Page 59 of A Deal with the Shadow King

Upon closer inspection, the fracture does look a little less appalling than yesterday. I kneel next to the bed and unfasten the bandages holding the brace in place. “One wouldn’t have snapped your leg in two if he hadn’t known someone could heal it.”

“Don’t be so sure. He hates me.”

I draw power from the clean air, the creaky bed, and the solid ground. Power numbs my fingertips as his leg starts to shrink down to its normal size, and I tilt my head slightly to the side, waiting for Jo to elaborate.

“The king commandeered a great hunt to make up for the lack of seedlings this year. He sent us after the minotaur, but per usual, One wanted to control everything. He treats me like I’m inferior to him even though he was a sepal once, too,” he says.

Wait… What?

My gaze snaps up to meet his, and my magic waivers. A faint pop rises from the half-healed leg, the surprise distracting me from my goal.

Jo clears his throat to mask a wince, his face angled away from his injured leg.

“Sorry.” I rub my palms together to soothe the uncomfortable tingles and give myself a second to recharge.

“It’s alright. You’re new to this. But yeah, it’s a bit of an open secret around here that the triplets must have been the last stigmas before Morrigan. They’ve got pointy ears, but it’s easy enough to fake that with the right glamor. And they never remove their masks… That’s not normal.”

I consider his words carefully. “Are you sure they’re not Fae?”

“I mean—they claim to be Fae, but Fae don’t act so paranoid all the time.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal one way or the other, but if the triplets aren’t Fae, it means they can lie. It would shift my world on its axis.

I return my attention to his leg and let the magic flow.

“It must have been lonely here the last few weeks. James doesn’t seem like much of a talker, and the redhead fawns over Two like a heifer in heat…” he says.

He’s not wrong, and I press my lips together not to laugh. “Who’s Morrigan?”

“Oh, she’s a legend. Morrigan was the last stigma to complete the training process, and they say she got so powerful, she rivaled the king himself. Normally, becoming a stigma means immortality, glory—it’s the ultimate reward for someone like us, but Morrigan…” He pauses for a few seconds. “The sprites say that she fell in love with a hunter, and that, on the eve of her wedding, the king killed her in a fit of jealousy.”

Goosebumps prickle my neck. “Which hunter?”

Jo lowers his voice and glances at the door behind me like he’s about to tell me something he shouldn’t. “That’s where the story gets muddled. A High Lord said that the man fled to another court after she died, but another claimed it was one of the triplets…”

I hold my breath.

Jo continues, “Isobel Umbra told me there used to be tons of people living in and out of the castle. When she was younger, the king would throw grand soirées for the gentry, and visitors from the other courts would stay for weeks at a time. There’d be music in the halls. Laughter. Children.” He licks his lips, the mystery of the Shadow Court clearly gnawing at him, too. “But one day, about eighty years ago, the Shadow King shut his doors to the world, and now, only the High Fae of the shadow realm are allowed to visit. A few sprites take care of the grounds, but they’ve been working here for centuries, and then there’s us… The entire realm is basically suspended in time.”

“No wonder the castle is so empty.” I dry my sweaty palms on my pants. “There. All done.”

Jo’s eyes widen as he tests out his new leg. “You’re awesome, Nell! It’s not even sore or anything. You’re going to be one hell of a sprout if you can do this as a seed. Thank you so much!”

A mix of pride and embarrassment brands my cheeks at his effusive praise. Now that we’re both standing, he’s got a few inches on me, and yet everything about him sets me at ease like we’re old friends whispering alone in the infirmary.

I take a small step back. “You’re welcome.”

The book on his bedside table shines in the sunlight, and I pick it up, looking for a swift change of subject. “History of the Shadow Realms, a Tale of Love and Betrayal,” I read out loud.

My heart beats faster. I’ve seen this book in the ledger. It’s a third-floor book. Greed and longing squeeze my ribs as I run my fingers over the cover.

“It’s romanticized a bit, but it details the fall of the last king, Ferdinand Morpheus Nocturna.”

I leaf through the book, and the calligraphy is tiny but easy to read. “How long has it been since he passed?”

“Give or take a century. Damian rose to power right after his death.”

I blink a few times at the revelation.. “So…the Shadow King is more than a hundred years old?”

“Yes.”

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