Page 95 of Vale of Dreams

My heart skips a beat. What does he know? That someone passed on information about the attack, I suppose. A spy got the warning through to the allies. Does he have any inkling that it might be me?

Unable to restrain myself, I delve deeper after this thought, searching, probing?—

His eyes snap open. I yank my powers back and summon the protective veil to cloud my mind.

His muscles have gone tense, and his dark eyes slide to me.

“What was that?” he asks with an edge in his voice.

“What?” I ask, blinking as if I’d just awakened. I slide my arm off his.

“I felt something familiar,” he murmurs. “It’s gone.”

“Oh,” I say sleepily.

“Your heartbeat is still wild.”

“You startled me from a dream,” I mumble. “A nightmare, actually. We were getting married.” I force myself to be calm, and my heart slows down.

He frowns at me in the moonlight, then rolls over.

Gradually, his breathing slows, and I hear him mumbling something as he sleeps. Where your fairytale comes to life…

My breath stills, and shock courses through me. The words aren’t spoken in Fey. He’s speaking English. And it’s a phrase that I know very well. Where your fairytale comes to life is the slogan of the bookstore where I worked back in LA.

My mind reels. All this time I was hearing his thoughts, I never imagined he was hearing mine, too.

I lie awake until dawn.

CHAPTER 34

It’s been storming outside for days, and the frozen rain hammers against the leaded glass windows in my room.

Talan hasn’t returned to my chambers this week. Without him or Nivene, I’ve been mostly on my own with only my worries for company.

I keep wondering if there’s a way to misdirect Talan away from his discovery of a spy on the High Council. Maybe—if I could get out of here—I could plant evidence pointing at a different noble? It might be a good idea, but not without its risks.

The ideal candidate would be Lord Draven, rumored to have an impure bloodline, his great-grandmother a bastard demi-Fey. But I’d be condemning him to death. I’d rather choose an Auberon-loving fanatic to take out. There were enough of those.

Thunder shakes the windowpanes, and I pour myself a little wine and pace across the flagstones.

Questions swirl in my skull. Is Nivene all right? What’s going on in the war in Scotland? And what about the dragon attack? I have no idea if the human forces managed to stop it.

My instructions have me feeling trapped: Lie low. Maintain your cover.

Do nothing.

The longer the days drag on, the more worries start to poison my thoughts.

I pivot, stalking across the room again. I find myself hoping that the dark prince will show up. At least I’d have someone to talk to.

But I did the right thing turning him down. Unless sex serves my purposes as a spy, it can’t be on the menu.

There’s a rustle of paper, and a note slides under my door. I pick up the envelope and see my name written in an elegant script. I open the door, peering into the hall, and spot a servant hustling away.

I turn over the envelope. Talan’s wax seal is imprinted on the back, a dragon eating its tail.

Inside is a short letter in black ink written in Talan’s swooping handwriting.

---