back when I was a kid. My dad always handled negotiations, but Dad was dead and Mom needed a new car—she wasn’t ready to turn Dad’s Bimmer into an everyday ride.

“When they counter,” the neighbor had said, “and if it’s something you don’t agree with, just stay silent. Just keep looking at them.”

Mom managed to talk the car salesman down by a thousand dollars and also got three free oil changes out of it. She was so proud of herself that day.

I just stare at the queen now and say nothing.

The woman on her left, the one with the green hair, gives the queen a side-eyed glance.

The other woman on her right adjusts her grip on the hilt of her sword as if preparing to draw the weapon.

Bran could have me out of here before the entire blade was unsheathed. Couldn’t he?

“We can see how he does,” the queen finally answers, raising her nose even higher. “But the iron blade must be destroyed.” She snaps her fingers. There’s a rustling to the left and two fae clatter over, a large black pot suspended on two poles between them.

They stop beside Bran.

“Into the pot,” the queen says.

One of the fae—the man with sharp teeth and wide-set green eyes—uses a hook to pull off the lid on the pot. Steam hisses out and heat blooms in the air. Whatever concoction is inside is bright blue and the consistency of taffy.

Bran gives me a look. I give him a look right back. Toss the damn dagger , I tell him with my eyes. It’s my only fucking weapon, Mouse , he says back with his glowing amber gaze.

We can find you another weapon.

With a grit of his teeth, he tosses the blade in and the thick liquid bubbles up around it, burning the metal into nothing but silver glitter.

The queen turns away and walks the perimeter of the dais, her hands now clasped behind her back. “I am a very happy mother this day. My eldest son is betrothed, and what was once our greatest enemy will soon be our kindred. Tonight, we will celebrate this union and in five nights, their betrothal will be consummated beneath the glow of the smiling moon.”

The queen turns for an arched doorway.

“Wait!” I shout and my voice echoes around the large, domed room.

I sense a collective intake of breath.

It’s probably not a good idea to speak out of turn to a fae queen, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to get shit done.

The queen turns. A wave of her dark hair falls over her shoulder and sparkles in the diffused sunlight pouring through the glass overhead.

“I should return home to prepare,” I tell her. “I’d like my sister to attend. And…there are things…things I need to wrap up.”

“Wrap up?” she repeats, like these are the two stupidest words she’s ever heard.

“Yes. I can take Arion with me if that helps. And you already have this collar on me to stop me from using my power.”

Just gotta pretend to be the good girl, the innocent one, the harmless one.

The queen snaps her fingers again and six guards step forward.

“Take them with you instead. I have much to discuss with the Lord of the Summer Court.”

Arion makes eye contact with me as the queen disappears through the doorway.

I really wanted him by my side. But he gives me the barest shake of his head before turning and following in the queen’s footsteps.

The six guards break off into pairs. Two lead us from the palace. Two split off and hedge us in on the left and right, while the last two bring up the rear.

It’s me, Bran, Damien, and the blond fae in the middle.

“Who’s he?” I ask and nod at the newcomer.

“Your boyfriend’s savior,” the fae answers.

Bran snorts. “That’s being generous.”

“I am very generous, yes.”

“He’s Winter Court,” Bran fills in as we leave the palace’s main gate and follow the path back through the trees. I can’t help but scan the branches looking for a flash of an Autumn Court girl. But there’s nothing.

“He wants a title, by the way,” Bran answers. “In exchange for helping us locate you.”

“A small price to pay,” the fae answers.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Baspin, Your Highness.”

I will never get used to hearing that.

“Nice to meet you. But can I trust you?”

His attention goes to the guards marching us along the path. I think I sense what he’s thinking. He has to be careful what he says. The first chance I get to shake these guards, I will.

“You can trust that I will always have your best interest at heart,” Baspin answers. His eyes twinkle with the promise, but I know those words can mean a lot of things. My best interest is his best interest, so his motivations could be selfish in nature.

The guards are silent as we leave the palace grounds behind and make our way back up the hill toward home.

I’m relieved to have made it this far, but I think so much has happened in such a short amount of time that I’m starting to become desensitized to people trying to kill me or use me.

Is that a good thing or bad thing?

“So where to first, little mouse?” Bran asks. His voice is even and devoid of emotion. He’s testing me.

“We need to visit my boss,” I tell him. “Let her know I can no longer work at the coffee shop as I will soon be married.”

His chest rumbles at the mention of marriage. “Right,” he says, course correcting. He has to pretend he doesn’t care and I can tell he very much wants to paint the day in blood because of this whole thing. “Smart choice, Mouse.”

He knows what I really mean—we visit Rita as soon as possible and see if she can help get this collar off. And then, finally, once and for all, unbind me and unlock my full fae powers.