Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 128374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
When we appear at the Court of the Moon, I expect to find myself in the throne room. Instead, I’m in the entrance of a small sitting room. The king is lounging on a red wingback chair. The goblin releases my arm, the room spins, and I fall to the ground before I can get my feet under me.
Bile rises in my throat, and I put the back of my hand to my mouth.
“Abriella, you’re looking lovely,” the king says. He’s dressed in all black today—from his pants to his crisp tunic to the velvet robe draped across his shoulders. Even his fingernails have been painted black. Three sentries stand on either side of him, forked tongues darting out every so often, as if they can taste danger in the air.
I lift my chin even as nausea grips me. I refuse to show weakness in front of this male—though in honesty I’d find some enjoyment in vomiting on the king. “I’ve had your mirror for a week. I don’t appreciate being kept waiting.”
“Nor I,” he says, his tone bored. “And it took you longer than I expected. My spies tell me you ultimately asked the golden prince for it. That’s so clever. I only wish they’d been able to see what payment he required for that favor. I certainly hope he made the most of it.”
Nausea is replaced by anger in a flash, and cracks of darkness web out from my fingertips on the marble floor. The king’s sentries reach for their swords, and I spare a glance at the endless depths revealed in the crumbling marble.
Whatever this power of mine is, it blossoms in the Unseelie palace.
“Well now.” The king’s eyes darken, and his nostrils flare as he looks at the mess I’ve made. “I see you haven’t learned to control your magic yet.”
I haven’t even learned what it can do yet, apparently. I certainly didn’t know I could do this. But I make a fist and concentrate on winding the power back into myself. I imagine it coiled in my gut, not dormant, but like a powerful snake—alert and ready to strike.
The king scans my face. “What I wouldn’t give for such a gift.”
I don’t care what he thinks about my powers, and I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to. It’s not the court I object to, but Mordeus. The way he looks at me—as if he wants to climb inside my brain and take a look around. It makes my skin crawl. I push myself off the floor and straighten my shift as best I can. “Let me see my sister.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Let me see her, and I’ll give you the mirror.”
“As you’ve already discovered, you can see your sister in the mirror,” he says.
I don’t even want to know how he knows that. Images of his spies watching me in my chambers flash through my mind and make me shiver. But no. Surely he’s just guessing. “That’s not good enough.”
He shrugs. “It will have to be. It’s all I can offer. Have you enjoyed that this past week? Having the image of whatever you ask at your fingertips?”
I shake my head. “I want to see her. In person.” It’s been too long, and her absence is a constant awareness at the back of my mind.
“Have a seat.” Mordeus waves and a decanter filled with dark red liquid appears in his hand. “Let’s drink to your success.”
Drink faerie wine. Hard pass. “No, thank you.”
“I insist.” He pours two glasses and nods to the empty chair beside him. “We drink, and then I will tell you of the next relic I need you to retrieve so that you may see your sister in person all the sooner.”
Games. He’s playing games with me. Clinging to the last of my patience only because I have no choice, I enter the room and sit. When he passes me a glass, I accept it, hoping to speed him along.
Mordeus lifts his glass. “To power,” he says. I arch a brow, and he pauses with the glass halfway to his lips. “No?”
“In my world, power means the ability to cheat someone out of their life, their choices, and their free will.” His piercing gray stare burns into me, and I feel like he sees too much. I roll the glass between my hands and study the liquid. “I don’t care to toast to power.”
“To what would you like to toast?”
I meet his gaze and let the silence hang heavily for a beat before I raise my glass. “To promises kept and delivered.”
“Ah, yes. Your concern is still your sister.” He nods. “I will toast to that, as I look forward to you delivering on yours.” His smile sends an uneasy chill up my spine as he taps his glass to mine.