Page 31 of A Deal with the Shadow King

My memories of One might be hazy, but my thoughts on his appearance are not blurry at all. Every time he gets a little too close, I feel lightheaded and warm and a little gauche.

The highest of all girly squeals rips out of Cece’s mouth. “By the Mother! You like him! When exactly did you meet him? Is he the reason you refused Isaac?”

“I didn’t refuse Isaac, exactly. We agreed to wait a year before finalizing our plans, so I don’t know what possessed him to ask Father for my hand right away. No one can know about my trips to Faerie, so it didn’t seem fair to accept his proposal until I’m back for good.”

Her jaw slacks. “Wait. You have to go back?”

“Yes. I have to spend half the coming year in Faerie.”

“Wow.” Her brows pull together. “Why?”

“One said it would take about a year for me to snuff my powers out,” I lie.

“Did you see the Shadow King?”

I avert my gaze, the threads sticking out from the pillow in her lap suddenly absorbing my attention. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Did you?”

“Um—only for a moment.”

She slaps my arm with more strength than expected. “Horseshit! You did?”

My lips purse out of habit at her foul language. “Stop cussing!”

“Oh, you have to tell me everything.” She covers her wide grin with her hands, and the elation in her voice makes me a little nauseous… but mostly relieved. Maybe 40% nauseous at the thought that my little sister knows too much, and 60% relieved that I don’t have to keep so many secrets from her. I want to tell her everything, but my mind draws a huge blank when I try to think of the Shadow King.

Despite the obvious magic at work here, I recount my days in Faerie to the best of my ability. Some details are easier to recall, like the layout of the castle and Lori. Cece listens intently until the moon stretches high in the sky and the fire dies in the chimney.

Around two in the morning, sleep finally claims her, allowing me a moment to digest the events of the day. Being back home is…strange.

An itch blooms between my shoulder blades as I stare out my bedroom window. Without giving myself the time to chicken out, I cover Cece with my duvet, change into my tunic and pants, and sneak into the night. The warm, happy sensation I get whenever I run dulls the part of me that urges for caution.

It’s not like I’ve lost my bearings. It doesn’t mean I’ve been corrupted. Yet.

Chapter 12

In Summer

St-John’s Eve, the summer solstice celebration, is finally over. The sacrifice was successful enough for my enemies to overlook the dark circles under my eyes and the occasional twitch in my fingers. Elio isn’t so easily fooled, though, and he peels himself off his frozen throne to join me in my dark corner.

The Hall of Eternity is an octagonal stone room with eight thrones, and the carpets that radiate out from the centerpiece of the room—the chalice—match the thrones they lead to. The black obsidian rock I’m sitting on frosts as my old friend nears it. “You look like death,” he says.

The skin at the base of his neck is freckled with snowflakes, and exhaustion dims his ice-blue gaze.

“Right back at you,” I crack.

Elio is the reaper king, after all. He knows a thing or two about death. We watch from the corner of our eyes as the monarchs filter out of the sacred hall and enter the Summer Court’s ballroom through the large door behind the Queen of Summer’s throne.

The guests are now free to enjoy the pleasures of the night, however forbidden they may be, but it’s the one Fae holiday I’ve always abhorred, even before the curse. Light Fae love to play games, drink wine, and sex, sex, sex. It leaves all the hard work for us darklings, but it’s not like I could find a lover here, anyway. The curse destroyed the part of me that could love, or even feel true attraction or desire.

Until Nell, my pesky inner voice chants.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on,” Elio says quietly enough for no one else to hear.

“I’m fine. How have you been?”

Nothing shuts up Elio Hades Lightbringer better than the prospect of talking about himself. The Winter King is drowning in secrets of his own, and neither of us have been in a sharing mood in decades.

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