Page 11 of A Deal with the Shadow King

“Some sprites are born without them,” the man explains in a soothing tone, making me think he understood exactly what I was asking.

My spine relaxes a bit, and we resume our ascension until we reach a thick gold-plated door at the end of the next corridor. The Fae holds it open for me. “If I may…you look beautiful, kitten.”

I feel his gaze roam over my naked back as I walk past him, and my cheeks flush. “Thank you.”

The wide room on the other side possesses all the bells and whistles of a lavish banquet hall and is situated a few stories above ground. Large checkered panels allow for a hot and heavy summer night breeze to flow in, the air thick with humidity. The sweet aromas of ginger spices, lavender, and incense fill my nostrils.

“Is it still summer here?” I ask, the pleasant atmosphere soothing my nerves.

“Late spring, actually, and I’m already sick of the heat. The palace is much more comfortable in autumn. Seasons pass quicker here than in your world, so you’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

Garlands of lanterns flicker above our heads, and lush gardens spread beyond the edge of the open-air balcony adjacent to the banquet hall, the details of them hidden in darkness.

Men and women wearing masquerade masks sip on crystal flutes and chat in small groups around the hall and balcony, the setup similar to a Demeter banquet if not for the outrageous apparel. I thought the Shadow King meant to set me apart, but my dress is on par with what the other women are wearing. The excited chatter doubles at our arrival, and quite a few courtiers crane their neck around to steal glances at us.

Four tables are set in the dimly lit reception hall. The biggest one forms a half-circle that sits about a dozen patrons and faces what I assume to be the king’s spot, a table furnished with a padded black and gold throne. The two remaining tables are set at the ends of the half circle and are perpendicular to the king’s, with three seats each. A humongous frameless mirror looms behind the throne, stretching the entire length of the wall.

My dark chaperone picks two crystal flutes off a floating tray and hands me one, but I shake my head. Father said no wine. “None for me, thank you.”

“Your loss.” He gulps down the extra flute at my refusal and sets it back on the tray. The floating drinks fly from group to group under my awestruck stare, and I’m about to ask how it works when a short man rushes over to us.

A forest-green jacket stretches over his round belly, the buttons threatening to burst. A silver mask covers his eyes but reveals a plump, red nose and sun-battered skin. “One, it’s been too long.”

One? One what?

The dark man nods in greeting. “Good evening, Effias.”

“By the spindle, the seedlings are certainly gorgeous this year—if not numerous.” Effias grins a happy, effable smile. “Best wishes, my dear. We’re all counting on you.” He presses his pink, swollen hands together before facing the dark knight again. “Give your brothers my best wishes. And remind Three that he still owes me a horse.”

Wait… Who the crops is named One?

One—if that’s in fact his name—pulls out a chair for me at one of the three-seater tables in a perfect picture of gallantry, but I hesitate. The copper tableware shines under the glow of the lanterns, the ominous greeting from Effias still stuck in my brain. What is a seedling? And why would this Fae count on me?

One abandons me to my fate and strolls to the balcony, spreading his arms. “Welcome, High Fae of Sinistra, Umbra, Sombra, Fantasmagorie, and Nocturna. Please take your seats. The feast is about to begin.”

I sit on the edge of the chair, and a red-haired woman slumps into the seat next to mine. “Hey, I’m Mara. I’m a seedling, too.” She’s not wearing a mask, and freckles pepper her young, open face.

A man with dark black skin peers over her shoulder. “And I’m James. Is it true you’re from the old world?”

“Yes, are you from the new?” I examine the two newcomers with interest, their excitement contagious. They’re wearing similar fashions as me, seemingly unaffected by Mara’s bare thighs and strapless dress—or my own see-through cleavage.

“Yep. Fresh out of Denver, and James is Canadian,” Mara says.

James nods and sits next to her, our table now full.

It must be the name of her kingdom. “I’m from Demeter. I’m Nell.”

“Nice to meet you, Nell. I didn’t think people from the old world bleached their hair. It’s really pretty. God, I’m famished.” Mara snaps her fingers, and a floating tray dashes over to our table. The crystal flutes clank together, and she slides two of them next to her empty wine glass.

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused about her comment on my hair. Even though she used the word pretty, it didn’t sound like a compliment.

She raises one of the crystal flutes to her red-painted lips, her attention fixed on something else. “Who’s the hunk?”

My brows furrow. “Excuse me?” Some of the words blurting out of her mouth make no sense.

“The tall Fae with the black and white mask?” She waves in the dark man’s general direction. “Who is he?”

“His name is One—I think.”

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