Page 85 of A Deal with the Shadow King

I unclench my fist and let it fall to the table, my heart in my throat. “I agree. The Damian in this book is ruthless and clever, yes, but he’s also lively, arrogant, audacious—not at all like the Damian we know.”

My best friend shrugs. “I guess even the Shadow King was young once.”

“Or something so terrible happened that he became a totally different person.” I lower my voice, barely able to admit my number one fear. “What if he needs to court me…to boost his magic?”

If Jo is right, then the Shadow King didn’t send the necklace to mess with me. For whatever reason, he needs to win the bet soon, and courting me must be part of that.

“No, he could easily take our magic if he wanted… Oh!” Lori’s face wrinkles in a deep cringe. “Would marrying you make him win that bet he made with your dad? He’d get your magic, then, too. And maybe even your kingdom?”

My blood runs cold at the thought. “Wait. That’s insane.” Marriage? I can’t even?—

“I’m probably wrong,” she adds quickly, but the damage is done. Her dubious hypothesis struck a chord.

“If he truly wants to win my affections, why does he stay in the shadows, barely taking the time to get to know me at all?”

Lori ties her hair on top of her head in a messy bun, and the string of earrings decorating the shell of her ear gleam under the light of the chandeliers. “I’m sorry to say this, but if the Shadow King wants to marry you for your magic, I don’t see how you could change his mind.”

I shake my head, willing my brain—and my damn pulse—to slow down. “What is he going to do? Knock me over the head and drag me to the altar?”

“Don’t joke about that,” Lori says quickly. “Fae marry almost exclusively for power, and they have crazy wedding rituals. Most dark Fae believe that a union celebrated under the first Morheim moon is twice as potent. A marriage announcement could boost the king’s magic enough to discourage a formal challenge.”

“And then, he wouldn’t have to abdicate,” I say, slowly putting two and two together. “But Morheim is only a few weeks away. Since consummation is such an important part of Fae weddings, he’d need my consent!”

Lori paces the room back and forth, and I realize this is no longer a crazy brainstorm session. This could be real.

“You’d probably be all for it with the right enchantment,” she adds.

I press my lips together in a hard line. Does that count as consent, in this wicked world?

“He can’t,” I say loudly, more for my own benefit than Lori’s.

She covers my hand with hers, the graveness of the situation clouding her gray eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him. If he plans on marrying you against your will, it’ll be over my dead body, Old World.”

A heavy sigh quakes my lungs. I know I’ve got a true friend in Lori, but I can’t fool myself. We’ve all sworn an oath to the Shadow King, and if he does claim me as his bride, the others will let him have me. Even One.

That’s why he’s been so distant. No one can stop the Shadow King, and when he comes for my magic, One will step aside and let him have it.

“I bet he thinks I’ll agree to marry him not to lose my magic. That gives him consent. And he wins the bet.” My mind is ablaze, but something’s not adding up. I feel it in my bones. “Crops! I need to research a way out, but I’ve got to go home.”

Two weeks lost, when there’s only so many days left before the Shadow King comes for his due. I need more time to train and figure this all out.

“When do you leave?” Lori asks.

“Tomorrow.”

And for the first time, I really, really wish I didn’t have to go, which scares me more than all the wild conjectures and conspiracy theories my brain is currently weaving about the Shadow King.

Given the choice between my old life—without magic—and marrying the king, I’d have to leave Faerie forever. But the answer is certainly not as clear-cut as it used to be.

Chapter 29

Impossible

Dreams are intimate. Precious.

There are dreams that leave you energized, and others that leave you longing. Now that I know they’re meant to fill a well of magic in the shadow realm, I’m nervous to fall asleep.

Moonlight streams through the thick glass of the castle windows as I shift from one side to the other in my tiny bed. The hearth is quiet, and it’s been hours since I finished the discarded book on the bedside table. Now that I’ve gotten used to sleeping in thin, silk gowns, the rough wool of my thigh-high socks is even more itchy than before, and I fight off the urge to scratch my legs.

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