Page 10 of A Deal with the Shadow King

I put it on, and the prickly crinoline scratches my thighs. “Where are the socks?” I’m not used to the friction of fabric on my bare legs.

Baka raises her brows, both of them thick as branches. “Socks? You mean the ones you were wearing? They couldn’t have been comfortable.”

Tears sting my eyes. I look exactly like one of the courtesans in Esme’s book. Is the whole night planned around my public humiliation? Will I be mocked? Bullied? Assaulted?

I almost tear the dress off, feeling hideous and cheap. “Bring the black one, please.”

“Brave choice,” Baka cheers.

I’m not sure who I resent more, the Shadow King for forcing me into these clothes, or Father, for selling me out in the first place. It’s certainly not Baka’s fault. If I have to stand in front of the Shadow Court in nothing but a scrap of fabric that counts as a dress in this evil land, I will not let them revel in the certainty that they rattled me.

I work the dark dress over my head. Layers upon layers of black and gray chiffon lick the floor, the skirt not as scandalous as the neckline… Two strips of fabric run over my shoulders down my front, leaving the path between my breasts completely bare, almost to my navel.

Depending on how the light catches it, the one layer of chiffon covering my breasts becomes almost see-through and reveals the roundness of them. Heat pools in my gut, but I find solace in the fact that the color compliments my skin. I no longer want to punch the mirror, and a heavy sense of acceptance settles in my chest.

I shall endure.

“The satin pumps are right here.” Baka deposits a feminine pair of black shoes near my feet. “I gave you the shortest heel I could find.”

I slip my feet inside them, happy to find a comfortable fit despite their eerie appearance.

“And we should leave your hair down.” Baka releases my white blonde hair from the net, removing the clips and ribbons until it flows down to my waist. She uses a golden brush to comb through the knotted, frizzy strands, and they quickly become smooth and perfectly shaped.

My jaw drops. “That’s sorcery.”

“Welcome to Faerie.” On a mischievous chortle, Baka hangs the discarded yellow dress back in the wardrobe. She should burn it, really, but I bite my tongue not to say so and look at myself in the mirror again. I run my fingers through my hair with a sense of wonder. I haven’t been permitted to wear it down outside the confines of my bedroom since I turned fourteen, and the absence of the clips and net is…freeing. I wish I could run outside with the wind in my hair like I did when I was a child.

Baka fluffs it one last time, the small lift of her hands somehow giving it more volume. “Lovely,” she says, pleased with herself, before she glances at the small clock on the dresser. “It’s almost time. I have to go. May the eyes of the Seven shine upon you, seedling.”

She flies back the way she came, as though it’s the most natural thing to do. The mirror ripples in her wake like a pond under a clear summer sky. My nails click over solid glass as I test the feel of the reflective surface, but I sense no path or magic to speak of.

How does it work, exactly?

Curious, I trace the bronze trim with my fingers. The glass dims, taken over by a human-shaped shadow, and I jolt away from the apparition. The budding elation fluttering in my belly condenses into stone.

Nightmares prowl from the other side of the mirror.

This is supposed to be my bedroom, but if monsters can stalk my every move and come in and out of the glass at will, I don’t see how I’ll get a whiff of sleep.

A soft knock draws my attention away from whatever evil lurks inside the sceawere, and I bring my loose waves to my front to cover my breasts before inching open the bedroom door.

The dark man from before stands in front of me, his mask still firmly planted over his face.

“You lied to me.” I cross my arms, shielding myself further from his blank, metallic gaze.

Surely, he can see me, can’t he?

One corner of his mouth curls up, the motion small and yet perfectly rehearsed. “You assumed I was the Shadow King. Was it so wrong of me not to disabuse you of that notion?” The dark man turns on his heels, and I follow him down the hallway.

Fae can’t outright lie, but they certainly can lie by omission.

The warm light of the torches hanging from the ceiling reflects off the man’s black and white mask as he leads me through the labyrinth of the Shadow Court. Each tight corner reveals a new stretch of expansive, dark tunnels, the carpeted hallways seemingly carved through solid stone, most of them slanting upward. In Demeter, it would be unthinkable for a maiden to be escorted through darkened passageways by a man that isn’t part of her immediate family, and I play nervously with my fingers, keeping a good five feet of empty space between us.

A couple of blue, wingless sprites carrying linens and burlap sacks cross our path. They pause as we draw near and bow respectfully to my guide—a lord or knight of some kind, I presume—before resuming their journey. I peek over my shoulder to check for a scar or a welt left by their cut wings, but their backs are too bumpy for me to be sure.

“What are you doing?” the dark man asks softly, his head tilted to the side. “The sprites are loyal, trustworthy creatures, I assure you. You do not need to fear them. Ever.”

“I was looking for their wings,” I admit, leaving out my fear that they might have been cut off, like Baka briefly mentioned.

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