15

The ballroom is aglow with lights, resplendent with people dressed in their finest clothes. The ladies have outdone themselves on this final night, determined to make the most of their last chance to impress the Prince.

And yet I still stand out, clad in a ballgown crafted from a Faerie’s blood, with crimson jewels shining at my throat and in my hair.

Brantley looks at me from across the room, and his face lights up as if I’m an oasis in a stormy sea… a safe place for him. I love that, and yet a dark thrill runs through me when the broad figure of the King eclipses my view of the Prince.

“I believe I requested a dance,” the King says, low.

“Indeed you did.”

A muscle tightens along his jaw as he places a hand at my waist and laces his fingers with mine. “We’ll call it a farewell dance.”

There’s something intimate, easy, and familiar about the way he dances with me… as if we’ve danced before. As if we were meant to be each other’s dance partners .

He twirls me and then pulls me close, holding me against his body. The smooth grace of the move is familiar.

Too fucking familiar.

My breath stalls in my lungs. Hot panic breaks out over my skin, yet my heart and my blood go ice-cold.

I keep moving. Keep smiling. Keep dancing, even as my brain races, seeking confirmation. If I’m going to verbalize my suspicion, even to myself, I need proof first.

In the most casual tone I can muster, I say, “You were right. The shoes are quite comfortable.”

The King smiles. “I told you they would be.”

And then his face changes. Freezes in an expression of horror as he realizes that he’s been caught.

A silent scream throbs in my throat, and my teeth clench until they hurt. Savagely I try to push him away, but he grabs me in an iron grip and dances me through the crowd toward an arched doorway, while I struggle against him.

“Stop it, Sin,” he whispers harshly. “Not here.”

I almost don’t care if anyone sees the scene I’m about to make. But causing a disturbance would contradict my stepmother’s directive that I mustn’t do anything to deter the Prince from proposing. The anklet will interfere if I try to have this argument in the ballroom. I might as well go with him.

He hurries me up a narrow back staircase, down a side passage, then into a silent, empty parlor. Through glass doors, there’s a balcony twined with winter roses, their petals silvered with moonlight.

I spin around to face the King. He presses the button on the wall, and two small lamps come to life, bathing the room in an amber glow.

My fists are clenched, my body shaking. “Drop the glamour. ”

The shift is seamless, from the form of the King to his true form. Killian folds his arms and faces me, looking both rebellious and repentant.

I knew the truth, and yet seeing it quakes the very foundations of my heart.

“How long have you been pretending to be the King?” My voice is breathless and quivering, on the verge of tears.

“Since we first met in the library.”

“You mean…” I take a shuddering breath. “The whole time?”

“Yes.”

“Where is the King? Did you kill him?”

“The King died in the library on the night of the first ball,” Killian says. “His heart failed him. I had glamoured myself as a servant so I could keep an eye on you during the party, and I was passing the library when it happened. He’d slipped away from his bodyguards, so I was the only one within earshot at the time. When I reached him, his spirit was already gone.”

“So you decided to become him?”

“Well, yes. I thought it would be a pity if the ball had to be canceled. You were so eager to attend, and I had dressed you so beautifully. I decided to assume the King’s form, his scent, and his voice. My plan was to put him in his bed later that night, so his servants could find him in the morning. I laid a preservation spell on his body and stuffed him inside the bench seat in one of the reading nooks. Actually it’s the one where you found me.”

Something in his tone sends a jolt of dread through my gut. “Killian… tell me he’s not still in there.”

Killian gives me a shamefaced smile.

“Oh gods, I’m going to be sick.” I grip the back of a chair and bend over, trying to get a deep breath.

“I only planned for the deception to last one night,” he says. “But then you seduced me while I was glamoured as the King, and I went along with it, to my own shame. I should have told you everything, but you already seemed very distrustful of me… I thought if you discovered the truth, you might refuse my help, which you so obviously needed. So after the initial ball, I continued the ruse, which proved difficult, especially since I had to be an actual ruler during the day. It’s not an easy job.”

“You think I care how difficult it was for you?” I exclaim. “Is that why you kept sleeping with me? To ease the hardship of acting like the King? Or was it for your own sick amusement?”

Pain and penitence battle in his eyes. “That was… fuck, it wasn’t planned, I swear. I never expected you to be so… enthusiastic. If you recall, on that first night, I asked if you were seducing me only because I was the King. I asked if a different face or a different body would do just as well for you, and you said yes. You seemed to need sex, and I gave it to you gladly.”

Hot blood rushes to my face, a tidal wave of shame. He’s right… I was ridiculously eager to be carried away on a flood of passion. When I think about how quickly I fell for the man I thought was the King, the father of the Prince I was supposed to be courting…

I turn away from Killian, both hands covering my face.

“Fuck you,” I whisper.

I can’t stay in this room. My whole body is burning with regret, with shock, and the cold air outside looks like relief. I cross the room to the glass doors, fling them open, and rush onto the balcony, splaying my hands over the icy stone of the balustrade.

I hear Killian’s steps behind me. Of course he can’t just leave me alone.

“You think I despise you for needing comfort? For craving physical affection so badly?” His voice has changed—it’s deeper now, thrumming with a regal force I recognize. “I fucking loved it, Sin. That first night surprised me, I’ll admit. But from that moment on, I was addicted. I couldn’t stop. I swear I couldn’t. Fuck, I salivated for your cunt every time I heard you breathe . I was instantly hard every time I saw you. I wanted to tell you about the ruse—I swear I planned to, but I was so damn weak. I wanted more. I couldn’t give you up.”

My fingers curl around the vines of the winter roses, heedless of the thorns piercing my flesh. The unmistakable passion of his confession soothes my injured pride a little, but I still can’t excuse what he did. There are so many conversations I have to replay in my mind now. Did he mean everything he said? How much of it was sincere, and how much was him saying what he thought the King might say?

“Celinda,” he murmurs, right behind me. “The Fae don’t typically apologize, but my father taught me to own up to my mistakes. It was wicked and selfish of me to deceive you, and I’m truly sorry for it. I’m begging you to do the impossible, and forgive me.”

“How can I? When you lied to me, deceived me, tricked me…”

“I wanted you to be happy. I wanted to save you.”

“Well, you haven’t. You can’t. You hurt me instead, and I hate you for it.” My sobs are violent now, bursting through between my words. “You’ve ruined everything. Stolen all the joy from this week. What I thought I had with the King is gone, what I might have had with you is over, and it’s all misery from now on, because—” I stop short, unable to tell him my stepmother’s scheme.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats helplessly. “I thought I could make it up to you if I managed to free you. But the scythe was my last idea, and it didn’t work. I’ll think of something else, though, I swear.”

Whatever scheme he concocts, it won’t be soon enough. I must accept the Prince’s proposal tonight and marry him in a week. Then Brantley will wear the anklet, and I will be killed or entrapped some other way, still bound to my stepmother .

If I could tell him those things, perhaps we could design a plan together. But I can say nothing about any of it. I can only stare at him and try to reconcile the fact that the handsome King and my Faerie godfather are one and the same.

Killian cautiously reaches for me, and when I don’t protest, he cups my shoulders with his long, warm fingers.

“Your stepmother is planning for you to marry the Prince, isn’t she?” he says. “And then she’ll put the anklet on him. Which means you’ll be free, though judging by the despair in your eyes, I would guess she has threatened you with further torment, confinement, or death.”

I can’t speak, partly because of the anklet, and partly from sheer astonishment.

He smiles a little. “Don’t look at me as if I’m clever. Her next move was fairly obvious. And I would also guess that you’re feeling wretched about the Prince assuming the burden you’ve borne all your life. He’s a good man, that one. In the course of pretending to be his father, I’ve gotten to know him a bit, and I like him. Trust me when I tell you, Sin—I’ll find a way to save you both. I’m your secret weapon, darling.”

To my surprise, a smile twitches the corner of my mouth. It’s not that I’ve forgiven him—it’s merely a symptom of hope. Hope, which like an incurable disease, seems to have reappeared in my heart again at those words.

“I could ask my parents for help, as a last resort,” he says. “But they have their own responsibilities and their own limits. It’s especially risky for my mother to return to this realm for more than a few minutes, since she hasn’t traveled between worlds in so long. I’ve already consulted with several Fae about your anklet, but none of them know where it’s from or how to remove it. Nevertheless, I will think of nothing else until I solve this problem. This I vow, Celinda. And I beg for your mercy. ”

He sinks to his knees before me, clutching the skirt of my gown—the gown made from his own blood, spilled when he went alone into dangerous territory to fetch the Wraith’s Scythe.

I look at him kneeling there, utterly devoted and repentant. And yet… is he truly sorry for the deception, or is he only sorry that I discovered it?

“I was right to fear magic, and to distrust magical beings,” I say quietly. “You’ve proved that every cautious instinct I had was correct. You’re asking for something I can’t give you—mercy and forgiveness. I haven’t had the time to process any of this, so I can’t offer either one.”

He nods and pulls back. When I see his lashes sparkling with tears, I almost yield. I almost kneel down with him, take him in my arms, and comfort him. But I can’t allow myself to ease his pain yet. It’s well-deserved, and I have to think of myself and my own dignity.

“Forgiveness is something you can earn from me,” I say.

“I will.” He looks up, his beautiful face stricken with agony and hope. “I will do anything you ask, for as long as I live.”

Alarm flares in my heart at those words. “I would never require that of you.”

“I know,” he replies. “I yield my will freely. I am yours to command.”

“You don’t have to do that as some sort of atonement for the lies,” I protest.

He smiles, a sweet madness in his gaze. “This isn’t atonement. This is depraved obsession, abject devotion, and consuming passion.”

My breath catches as I realize what he’s saying.

So this is love. It’s far more dangerous than I imagined.

“I hate you for deceiving me.” The words aren’t nearly as caustic as I meant them to be.

“You have every right to hate me,” he replies.

“I’m disappointed that I didn’t actually seduce a King. ”

“That’s fair.”

“I understand now why you wouldn’t come in my mouth as the King. I would have recognized the way you taste.”

Heat burns in his lavender eyes. “Yes.”

Though I’m furious with him, my anger doesn’t carry the same poison of bitterness and resentment that I feel when I think of my stepmother. He behaved badly, yet his motives weren’t entirely selfish. He craved not just our physical connection, but my comfort, safety, and happiness.

I’m torn—horribly, wretchedly torn—between wanting to drive a dagger into his perfect chest and wanting to ride his face while he writes his apology on my clit with his tongue.

“You need to stop being so fucking beautiful,” I tell him firmly. “And you need to get out of my sight and give me time to process all this. Go be the King again, before someone comes looking for you.”

“The servants and guards are always hovering.” He gets to his feet and brushes off his suit. “It’s dreadfully annoying.”

“Poor little lying bastard,” I say derisively. “Go and suffer. I’ll return to the ballroom when I’m ready.”

After he leaves, I don’t cry anymore. I take a few minutes to breathe. To understand that the King is dead, a fact that will soon have to be revealed to the kingdom. To comprehend that within the hour, I will likely be engaged to the Crown Prince who doesn’t yet realize that he is, in fact, the new ruler of the land. To understand that my Faerie godfather is madly in love with me… and that he began our relationship with an inexcusable deception. To absorb the fact that he’s determined to save me, and not only me, but Brantley as well.

I’m used to coping with disappointment and misery. I’m not quite as adept at managing fear alongside hope, or holding space for both anger and love.

But I have always lived with uncertainty, and I’ve always found a place within myself where I can be safe and strong, no matter what commands bind me or what abuse I’m forced to endure. I can’t deny that since Killian came into my life, it has been better, not worse. I have smiled more in these few days of knowing him, both as the King and as himself, than I have for years .

I refuse to forgive him so quickly. And yet I fear that somewhere deep in my heart, I already have.

When I return to the ballroom, the Prince is quick to find me. I try to focus on him, though I glimpse the King—Killian—dancing with Vashli across the room.

“There you are,” Brantley says, pulling me aside rather than leading me out among the other dancers. “I wonder if you’d come with me into the garden. Do you have a wrap?”

“Not tonight,” I admit.

“I’ll have someone fetch you a coat.” He leads me into the front hall and speaks to a servant, who disappears for a moment and returns with a fur-trimmed jacket cut short enough to accommodate my voluminous skirts. The servant hands me gloves for my hands as well.

My nerves tighten as Brantley escorts me outside into the snowy garden. It’s not hard to guess what he’s up to. This is the moment I’ve been expecting—dreadful yet inevitable.

He faces me, then reaches stiffly for my hand. “Celinda, I have enjoyed your company very much these past few days.”

“I’ve enjoyed yours as well, Your Highness.”

“I believe you have the temperament, the kindness, and the intelligence I am looking for in my future Queen. Therefore I would like to ask if you will accept my hand in marriage. Will you be my wife, and one day take the throne at my side?”

I want to ask him if he has really thought about this, if this is an emotionless, practical choice or if he has considered the true wishes of his own heart. But my stepmother’s command won’t allow any such discussion, and I hear myself saying, in a cool voice that doesn’t sound like mine, “I accept. But I have one request.”

“And what is that?” he replies.

“I would like to marry one week from today. Why should we delay our partnership? The sooner we are married, the sooner we can begin working as a team.”

“That is a splendid idea,” he says. “I believe that once a decision is made, it should be carried out promptly. In this we are aligned, as I’m sure we shall be on everything else.”

Despondent though I am for his sake, I can’t help smiling a little. It’s just like him to see the logic and expediency of a quick marriage rather than a lengthy engagement. He has made his choice—why should he waste any more time?

He reaches into his pocket and produces a heavy gold ring with a vivid blue stone at the center. “This was my mother’s ring. I would give it to you now, but the engagement is supposed to be a secret until the feast tomorrow night. So I will present it to you then, if you’re agreeable.”

“Of course,” I reply. As my stepmother ordered, I will be the most docile and agreeable fiancée he could imagine.

The Prince doesn’t try to kiss me. I don’t think the idea enters his mind at all. He simply tucks the ring back into his pocket, and we return to the ballroom to dance and converse. He doesn’t drink, but he fetches me wine at my request. I gulp it down, convinced it’s the best way to get through the evening.

The wine makes me feel warm, comfortable, and far less worried, so a little later I indulge in a second glass. Then, while Brantley is dancing with another guest, I sneak a third glass from a butler’s tray.

A low voice at my side suggests, “Perhaps you should switch to water. Or coffee.”

“Fuck coffee, and fuck you,” I mutter.

The King chuckles, the sound deep and resonant and alluring .

“Now you see, that’s what makes me angry.” I poke his broad chest with my finger. “I love that laugh. But it’s not real . It’s all fake.”

“Keep your voice down,” he advises. “You do realize I can glamour myself to look, sound, and smell like this anytime. I can be anyone you want.”

“I want truth .” The word truth feels strange and thick on my tongue. “Tell me, Your Majesty, am I drunk?”

“Very much so.”

“I’ve never been drunk. I’ve never had this much wine. I’m not allowed to drink any of Milady Stepmother’s stash.”

“You need to come with me, Celinda. Quickly and quietly. It’s nearly midnight.”

“Wouldn’t that be a sight?” A laugh bubbles up in my throat. “Me dancing naked in the ballroom?” Not that my anklet would allow it. That kind of embarrassment doesn’t fit with my stepmother’s directive that I perform like a proper fiancée. “I suppose I’d better go,” I admit.

“Indeed. I don’t think anyone has noticed your state of mind yet, but they will if we don’t leave now. Come along, we’ll step out this way.”

He guides me behind a large pillar, then over to the same side door we used earlier.

“We need to find a place where I can create a portal,” Killian says.

As we hurry up the stairs, with him supporting me, the clock begins to strike twelve.

“How long do I have before I’m naked?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. Blood magic can be unpredictable.”

“Especially when it’s your treacherous blood.” I laugh and stumble into him.

“Try to walk straight, for fuck’s sake.” His glamour flickers momentarily, showing his true form. “Shit. I’ve been holding my own glamour for too long… I can’t keep it up. ”

“Can you still make a portal?”

“Yes. Fortunately my ability to portal is a separate gift, and doesn’t require the same type of energy.”

As the air shimmers and the portal forms, we both hear voices from the end of the hall. Killian grabs me and we leap through together.

We tumble into the cellar of Eisling House, not a moment too soon, because Killian has reverted to his usual form, and I’m completely naked.

He’s on top of me, his thigh between my legs.

I blame the wine and its warmth for what I do next.

I arch my spine, rubbing against his thigh like a cat in heat.

Killian looks down at me, but he doesn’t move.

The wine softened everything I was feeling and made warmth bloom over my skin. But deep in my heart, there’s a soreness it can’t relieve. Lately I’ve been finding comfort in sex, soothing myself by having trysts with beautiful men. Even though those two men have coalesced into one Faerie who deceived me, I’ve formed an attachment. Killian is a habit of mine, in either of his forms. He represents help, kindness, freedom, and pleasure. Now that the wine has dulled the edge of my anger, I’m less inclined to stab him and more inclined to use him for comfort.

I rub myself against his thigh again. Still braced over me, he bites his lip and looks away.

“Come on,” I whisper. “You said you crave me, that you’re obsessed. Put your cock inside me right now. Fill me up with your cum, like you did when you were playing king.”

“You’re drunk,” he says. “I won’t touch you when you’re drunk.”

“But you touched me while wearing another face.”

“It’s not the same thing, Sin. You know that. You were fully in control of yourself then, and now you’re not. ”

I hear what he’s saying, but my mind is too blurry to fully comprehend what he means. All I know is that my body is trembling with arousal, and I need him. I clutch his arms, trying to pull him closer. “Please, Killian.”

“You would never do this sober,” he replies, pulling away. “Not after what I did. Not when you’re so angry with me.”

He climbs off me and walks a few steps away.

I get to my feet unsteadily. “Killian, please look at me.”

He gives my nude form a cautious sidelong glance, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Don’t you want me?” I say softly. “I’ll lie right here on the bed, just like this.” I lay back, arch my knees, and move my legs wide apart. With my fingers I spread open my pussy for him so he can see the glistening wetness. “Please come here. I’m hurting. You hurt me, and I need to feel better. You can come inside me, right here.”

“Oh fuck.” He turns away again, one hand over his mouth. “This is the torture I deserve.”

“Please.” Tears trickle from my eyes because I just want him, I want to be held, I want him inside me, wrapped around me. “Please fuck me.”

“No!” he barks out, despair in his voice. “No, I won’t touch you tonight. I have to go.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere else.”

I sit up, but the room pitches and warps so much I have to lie down again before I get sick. “I’m begging you, Killian. Lie down with me.”

He walks over to me, his jaw clenched, and for a second I think he’s going to relent. But he only pulls the blanket over my body and bends to plant a burning kiss on my forehead.

“If I stay, I will fuck you,” he whispers. “So I’m going to do both of us a favor, and not add this to my list of sins. ”

More hot tears spill down my cheeks. “If you leave me now, don’t speak to me or touch me again, ever. I don’t want your favors or your help.”

“Go to sleep, Celinda.” He looks at me for a tortured moment, desire and guilt warring on his face. Then he creates a portal, little more than a flicker in the air, and disappears.