Page 52 of Vale of Dreams

Talan leans forward and puts an arm on the shoulder of a Fey man with wavy black hair, thick eyebrows, and a white cravat. “Lord Ael here has been spying for the humans. In fact, a guard he knows released one of our prisoners. A demi-Fey spy named Raphael.”

Nivene glances my way just for a second, her eyes widening slightly. I’m still holding my breath.

Lord Ael’s face pales, now white as his cravat. “What?” Lord Ael stammers. “I never…is this because of the blue dragon?—”

Talan’s movement is so fast, so smooth, I nearly miss it. The man’s chair topples over, and the next thing I know, he’s lifting Ael by his throat, as if the Fey noble weighs nothing. The man’s eyes bulge, his face reddening and feet kicking as he tries to take a breath. He’s clawing at Talan’s hands.

“In His Majesty’s court, there is only one punishment for traitors.” Talan’s voice is ice-cold. With his free hand, he reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a dagger. The blade glints in the candlelight. For just a moment, the prince releases Ael’s throat. But as he does, he slashes with his dagger, carving right through the man’s neck. A simple, elegant swing that sends blood arcing over the flagstones. The Fey falls to the floor, legs kicking as he grabs at his throat, emitting horrible gargling sounds. I stare, willing it to be over. Time seems to slow to a painful crawl as the crimson rivulets stream over the floor, the stains spreading on the delicate embroidered rug.

The woman next to him—his wife, I presume—is sobbing. She covers her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle the sound of her cries. At last, Ael’s body goes still. His green eyes stare lifelessly up at the ceiling, where candleflames gutter in hanging chandeliers. Blood glistens around him, and a deadly silence settles over the room, broken by the sound of that woman’s sobs.

Only King Auberon keeps his composure, taking a bite of the roast boar as if nothing happened at all. I’m pretty sure he’s been eating this whole time.

Talan stabs his dagger into the table and turns back to the hall. His venomous smile makes all the heat leach from my body. “Well? That was exciting, wasn’t it? It’s awfully quiet in here. How about some music? Play something fun, for the love of the gods.” He nods at the musicians, then picks up Ael’s glass of mead and drinks the rest of it.

Lady Ael cries into her hands, trying to be quiet.

Two violinists and a piper begin playing a cheerful musical piece, their faces pale with fright. A few servants hurry to carry the dead lord’s body away.

I stare at Talan as he saunters back to me. He gives me a dazzling smile as he holds out his hand. “Dance with me.”

All eyes are upon me. Faintly, I can see the sheen of blood on his dark jacket.

“It would be my pleasure.” I stand and take his hand.

We’re trained on Fey dances in Avalon Tower, and yet I still somehow don’t feel prepared. It’s one thing to dance with Serana or Darius under the bright lights of the training room. It’s quite another thing to dance with the Dream Stalker seconds after he slit a man’s throat, then drank his mead.

He pulls me in, leading me in a close dance. Awkwardly, my head comes up to his chest. Still, he dances gracefully, every step in the right place, commanding my body with ease to move with his. He’s the kind of dancer who makes his partners seem skilled, even if they aren’t. I just let him lead.

Quickly, other couples join, twirling around us. Maybe it’s the mead, or maybe it’s the coppery scent of blood hanging in the air, but I’m starting to feel dizzy.

I glance up, my gaze catching on the large, brightly colored butterflies fluttering above us as we dance, their wings shimmering.

“We can talk now.” He leans down, whispering. “The music covers our voice even from the keenest of listeners, and no one can read our lips as we move.”

I stretch higher onto my tiptoes so I can whisper. “That was brutal. What the fuck was that?”

“Just keeping everyone safe from traitors and spies, my love. Your heart has been racing out of control all evening, and I have to wonder why. Something surprising, farm girl? I thought you’d heard all about my reputation.”

“Maybe I’m a little surprised. I didn’t realize I’d ever meet anyone worse than the merchant who tried to shag one of our pigs, but here we are.” I smile up at him as I say it, taking the sting out of it.

“I’m below the pig shagger in your hierarchy of people?” he murmurs softly. “Truly, I am cut to the quick by the poor opinion of a diminutive, half-starved, woefully uptight onion farmer. How will I recover from this mortal wound to my soul?”

“Why worry what anyone thinks when you’re the best at everything? Killing, manipulating, fucking…”

“So you’ve heard.”

“You’re quite the full package, aren’t you?”

An arched eyebrow. “A full package. I’ve heard it described that way. I don’t usually brag about it in polite society, though clearly, there’s none to be found before me. Or below me, in this case.”

“You truly don’t care what others think, do you?”

“I would be a masochist to dwell on what other people thought of me. I’ve been despised since I took my first breath. So, I don’t really give a fuck what they think. You are not unique or original in your assessment. But I can say you are the only one who says it out loud, so at least you make it interesting. Perhaps it almost makes up for the fact that you’re the size of half a person and you loathe having fun.”

As we dance, I’m a little distracted by the feel of his powerful muscles shifting slightly beneath his clothes.

Obviously, there are some things I will not be saying out loud. “I say what I think because we’re not taught courtly manners in Lauron.”

---