Page 62 of A Deal with the Shadow King

He rolls his eyes at my perfectly reasonable question. “I can’t possibly deal with the individual dreams of the worlds’ population, but I make sure the Dreaming leaves the wandering souls energized for their day. If mortals didn’t get something in return for their voyage, they wouldn’t come back. I also make sure they can leave. We don’t want them to get trapped here, either.” Hands on his hips, he gazes out at the rainy, fog-riddled forest with the beaming pride of a new father. “A soul is safe here. It can explore all its fancies without repercussions. Anything from joy to processing past traumas.”

I sidestep the issue of not being able to leave, stowing it for later. “What’s the difference between dreams and fantasies?”

“Fantasies are more specific. They reveal what mortals crave, sometimes beyond reason. Dreams can be just fun and meaningless. It’s wise to remember the difference between the two.” He guides me through the trees with the unwavering confidence of a man who knows exactly where he’s going.

“And nightmares?”

We reach a small clearing, and he stops, the weight of his breath disturbing the thick fog. “Nightmares are by-products of dreams. Every once in a while, a mortal will dream of something so powerful that it takes a life of its own. Now, if the nightmare accepts the king’s collar, it remains inside the sceawere and continues to feed the realm—dreams cannot exist without nightmares—but if it escapes, it needs to be put down. That’s where my expertise ends and One’s begins.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “You made it here quickly, so you’re not…half bad. Why did One get rid of you if you don’t suck?” he breathes, his voice so similar to his brother’s low baritone that I shiver.

“Who’s Morrigan?” I dead-pan.

His tongue tucked underneath his teeth, Two smiles the way you smile to your opponent while bluffing in a card game. “Dropping false pretenses. Alright. I’ll answer your question if you tell me why One switched you with Mara.”

I bite my bottom lip and consider his offer. “Three questions.”

He rubs his palms together. “Let’s make it interesting. It’s still early enough for the old world gentry to wander the Dreaming. There must be someone you’re curious about? A boy, perhaps?” Two stares down at me like he can hear my quickened pulse, and maybe he can. “Tell me his name.”

“Isn’t it an invasion of privacy?”

“Oh, come on. What’s your boyfriend’s name?” His tone is laced with a hint of magic, and I find myself blurting out the truth.

“Isaac Henry Longbottom.”

He raises his hand to the thick fog wall in front of us and calls Isaac’s name. A languid pulse of magic ripples through the air. “Let’s see what this mortal’s subconscious yearns for.”

Magic coats me on all sides, and I hold my breath for a moment, my skin prickling like I’ve just plunged into a hot bath.

The world blurs, and all of the sudden, Two’s fractured mask gleams in the bright sunshine of my father’s royal gardens, the apple trees around us suddenly thick with white flowers. “You’re all flushed, princess.”

“What was that? I feel…different.” I look down at myself, my tunic gone, replaced by a traditional wedding dress. A long ivory train flows behind me, the laced sleeves tight around my arms. My hand flies to my hair, the white blond locks now braided inside a hairnet.

“Your boy sensed your arrival, and you became part of his dream,” Two explains.

“What about you?”

“I know better than to be sucked in by a mortal’s dream.” He rubs his hands together. “Let’s make this fake wedding interesting. If you manage to pull yourself out of this fiasco without waking him, I’ll answer one question of your choosing.”

“If I win, I want you to answer three questions.” I bite my bottom lip and think for a moment. “One if I lose.”

“Alright, but if you fail, I get to ask three questions myself. And whatever happens, you’ll have to answer truthfully.”

My nose wrinkles. “How do I know you won’t lie to me?”

“I’m Fae.”

“Are you really?”

Jo is right. If the triplets aren’t Fae lords, they have to be stigmas that learned to only pass as Fae, which means I can’t trust a word coming out of Two’s mouth.

He rubs the sharp angle of his jaw. “Is that your question?”

“No. Let’s just vow we both will answer truthfully… and I get one question regardless. One if I lose, three if I win. Same goes for you.”

“Alright, but you have to ask your question first,” he negotiates.

“Done.”

“Now, let’s see who wins.” He extends his hand with swagger, but I can’t let his obvious confidence erode mine.

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