Page 13 of A Deal with the Shadow King

The king breezes past them and immobilizes in front of me, tall and intimidating. He snatches my long-stemmed wine glass from the table and discards its contents to the floor with a flick of the wrist.

He raises the other hand in my direction, asking me to come closer. The wordless command echoes in every fiber of my soul even though no actual sound came from his mouth.

The pull of his magic compels me to walk around the table and stand by his side. His bite of power sinks into my pores like pure, voluptuous poison.

The king tugs on the end of his left glove and pries it off. Blood whooshes at my temples as I offer him my hand—though he didn’t ask for it.

A gold ring snakes around his middle finger—the only part of his body that looks human—and inked Fae alphabet runs down his knuckles.

My heartbeats slow down, one sluggish thud at a time, my very pulse regulated by his proximity. He reaches out and sinks a pointy fingernail into the tip of my index finger. Blood rises in its wake, but the sharp pinch barely registers.

Time stops. The Fae lords freeze, some with their mouths half-open on a gasp, others clutching their necklaces or gulping down a mouthful of wine, each of them perfectly still. A drop of blood hangs from the tip of my nail, suspended in time, and perfect silence ices the scene.

The king walks in a circle around me. His fluid movements are in total contrast to the petrified banquet hall. A burst of heat brands my chest, his powerful aura softening my legs.

I feel his stare travel across my hips and breasts before it lands on my parted lips. He traces the v-shape of my dress with his ungloved hand, right above my navel. Our skin touches, and he draws back like he felt the flare of static electricity between us as vividly as I did.

Goosebumps scatter on my neck, and my gaze latches on to One, his obsidian mask darker than it was a minute ago. At first, I believe he’s paralyzed too, but his shoulders roll underneath his black tunic.

The king grazes my waist, and One’s nostrils flare, but his rigid stance melts back into a subservient bow—so quickly in fact that I wonder if I imagined it.

The king draws back a few inches, and the drop of blood hanging at the tip of my finger finally falls into the wine glass. In a blink, the spell ends, and life returns to the room.

Mara and James join us. The Shadow King pricks each of their fingers in turn, their blood joining mine at the bottom of the glass until the red liquid foams and expands.

The king raises the blood wine to the glow of the lanterns. “Three of them will be trained, but only the strongest seeds will sprout,” he says telepathically, his words heard and yet not spoken. His terribly beautiful inner voice is apparently projected to the entire room, because the other guests nod and smile in response.

What the crops?

With a snap of his fingers, the empty glasses in front of the Fae lords fill to the brim with the same shade of bloody wine.

One raises his glass to the patrons. “May the seeds grow strong.”

“May the seeds grow strong,” the High Fae respond in unison, the clinks of their toast resonating in cheer.

Men and women drink the blood greedily.

A metallic taste lingers at the back of my tongue, but Mara and James smile, quite literally bewitched by the Shadow King. I anchor my gaze to One’s black and white mask so as not to suffer the same fate until the king ushers his guests to the balcony, leaving us behind.

One slowly walks over to us and grazes the flesh of my upper arm. “Come on, kitten. I’ll take you back to your room.”

I play with my fingers, my pulse quick and irregular. “It’s over?”

My two fellow seedlings jolt out of their hypnotic state. “What happened?” Mara asks with a dreamy edge to her voice.

James rubs his palms together to warm them up. “I feel pulverized.”

I bite the inside of my cheeks. I expected…worse. Not merely offering me a meal, pricking my finger, and sending me to bed.

One sighs. “You two, stay here. I’ll escort you back to your rooms one at a time.”

I utter a quick “good night” before following One out of the banquet hall. We head deep inside the belly of the castle, away from the fragrant Faerie night.

“Is your name truly One?” I ask him.

He picks up the pace, his tone almost cheerful. “You have an issue with that name?”

“No.” I take note of his non-answer.

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