Page 90 of Vale of Dreams

I grunt as I get to the end and shove the thread through. I tie the knot, and a tear slides down my face.

When I’m done, I rest my head on my shaking arms on the side of the tub and catch my breath.

Hail drums rhythmically against the window, and lightning cracks the sky outside. The tea that Aisling brought me has been helping to take away the sharp pain from my stab wound, although I still feel it as a dull throb in my side. The nightgown I’m wearing feels soft against my weary body. Jasper called this fabric veil-silk, and it does remind me of the veil—iridescent, nebulous, soft as air.

I’ve been in here all day. With the storm raging outside, it’s almost cozy. Yes, I’m in the heart of the enemy’s castle, a place where I’d be slowly tortured to death if they ever learned the truth about me. And yes, I had to kill two people and sew up my own wound earlier today.

And yet, I’ve had a few hours of respite. While I rested, I started to wonder if Talan could—against all odds—actually be an ally. Has his brutal, vicious, murderous personality all been a front? Or am I trying to convince myself of that because I’m insanely lonely and he has a pretty face? How easy it would be to convince myself he’s a good guy and ruin the world while I’m at it.

I’m starting to see Raphael’s point about not letting emotions cloud your thinking. I need data and analysis to guide me, not the allure of a gorgeous man. For now, all options are open.

I glance down at the book of Fey love poetry in my lap and flip the page. It has an almost violent quality to it, a lot of passages about raging storms, the deaths of gods, lightning igniting cities into infernos. Still, the language is starkly beautiful.

A knock sounds on my door. “Who is it?”

A deep voice pierces the wood. “It’s your prince. Who else would it be?”

I swallow hard. I thought he was supposed to be gone longer.

Already, he’s opening the door. Instinctively, I pull the blankets more tightly around me.

Talan saunters in, carrying a silver goblet. His rings gleam on his fingers, and the faint scent of wine and musk wafts into the room with him. His dark eyes look half-lidded as they slide to me, and his gaze brushes down, taking in the top of my nightgown.

“Usually, you wait for someone to say come in after you knock,” I protest.

A lock of his hair falls before his eyes, and I can tell he’s ever so slightly drunk. “You know, I almost missed your mutinous attitude, my favorite mistress. Everyone around me is so fucking deferential.”

“Might it be your habit of slitting the throats of those who annoy you?”

He slips off his shoes. “And yet here you are, living and breathing before me, your heart still beating, cheeks pink with life, while you take such great pleasure in insulting me.” He takes a sip from his wineglass, then frowns at my book. “Are you reading love poetry? A bit lonely, are you?”

I was absolutely, chest-achingly lonely here in the palace of lies I’d constructed for myself. “Just bored.”

“We can get you a bucket of dirt and some onions if it would make you happy.” He plucks the book from my lap. “Is it good?”

“The writing is interesting…lots of morbid metaphors. Love, relentless as death, tortures me at the gallows.”

A smile ghosts over his full lips, and he traces his fingertips over the words. “Good. I like my beautiful things to have a bit of darkness in them.”

“Well, that describes you perfectly.”

“That makes the second time you’ve called me beautiful.” He lets out a sigh. “We have a problem, though.”

“What problem?”

“Lumos was with me on my trip, and he’s still asking questions about you. He remains convinced that this is fake.”

I open my eyes wide. “Wherever would he get that idea?”

He sits on my bed and slides his wineglass onto the table. “He had all sorts of questions for me about you. And knowing that obsessive, conniving bastard, he’ll double-check everything. So, tell me about yourself so I don’t get this wrong. I need to actually know you, Nia. And since I can’t get in your head, you’re a complete mystery to me, and I’m afraid you’ll have to use words to explain yourself. It’s frankly not something I’m used to.”

“You already know where I’m from. You met my family. What else is there to tell?”

He leans his head back against the propped-up pillows. “Lumos, for whatever reason, thinks I’m wildly self-obsessed and there’s no way I could ever possibly fancy a pig farmer unless I saw something in you that reminds me of myself. Bizarre, isn’t it?”

Thunder rumbles outside, and Talan’s dark gaze searches mine. Is he anything like me? That’s the question. Is it possible that he’s secretly saving all those human kids—that he is the secret benefactor?

Considering Avalon Tower is in the process of trying to assassinate him, I really need to find out.

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